A Day Late Year-End Review at the Haikulodeon

 

 

2015 was an amazing year at the Haikulodeon.  I have been going through all the comments this past year and there are so many great haikus, I’m going to post this year-end review in two parts.  I’ve included some of my haiku comments in the mix because they fit into the thread and sparked other responses.   Thanks to all who responded last year, including Barefooted, Richard Day, flowerchild, Guy named Lulu, moat, Oxy Mora, Peracles Please, Trkingmomoe and Ramona.  

 

Happy New Year!!

 
I feel alive when
I feel blue, I feel that way
when I’m happy too.

I can’t stop feeling,
I won’t behave, I won’t stop
till I’m in my grave.

MrSmith1

 

 

Is moth flatulence

just a poor man’s version of

a butterfly’s belch?
barefooted

 

 

Don’t start. A moth fart

though it comes out in the end

Is made from whole cloth.

 

MrSmith1

 
The curtain goes up,
Take this scene and wring it dry.
Life’s a one act play.

 

Oxy Mora

 

 

It is snowing now.
Time to go work on my laugh
and hang the laundry.

 

moat

 


six haikus:
I keep caving in
I am sick of caving in

Even Moat told me

To assume more years
And attempt to accomplish
Something as I wan

I have been so damned
I have been so damned cold here
Highs get to zero

Zero as a high?
Factor in the wind chill temp
It’s twenty below

I must confront cold
All men were once boys
But men become boys

When they refuse to confront
I must confront (the) cold or
I shall surely die

 

Richard Day

 

 

 

If I don’t cave in
I’ll end up out in the cold,

and that is the worst.

But some people say
I must continue trying
to keep myself warm.

 

barefooted

 

 


A writer’s silence
thunders with the fury of
an angry echo.

Reverberating,
finding solace only once
he retrieves his pen.

 

barefooted

 

 

Rude, rough, and ready,
love rushes into people
like an accident.

 

moat

 

 

No Snowmageddon;
Light fills puddles on Broadway.
Break time is Over.

 
moat

 

 
haiku quintet
Oh well, spring will come
I promise; spring will come soon.
We only must wait

The snow makes us clean
And the spring just makes us green
But it’s cold outside

Baby it is cold
It’s not like this is so new
We’ve seen this before

Weather, we can know
Or weather we do know not
Weather is or not

It is our own facts
And only through our own acts
That seasons apply

 

Richard Day

 

 
He has shadow fame
singing just like Sinatra.
What’s his name again?

Stream a cop drama.
Go to bed too tired to care.
Wake up—there’s coffee!

 

Oxy Mora

 

 

 
Purposeful thinking
too often devolves into
questionable thought.
Resting too assured
is much akin to sitting
on a splintered chair.
barefooted

 

 

Purposeful thinking
will devolve when what you do
is not on purpose.

Whenever you sit
you must be vigilant; check
your chair for splinters.

 

MrSmith1

 
The tattered, old chair
was ignored and rejected
’til Grandpa came home.

 
barefooted

 

 

On the Roadshow, that
tattered old chair attracted
the Keno brothers.

 

MrSmith1

 

 

The old man just laughed
when they appraised its value
in dollars and cents.

 

barefooted

 

 
Then he forgot and
sat on the chair, which ruined
its rich patina.

 

MrSmith1

 
And on that sad day
the old tattered chair became
Grandpa’s life story.

 
barefooted

 

 
And on that sad day
Grandpa’s posterior was
proved superior.

 
MrSmith1

 

 

 

The disappointment
over what cannot be won
questions victory.

 

moat

 

 
His disappointment
over what could not be won,
did question the game.

 

 
MrSmith1

 

 
That which can’t be won
is only disappointing
if never questioned.

 

barefooted

 

 

Cliche is corrupt.
Muses often give advice
but they don’t do lunch.

Oxy mora

 

 

 

 

She sat quietly,
ankles crossed, hands in her lap,
with no expression.

