A Slightly Delayed Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

 

I wander the streets
confused and bleeding, I can’t
find my way back home.

 

 

 

 

There’s an urge within
that tells us; go to the sea,
make peace with the tides.

 

 

 

 

 

Turn away your thoughts,
hide them from a stranger’s eyes
lurking in the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

double haiku:

 

I feel like a seed;
purposefully planted and
lying in my bed.

I doubt, that a sprout,
ever made it through a drought,
without any gout.

 

 

 

Growing pains aside,
his childhood was happy.
Well … relatively.

 

 

 

Thanksgiving-kus:

Each year we gather
to rejoice and to give thanks
for we are so blessed.

Let each turkey slice
and wedge of mom’s pumpkin pie,
demonstrate our thanks.

Mash the potatoes,
baste the turkey, eat some pie,
then take a long nap.

 

 

 

 
A crumpled fender,
wrapped around a barber pole,
could mean a close shave.

 

 

 

 

 

At the sky’s edges,
mountaintops still pierce the clouds,
to peek at heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Do not weep all night
then wonder why the world seems
so full of teardrops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A remote sand dune,
hides a young couple in love,
from all but one dog.

 

 

 

 

Success often stands
on the shoulders of failure.
So don’t wear spiked heels.

 

 

 

 

 

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 
He tried to please her,
he tried to reason with her,
she tried his patience.

 

 

 

 

 

 
tanka haiku:

 

His reading glasses
slid right down his nose and dropped
into the toilet.

This dilemma was not solved
until he could stop laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

Though she pined for him,
she could not find a way to
gracefully forgive.

 

 

 

 

 
A haiku for aspiring writers …

 

The plot thickens when
you’re married to the ending
but wake with a start.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Wishing for rainbows
is fine, but refracting light
through a prism … works.

 

 

 

 
A yellow note was
pasted on the scaffolding …
“Soft heads need hard hats.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mental environs
are of our own making. We’re
lost in our own maze.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Through an iron fence,
I watch autumn leaves fall on
empty park benches.

 

 

 

 

On his head, “Gramps” wore
a blue Yankees baseball cap,
which made him feel young.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 March to diff’rent drums,
waltz to other violins,
but by all means, move …

 


Gladys clutched her purse.
At rush hour, doors of the train
don’t close right away.

(1950 NYC rush hour – unknown photographer)

 

 

 

double haiku:

 

As the morning dew
disperses, flowers bloom, a
gardener curses.

Why’s the gardener
apoplectic? ‘Cuz he needs
some antiseptic.

 

 

 

 

 

A lazy river
that winds through a lush valley,
still will reach the sea.

 

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku:
A wilted flower’s
not a metaphor for your
Life, it’s a warning.

When you remove yourself from
what nurtures you, life’s over.

 

 


Reading comic books
and playing travel bingo
got them to Grandma’s …

 

 

 

 

Behind the pool hall,
drunken teens sit quietly,
getting their first tats.

 

 

 

 

Aggravating man,
infuriating woman;
Act Three, they’re in love.

 

 

 

 

 

Coming down the steps,
she held onto the handrail
with a fierce-some grip.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Purgatory; a
place for the not good enough
and the not so bad.

 

 
The lines in her face,
though evident, were softened
by her joyful smile.

 

 

 

 

Driftwood in the sand,
long removed from livelihood
this soul-less tree branch.

 

 

 

 

 

 
On grey, rainy days,
she first sulked at the window,
then, wished for blue skies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leaves would follow her,
tumbling in her wake like
fawning sycophants.

 

 

 

 

 

 I hear distant trains
and imagine going home …
whistles on the wind.

 

 

 

 

 

Mary had a lamb,
And little though it was, it
started stalking her.

 

 

 

Silent flutterings,
and pirouettes in mid-air …
butterfly’s ballet.

 

 

 


 

 

Coffee on the porch,
watching kids on bicycles
chased by barking dogs.

 

 

 

—-

 

 

 

Some people live in
anticipation, others
prefer cipation
.

 

 

 

 

 

double haiku:

 

Misery and pain
yet, laughing in spite of things
vulnerable
.hearts

 

Whinging and whining
‘stead of resigning, may be
the key to success.

 

(About ten or twelve years ago, I ‘met’ a fellow Spondy online named Charlie Foulkes.   She lives in the U.K., just outside London.  She is a very talented musician and now a mother of two daughters.  I’ve had her self-produced album, “University of Life” on my iPod since she sent it to me a dozen years ago.  Today she posted this song, which I never heard, called Misery, which she says she recorded over 20 years ago.  It’s infectious and made me laugh, so I thought I would share it with my friends at Dagblog.  I will try to post some more of her songs later.)  .

 

 

If you’d heard Lincoln
give the Gettysburg Address,
Would you ever move?

(Nov. 19, 1863, Abraham Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address. One of those present, a  9 year old boy, named William R. Rathrovn, who, in 1938 made a recording of his impressions of being mere feet from President Lincoln while he gave the great speech.)

 

 

 
 She whispered to him,
‘I’ll fulfill all your dreams’ … But
he’d dreamt of Pirates.

 

 

 

 

 
Not a day goes by
I do not wish you loved me
and I know the truth.

 

 

Hopes all inflated,
our dreams are ever rising.
The future is ours.

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday in the Park,
sitting, relaxing, watching
as the day’s revealed.

 

 

 

 

No-one can deny,
everybody’s got the right
to have their own dreams.

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

 

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