A Blissfully Ignorant Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Quietly, the dusk
soothes the ocean waters and
calms the day for night.

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)




Here’s the rest of this week’s heap of haikus:

Special Edition: *You-Do-the-Haiku*

Special Guest haiku by my pal, Jim Weatherhead


“I and I alone”
manic rants of grandeur fuel
minion’s illusions.


A clown, a gypsy …
one dances the night away
wearing some red shoes

(Photo:  In the early 70’s, I played a Gypsy with a bad mustache and fake eyebrows, and my friend, Denise Moses played a clown who couldn’t speak, in a Children’s Theater production of The Red Shoes.   To promote the play, we went on Ho-Ho the Clown’s TV show in Oklahoma City. I was doing this ridiculously over-the-top accent and, since Denise’s role was a mute, I got to do all the talking. Ho-Ho was amused, and let me read the Happy Birthday greetings with him and Denise and I did some silly stuff and promoted the show and when we left, Ho-Ho turned to his puppet co-star and said something to the effect of, “Isn’t that just about the silliest thing you’ve ever seen?” and the puppet, paused a moment and then shot back, “You’re one to talk, you’ve got a red ball on your nose and you’re talking to a guy with a sock on his hand.” And yes, I swear he really said that on-air. The stage hands were laughing so hard, you could barely hear Ho-Ho, trying not to crack up, introduce the cartoon …)





double haiku:

Two ballet dancers
arch their backs and reach their arms
up to the heavens.

A plea to God to
understand the suffering
of this mortal realm.






Waving our goodbyes
we climb into the car and
begin our trip home.


tanka haiku:

All men were once boys,
All leaders, once followers,
Wise men, ignorant.

Neither resent nor regret,
all will soon enough be frail.

When authorities
abuse minorities, check
their priorities.






haiku quartet:
Tennessee Whiskey
smoothly trickles down my throat,
savor the swallow.

Backwoods honky-tonk,
Woman in a short blue dress,
watches me get drunk.

I get up to leave
she gets up to see me go
in that short blue dress.

Sittin’ in my armchair
thinkin’ ’bout that short blue dress …
I go back for more.






Overheard at a
sidewalk cafe; “I hate her,
she’s so full of snot.”

(Actual verbatim dialog heard by me while strolling down an NYC street one day … )



Muted shades of dawn,
the pier in the distance fades
into memories.

( Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo )






There, on the sidewalk,
he spied a crumpled dollar
which looked a bit spent.



Swirling dust bunnies
make it difficult for me
to find what I dropped


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


Though she feigns int’rest,
She simply can’t get into,
Sports or Politics.

A receding tide,
May reveal many secrets,
Buried in the sand.

Being Left-handed,
isn’t really a problem,
it’s just never right …

tanka haiku:

You are not happy
with the way things turned out? … Ask
for a mulligan.

This time, ‘stead of a three wood,
try using a pitching wedge.

Too little to do,
Or too much to remember …
Which do you prefer?

Will it ever end
this d*mned oppressive heat wave?
Turn up the a/c!

Wilting from the heat,
A dog learns fire hydrants
Also spurt water …

Random photographs
of New York sidewalks might be …

(Random snapshots taken the other day while waiting for my Access-a-Ride pick-up.)

In a storefront church,
A young girl began to sing,
And the angels wept.

haiku quartet:

Please make up your mind,
Am I your heart’s desire,
Or scum of the earth?

Yes, that is the choice,
I don’t want to play both parts,
Can’t we meet half-way?

You’ll put up with me,
I’ll forget it’s your birthday,
But then, send flowers.

Thrown under Love’s bus,
But facing oblivion,
Our hearts compromise.

Whispering children,
giggling in a corner,
secret adventures

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

If you own a gun,
you’ve agreed to a world where
shooting’s an option.

A Saturday kind
of enthusiasm, a
Sunday kind of Love …

Little girls on swings
always seem so happy, as
if they’ve learned to fly.

(My mom – circa 1923.)

Things start off badly
the elevator is out
I needed the lift.

Hidden in the grass
tortoise-shell reading glasses
covered with dog spit.

Her head on my shoulder,
my arm around her waist, we
waltz the night away.

We once did great things …
but the greed of the rich has
stolen our future.

Shouting from rooftops,
‘My humility’s the best!!’,
sends … a mixed message.

Regrets at sunset,
never fully wipe away,
the sins of today.

Quiet young ladies
sit in Starbucks and “like” their
own Facebook comments.

Words had no effect,
so, reluctantly, he tried
throwing sticks and stones.


tanka haiku:
The boat was blue and
the paint was peeling … Your
hat soft on my ears …

  between us, at that moment,
there was this great happiness.

Photo of me in 1972, as Private Gar in a college production of Brian Friel’s “Philadelphia Here I Come!” The tanka haiku is loosely based on one of Gar’s speeches.






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