She stared straight ahead,
oblivious, unaware,
heartbreakingly still.

He sat anxiously,
loving her, yearning to hear
his name on her breath.

He stared at her face,
surrendering, unafraid,
courageously gone.

barefooted
 

 

He stared at her face,
searching for the smallest sign
that she forgave him.

She stared at the floor
wishing he would go away
for she felt ashamed.

When their eyes met, they
felt nothing but the sorrow
of a love that’s lost.

 

 
MrSmith1

 
Love has passed them by.
No second takes, no reprieves,
No choir is singing.

 

 
Oxy Mora

 

 

Love has passed through them
Once was their lot, no regrets
Choir’s echo is sweet

 

LULU

 

 
She tried to find him,
searching just to catch a glimpse
of who he once was.

But she was changing,
the memories were fading,
she had let him go.

 

barefooted

 

 

tanka haiku:
barefooted poems
the words soothe, like sand castles
on sunny beaches.

     waves in ascending ripples
and evenings of wine and song

 
Oxy Mora

 

 

She was the highway
He was fences and pastures
They got along well.

 
Oxy Mora

 

She explores pastures,
I cover the waterfront.
Call us Surf and Turf.

 

MrSmith1

 
Mittens make unclear
the seventeen pokes in air
haikus count upon.

 

moat


Counting with mittens
makes cold, lonely syllables
feel warm and fuzzy.

 

barefooted

 

Counting with Mittens
a Romney Family game.
Fuzzy thinking wins.

MrSmith1

 

 

tanka haiku:
blue birds think it’s Spring
it’s going to snow tomorrow
what’s with climate change?

     fly into closed barn windows
or a shiny chimney cap

 

Oxy Mora

 

 

Weathermen don’t know
Neither do the coal miners
You got canaries?

 

Oxy Mora

 

 

 

She looked great in a
Brooks Brothers button down shirt
Darn that dream, darn it

 

Oxy Mora

 

 
Dragged into the fray:
Reluctant to sacrifice
Copernicus gaze.

     
moat

 

Galileo said,
‘I orbit Copernicus …
that guy gets around.’

 

MrSmith1

 

 

 
His faded, old jeans
were frayed around the edges —
Life against the grain.

 

barefooted

 
My faded old jeans
easy and comfortable;
worn from the wearing.

MrSmith1

 

 

 

The perfect blue jeans
hold on to your shape until
you slide them back on.

 
barefooted

 


tanka haiku:
My smartphone, destroyed;
slipping out of my pocket
while shoveling snow.

The fall was not as harmful
as the beating in the dark.

 
moat

 

She was just a dame,
but those tight sweaters melted
the gum on his shoe.

 

barefooted

 

 
Time will always tell
the secrets left behind by
history’s stopwatch.

   

barefooted

 
Time will always tell
whenever a law is passed
that turns back the clock.

MrSmith1

Turning back the clock
can make a politician’s
future disappear.

barefooted

 

My kind of spring came
Paths are open to old folks
Streets are clear of ice

My son visited
And he always asks me how …?
And I tell him how

(Just be yourself, ha!)

Well I should be good
I should be better to help
My family fold

Just be the best that
You are without the army
Make money and love.

Richard Day

 
Grasshopper is told:
“You have torn the tortilla”:
Flaming pot must wait.

I am like you, bird;
singing without a promise,
hopping branch to branch.

moat

 
Sing for my supper,
and after a little while,
Cry into my beer.

 moat

 

 

An old Eskimo
once told of a simple truth
he’d learned long ago:

You can never tell
your friends from your enemies
until the ice breaks.

barefooted

 

 
Art of the last word
is very old and quite strange.
You can lose your way.

moat

 
Orthodoxy ends,
making room for some silence
and listening too.

moat

 

 
A rainy news flash:
Suicidal droplets jump
from high-rise storm clouds!

barefooted

Stop … Listen to me.
Nothing will last. Got it? Good.
Now go out and play.

