Another Getaway Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus: 







He sits quietly
with a small flag in his hands
haunted by foxholes.


(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)






With hands o’er hearts and
eyes on the flag, a bugle
plays a mournful “Taps”.


(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)








His band of brothers,
on his mind and in his heart,
remembered and mourned.



(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)








A most peaceful sound
soft rain falling from above
on a quiet night.









Littered with teardrops,
on a Sunday morning in
my garden of hope.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)








Oh sweet Art Nouveau!
Rounder than rococo and
more square than deco.











It’s sad when modern
becomes passe; it means the
future is finished.





Would Mary Cassatt
drive a Passat? I get the
impression she’d not.

(Happy Would-have-been Birthday on May 22, to Mary Cassatt)







There was a woman
I loved not wisely nor well
such a fool was I


I am no sweetheart,
nor husband or dad, I am
a desert cactus.






Friday night routine;
Bacon cheeseburger deluxe …
Manchester Diner.



Words can get scrambled
when one is won, two is too
shortly, you’ll belong.



God’s biggest regrets;
He made dinosaurs too big
and men’s hearts too small.

Dick’s dissipation;
dismal and disappointing,
distant and dismissed.

For these are the rhymes
That try men’s soup … and the rhymes
they are a changeling.






double haiku:


Chrons disease is an
allergy to wristwatches.
on the other hand …

Crohns disease is an
inflammatory illness
with diff’rent movements.





Fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the barb wire fence,

somewhere, a dog barks.





In Autumn’s dotage,
death’s a gentler tiger,
greeted with a smile.



 Like a garden rose,
the nurse showed up in the Spring …
and pricked his finger.


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





 tanka haiku:
Why defy the wind?
Or swim against the tide? Why
make things so damned hard?

There’s but one answer to this …
It’s the path I chose to walk.






Wanderlust re-born …
when the circus passed through town,
Now he clowns around.



A tall vase full of
happy yellow daffodils
assuages anger.






Five thirty AM,
a Summer Sunday morning,
the smell of bacon.



Kids were not allowed
in grandfather’s library,
but cats wandered in.










Near the temple of
Dionysus, peonies
plead for one more chance.




Spring has just arrived,
Earth’s re-born, and we rejoice.
Turn, turn, turned once more.


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






When poets can twirl
literary lariats,
they’re soon laureates.




tanka haiku:


Sunny, Summer days
running through fields, resting ‘neath
the shade of an oak.

  Then we ride bikes to the park
and play baseball ’til dinner.


Waiting for my ride,
A little boy runs past me,
chased by his nanny.




Wisps of her fragrance,
Becloud my concentration,
my thoughts are of her.




In the wilderness,
A frivolous distraction,
Might also eat you.



Endicott’s pear tree,
planted here so long ago,
is still bearing fruit.

(Planted in 1630 near Danvers, MA)



Blistering come-backs
bounced through his head, but all he
could say was, “Oh YEAH?!”

For some, compassion
Seems to sit upon a leaf,
Thus, might float away





As storm clouds gather,
a pair of kayakkers,
fight the swift current.


Playing piano,
requires dexterity.
I play clarinet.




Stiff and discarded,
old paintbrushes, wait, hope and,
pray for turpentine.



Enjoy the Memorial Day weekend!







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