A Debatable Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

Regrets percolate
under calm demeanors and
eat away the soul.

Whatever happened
to haberdashers?  these are
the things I wonder.

California’s drought
makes me think they’re headed for
“Urinetown” … for real!

Urinetown – The best book and score for a Broadway musical in 2001.

If you believe what
Republicans tell you, this
is Planned Parenthood.

(A still frame from a George Melies film from 1898.)

Watching the debate
was like watching milk curdle …
just pray for yogurt.

The seas were choppy
when Greenpeace met Mick Jagger,
Protesting swagger.

(Photo courstesy of Kristina Rebelo)

Why aren’t there any
large beach umbrellas made of
subtler colors?

(Photo courstesy of Kristina Rebelo)

A foggy dusk near
Catherine Slip; Brooklyn Bridge
disappears from view.

A storied dead end,
Patchin Place is known for a
lower case casa.

(e.e. cummings lived at #4 )

We may never know
what winds blow thoughts through our
swirling up our past.

displayed in each step he takes
screams, “I’m not done yet!”

Late-Night Java Jive
Take a gulp on the wild side …
Decadent rebel!

In the pizza joint,
flakes of Oregano spilled
across the table.


To remember love
is to journey through the soul
and restore the heart.

Near shallow shoals,
sallow souls (in hollow holes),
scream at scheming scum.

All the king’s horses,
And all the king’s men, liked their
egg over easy.

Yet again he tried
running around the backyard …
but that kite won’t fly.

 A remote forest,
where towering trees shelter,
delicate flowers.

The billowing sails,
The churning, white-capped waters,
grey skies at ebb tide.

Sometimes in my dreams,
I meet you in Times Square and
we are “us” again.

haiku quintet:
What Life really means
can only be understood
‘neath a paper moon.

I wandered, looking
for the key to the manor,
(which was B minor)

finding the manor
key, B minor, was major
(See stars in the sky.)

Though Major, Minor
and Manor matter, the
moon doesn’t flatter.

Green is my valley,
I kissed Sally too soon, t’was
once in a blue moon.

Flatter the valley,
more mountainous the plateau …
Rivers flow to seas.

Crying my eyes out,
then laughing hysteric’lly,
Mood swings seem epic.

I’m the curser
cursing the cursor; discuss
this cuss with disgust.

Shattering silence,
The car horns’ cacophony,
disturbs my slumber.

In a fitful sleep,
memories long forgotten,
rise to consciousness.

Dogwoods are in bloom
around the traffic circle,
bumper to blossom.

Hanging at Starbucks …
The Algonquin Roundtable …
Compare and contrast.


We all have struggles,
but is pain your burden … or
what gives you purpose?

Goth gals with pierced cheeks
wander through the East Village
“making a statement.”

He was mesmerized,
not by her beauty, but by
how sweetly she laughed.

Flying through the air,
should be avoided by both,
dentures and toupees.

On a moonlit night,
in a cottage near the dell,
at last, he knew love!

Vacant apartment
Dust has settled everywhere.
Her spirit lingers.

Try imagining
that strangers you encounter,
are friends from past lives.

A tall glass of juice,
is no substitute for a
big mug of coffee.

Resolve by any
other name is stubbornness.
I’m full of resolve.

Live a life of love,
look to better angels, carve
your own walking stick.

An incoming tide,
coral clouds at sunrise … all
our hopes are reborn.

Across the river,
a past he recalled only
in sepia tones.

(Photo taken by me while riding on Access-a-Ride)

As the dawn breaks, a
boat with peeling paint, drifts through
the calm, clear water.


An old jelly bean
found in my jacket pocket …
still tastes pretty good.

When you walk through a
storm, hold your head up high … The
rain will look like tears.

The world passes by.
I look out my window and
imagine stories.

Tucked in his wallet
was a photo from his youth
of a secret love.

We’re not defined by
what we have lost, but by what
we do with what’s left.

The rain has ended.
Central Park looks lush and green
and eager with Life.

Sometimes what we think
are flaws, are strengths when they’re
in the right context.

tanka haiku:

He sits at breakfast
quietly sobering up
sipping his coffee.

His legs bruised, his hair matted,
he somehow lost his trousers.

Plump red strawberries
for sale at a roadside stand …
cars brake for shortcake.

We sometimes redeem
mistakes from our past, but more
often relive them.

The moist earth gave way
to one insistent daisy,
and now, fields of them.

 A wise old man sat
amidst the rubble and smiled
at all he had learned.

This is the Future
that you dreamed about while you
sat in Study Hall.


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4 Responses to A Debatable Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

  1. I was wondering if you had a WordPress site. Now I know. Do you have the same rule as you do on Dagblog?

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