 

 
MrSmith1

 


Stop — listen to me!
I’m begging you, please don’t go,
just let me explain.

Stop — listen to me.
Your life is worth more than this,
let’s talk for awhile.

Stop — listen to me
my friend, I need to find the
words to say goodbye.

barefooted

 

Stop–listen to me
Don’t just say you’re leaving soon
Get out already

 
Oxy Mora

 
Stop — listen to me,
be careful … don’t let the door
hit you in the ass.

barefooted

Stop!  Listen to me.
You’re gonna thank me later …
Just do the right thing.

 

 
Just do the right thing.
If you don’t, it will own you –
it will bruise your soul.

barefooted

 

 

Ah, melancholy,
A blind date gone off the tracks,
Smile and do your time.

Oxy Mora

 

 

Life is too short to
wallow in melancholy.
Marinate? Perhaps.

Never walk around
with a pebble in your shoe …
it will bruise your sole.

 

MrSmith1

 
If you marinate
in melancholy, you might
medicate your mind –

But if you whistle
while you’re wallowing, you can
wistfully unwind.

barefooted

 


vow freely given
permits the patience required
to let some things go.

moat

Vows freely given
reaffirm a world of hope
with promises kept.

When  two hearts in love
decide to pledge their troth, all
heaven’s doors open.

 
MrSmith1

a vow is an end
the forsaking others part
where beauty begins

 

moat

 
The beauty of vows
forsaking all others; parts
love and devotion.

 

 MrSmith1  

 

 

Love’s a symphony …
a joyous orchestration
of synchronized hearts.

barefooted

 

 
A minor mishap?
A petty problem? Slight snag?
Cliffhanger! Stay tuned!

barefooted

tanka haiku:

Rope unwinds from post.
Red boat slips into the lake.
Arms rotate blue oars.

   Wide arcs of cheerful parting
lash the reluctant water.

moat

 



tanka haiku:

Rope unwinds from post,
tethered dog gets closer to
catching quick red fox.

   But the fox discovers the
dog’s reach has limitations.

MrSmith1

 

 
Two ropes unwinding;
one setting free, the other
tightly constricting.

Which leashes your soul?
Undiscovered fantasy
or the ties that bind?

barefooted

 

here, there is a chain
and some say there is a door:
No typography.

moat

 

The words themselves bind
like acorns, nuts, and buds.
Door is mostly shut.

moat

 

 

Though words may bind you
Writing makes you regular;
Do it ev’ry day..

 
MrSmith1

 
If the memories
are all you have left to hold,
hold them lovingly.

If remembering
her smile makes you shed a tear,
shed it gratefully.

But if another
memory can still be made,
make it joyously.

barefooted

 

 

2 a.m. in the
big chair by the bay window
where she held me tight

Head full of fever,
delirious but consoled,
I let myself be.

So much water spilt
over the dam, but her I
remember that night.

PeraclesPlease

 

Her face obscured by
lattes, a woman runs by,
hey, remember me?

Oxy Mora

I’m letting you go.
Your life is not one I can
ever understand.

You need less of me.
It has taken so much, but
now I’m listening.

I cannot mold you.
The path you’ve chosen is so
different than mine.

You have to help me.
Accept my love but nothing
else can I give you.

I’m letting you go.
Always touching fingertips
as you set me free.

barefooted

I will not admit
I ever held you, but now
I’m letting you go.

Feeling you against
me, got me through the night. but
now the morning’s come.

We may never meet
in the flurry of the years,
but you’ll stay with me.

 

MrSmith1

 

 

It is very near.
The incredible distance
is an appearance.

moat

 

A faraway look
does not demand great distance;
just hope for nearness.

 
MrSmith1

 

It is very near …
imaginary distance
carefully portrayed.

barefooted

 


Please try to keep your
imaginary distance.
my folks are watching.

MrSmith1

 


She gave him the look
Intimacy imagined
junior needs nappies

 

Oxy Mora

She gave him the look.
Scared him almost enough to
run away … almost.

 

barefooted

 

 
Three cuts of the pie
give eight pieces in between:
Drawn lines create space.

moat

 

Twilight is the realm
between who you once were and
who you’ve yet to meet.

A whispered secret
that lingers in the fragrance
of your future past.

barefooted

 

 
Screams must be thoughtless –
consideration masks the
instinct of the soul.

barefooted

 
Your history a wake
left behind on life’s river
ripple back to you

Elusive Trope

 

This is cool, it’s like
late-night improv jazz session
in a smoke-filled bar

Elusive Trope

lightening himself
coughs and gasps a little bit
addict for the smoke

Elusive Trope

 

After the concert
A winded woodwind player
ponders the walk home

Elusive Trope

 

 

Chills run down her spine
as she ponders the walk home,
knowing he’ll be there.

barefooted

Knowing he’ll be there
waiting as he always does
in that chair he made

Elusive Trope

 

 
Work in the garden
of another’s mind, the seasons
will still be master

 
Elusive Trope

 

 
Work in the garden
of hopelessness, for you may
yield a fertile mind.

barefooted

An hour each day, on
your knees, your face in the dirt,
will humble your thoughts.

Work in the garden,
You’ll find what matters most is
work in the garden.

MrSmith1

 

But if you tell fibs,
don’t put your face in the dirt –
your nose just might grow!

barefooted

If you serve food, don’t
put your face in the dirt, you’ll
muddy the waiter.

 
MrSmith1

 
the table all set
in the muddy cold setting
waiter sinks, can’t move

Elusive Trope

Waiter sinks, can’t move.
Patrons cry out in dismay,
“Who will serve us now?”

barefooted

argument ensues
who will rescue the waiter
over cries for help

Elusive Trope

 

 

In a bawdy boite,
patrons cry out in dismay,
“Put it all back on!”

MrSmith1

“Put it all back on!”
the stage director bellows
more tables appear.

Elusive Trope

 

 

Library book due
must photo copy one
section then return

Elusive Trope

I’ve been avoiding
Forty-second and Fifth Ave;
Library book due.

MrSmith1

Library book on
Forty-second and Fifth Ave
Flutters in the wind

 

Elusive Trope

The stone lions on
Forty-second and Fifth Ave.
guard chapter and verse.

MrSmith1

The stone lions on
the grand porch of the grand home
bored with the same view

 

Elusive Trope

 

Reach into the dark,
feel my eyelash brush your cheek,
let me comfort you.

   Listen for my whispered song …
it will carry you to me.

barefooted

Where do I come from?
I recall the railroad car
Where diapers were changed

I was around two?
And all these women were there …
We all seem so lost.

We all seem so lost
We are all deprived of love
Life is not so fair

But life is just life
Equality is not there
Life is so unfair

 

Richard Day

 

 
Much to remember,
but none of it comes with words –
at least none I know.

What’s the translation?
I’m missing the right language –
the one with his voice.

I can’t spell his smile,
or find the letters he laughed –
playfully teasing.

Much to remember,
and none of it needs a word –
except for one … dad.

   
barefooted

 
I have been a dad
much longer than I had one:
Reverse engineer.

   If I do this long enough,
I will learn how it is done.

moat

 

 
It’s all so surreal;
reality is drifting
on fanciful seas.

The birds are laughing;
crooked branches are twisting
atop bended trees.

Sunlight in mirrors;
old beliefs still afflicting
beyond the disease.

barefooted

 

It is not simple.
Victory has its own price.
Payment is not clear.

   Look at the the big space between
where generations collide.

 
moat

 
barks at sunflowers,
argues with dandelions,
such is sweet grandpa

Elusive Trope

 

With tiny fingers,
extreme focus, steady nerves,
he buttoned a fly.

Oxy Mora

 

He buttoned a fly,
which, he thought, more manly than
zipping up a moth.

 
MrSmith1

With tiny fingers,
long lost memories scratching
our itch to forget.

barefooted

Procreation blues:
Long lost memories scratching
our id’s bids for kids.

MrSmith1

 

Our id’s bids for kids
like the sleds on which we slid
tend to flip our lids.

barefooted

 

the memories slide
like the sleds on which we slid
faster and faster

Elusive Trope

 


Stored in the garage,
like the sleds on which we slid,
broken toys we hid.

 

MrSmith1

 
With tiny fingers,
the young child touches the bark
of the ancient tree

Elusive Trope

With tiny fingers,
reaching for ten tiny toes,
she learned her ‘piggies.’

MrSmith1

 
repeating signal,
like a fog horn heard at sea,
tells me where I am.

Circle of bright fire
that cannot be held with hands
looks for knowing eyes.

moat

 

 

Boy, were they angry!
Extra show, but no more dough.
The Rockettes’ red glare.

 

Oxy Mora

Never leave alone
that which seems clearly defined;
dictionaries change.

What is contrary
to popular conception
may become the norm.

Complacency breeds
ignorance in stubborn hearts;
embrace the question.

barefooted

 
What is contrary
to the gadfly is the path
one should seek to find

Elusive Trope

 

 
forgotten black bird
sliding through the clouds, restless
and always searching

Elusive Trope

 

 
Forgotten blackbird
mournfully searching the light
for his reflection.

barefooted

 

for his reflection,
he was told, would offer truth
no one else could see

Elusive Trope

a slice of apple
with its green skin and two seeds
waits without knowing

Elusive Trope

 
“Without knowing what?”
I asked, but I knew I had
to get to the core.


MrSmith1

to get to the core
one has to shovel all day
and still not be done

Elusive Trope

 

I was going to speak
but I can’t do Haiku.
I’ll just say goodbye.

Ramona

 

was going to speak
was going to say my side
somehow I never did

Elusive Trope

Concerned about grease?
Never eat German food and
avoid souvlaki.

Oxy Mora

avoid souvlaki
I was told, yet I know not
what is souvlaki

Elusive Trope

some famous grease food,
moussaka, tzatziki, shish
kebab and gyro.

 
Oxy Mora

 

(a haiku quartet:)
The boys had many
nicknames while workin’ the streets;
Kebab and Gyro,

Were two of them, but
Souvlaki Sue and Hortense,
would make them famous.

Posing as “trannies”
was not their idea of fun …
then they met, Angel.

And Angel showed them
a world they had never known,
and arrests were made.  

 
MrSmith1

candle-lit cabin
outside darkness gathering
sleep is taunting me.

 
Oxy Mora

Candle-lit cabin
on a ship that sails the seas,
studying the maps.

MrSmith1

 

Studying the maps,
she decided the best route
home was staying put.

barefooted

 

 
Studying the maps,
he grew more cranky, searching
for his childhood town

 
Elusive Trope

 
For his childhood town,
he chose Piscataway .. cuz
he hated Mahwah.

MrSmith1

 

Knowing his old haunt
Had windows shuttered, doors locked
And candles burned down

A Guy Called LULU

 

beauty is fleeting:
papers fluttering across
unforgiving streets

 

Elusive Trope

 

Beauty is fleeting,
like Cinderella rushing
back home at midnight.

MrSmith1

Married for ten years
To Mildred, Maude and Mabel,
Brooklyn, Bronx and Queens.

 
Oxy Mora

Married for ten years
and never an argument …
just bitter feelings.

MrSmith1

 
A life together.
Can get a lot of things done;
Divided labor.

   Being good with words is good;
But we must carve the mountain.

moat

 

I packed my swimsuit,
but we must carve the mountain …
hope someone brought knives.

 
MrSmith1

 

Getting close to it
gets the thing done in real time.
Showing up again.

moat

 


Showing up again.
Answering futility
on the same worn path.

barefooted

Secret to success?
It’s very simple really …
showing up again.

MrSmith1

She has a point, though.
It could all be really dumb;
A Novocaine dream.

moat

 
A Novocaine dream
will often have one sub-text;
never trust Dentists.

That was the weird thing;
it could all be really dumb,
Republicans don’t care.

She has a point, though
he was loathe to admit it.
He hated losing.

 
MrSmith1

 

When the hand gets close,
what is the body doing?
Putting itself out.

moat

 

 

Smokey the bear says:
“A burning forest won’t be
putting itself out.”

MrSmith1

A hand is withdrawn
Two young faces lose their charm
The moment has passed.

Oxy Mora

Friendships may not last,
People grow apart, and then,
a hand is withdrawn.

MrSmith1

 
A hand is withdrawn;
a cheek reddened by blushing
instead of a slap.

A hand is withdrawn,
shyly self-conscious over
putting itself out.

barefooted

Why is a cat like
a burning monk? ‘Cuz neither’s
putting itself out.  

 
MrSmith1

 

 
A single moment.
Frozen, left behind the door
like a speck of dust.

Solitary time.
Speechless, hanging in the air
of a humid day.

barefooted

 

 

At Summer church camp
he fell in love with Mary,
packaged with Jesus.

Oxy Mora



At the Hootenanny,
he fell in love with Mary,
sans Peter and Paul.

MrSmith1

 

I get so damned lost
I get so damned lost at times
I can find hope here.

Richard Day

 

Once in a blue moon
we are all left to wonder
what life really means.

The rest of the time
we just wander aimlessly
looking for our keys.

barefooted

 
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.

 
MrSmith1

 

 

See stars in the sky?
So minor though it matters
when she questions why.

‘Neath a paper moon
he flatters in the valley,
kissing her too soon.

barefooted

 

my first dying leaf
I saw it today walking
August for chrissakes

We are all dying
So I perceive leaves dying
The end must be near.

Our end is so near
Entropy is the future
All ‘us’ things must end.

Richard Day

 
The freshly cut grass
perfumed the breeze with summer
and tickled her nose.

Running through the yard
she giggled like a schoolgirl
kicking off her shoes.

barefooted

 

 

As her ‘crush’ approached,
she giggled like a schoolgirl,
her face turning red.

He lay beside her,
getting stains on his jeans from
the freshly cut grass.

Kicking off her shoes,
She ran down the beach and stepped
on a jellyfish.

 

MrSmith1
   

 

 

Because he needed
to feel love’s soft vibration,
he lay beside her.

They were mesmerized
by the luminous colors
on a jellyfish.

Her face turning red,
stuttering, swallowing hard,
she said, “I love you.”

barefooted

 
the freight trains had passed
a cheap motel in Flagstaff​
finally, we slept.

 
Oxy Mora

 

The ice machine’s broke!
Damn cheap motel in Flagstaff​ …
I’m drinkin’ warm beer.

 
MrSmith1

 

T’was monsoon season,
and innocent tourists were
in for a surprise.

Strolling in the sun
became a dash for shelter
when the skies opened.

But those who were caught
beneath the torrents of rain
found themselves laughing.

When others questioned,
the happily drenched answered,
“It’s Monsoon Madness!”

barefooted

 
a day in August
the heat was never-ending
Mom made lemonade

Oxy Mora
 


Mom made lemonade
Dad worked on the truck, and I
held the monkey wrench.

When we took a break
we listened to the ballgame,
Mom made sandwiches.

MrSmith1

 

I pinned my hair up,
looked at myself in the glass
and wondered what else.

Were my cheeks too pale?
My lips too thin and pasty?
Fearful eyes gazed back.

The brush in my hand,
I hesitated to choose
between me and him …

barefooted

 

To be continued …

 

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