A Sunny and Summer-y Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon





Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




I’m down on my knees.
Tell me what I want to hear:
How … do … I … get … up?




At the timberline,
the earth fell away and the
sky overwhelmed me.

a desperate tree
tried to hold back the clouds, but
a stormy night prevailed.






Panoramic sky
We drive into the future
chasing after clouds.







A rusty Ford coupe
parked in the driveway of a
two room bungalow.

(photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)




the element of surprise
and joy will wither.





(Forgot to include this in last week’s heap … )


tanka haiku:

I do not care that
Snoopy is, in dog years, o’er
four hund’red years old.

He will always be the dog
that other dogs hope to be.

(Photo of a young MrSmith1 holding a Charlie Brown and Snoopy Action Figures … Not dolls, action figures!)




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





double haiku:


Rain on long-parched ground
the desperate earth absorbs
the precious liquid

Each descending drop,
restores a little more hope
our drought is over.







Worcester, where what was
worse, was when wasted water
weighted wet waiters.







A careful dipping
of the brush, will ensure a
steady flow of ink.



Driving blue highways,
seeking out less traveled realms,
small town life endures.







of Life’s complexities makes
easy answers hard.






She entered, wearing
a sweatshirt and dungarees
and left him breathless






She used her giggle
to attract young men, and her
wiggle to keep them.









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







There’s a Summer place,
near a secluded beach … I
spend hot nights with you.








Sweeping ‘cross the sky
lost souls in search of heaven
as daylight retreats.








As the night draws nigh
chickens roost and dogs bark at
approaching shadows.








Double haiku:

My walk tired me,
I rested under a tree,
my thoughts wandering.

Alas, wandering
thoughts seldom sleep. In fact. they,
often run ahead.









Never doubt your place
in this, the grand scheme of things.
You’re meant to be here.








Still a bit nonplussed,
Your perfume on someone else …
Nasal betrayal,






Dear Philo Farnsworth
Thank you for Television
But NOT Donald Trump!



( Happy would-have-been 110th Birthday, Philo T. Farnsworth! )





He sits all day and
sketches girls wearing tube-tops …
the midway artist.










Medals and flowers
Then booze after-hours … Caught in
a lie … You won’t fly.







Our hearts may forget
their most crushing defeats but
none of their triumphs.







Shattering silence,
The car horns’ cacophony,
Wakened my neighbors






With a loving arm
and a kind word, a mom saves
an uncertain youth



(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)





triple haiku:

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.









The dark before dawn;
lonely hearts beat quicker in




Tell me your secrets
and my heart will be yours.  True
love will last forever.





Angels still sing as
we carry on with our lives.
(They’re paid a flat rate.)







 “Haberdasher’s Hi-jinks!”
“Picnics in Cluttered Canoes”
…  Closed out of town.)





A freshly waxed floor,
an over-eager puppy …
hilarity ensues.






double haiku:

Ah, the Brooklyn Bridge.
This iconic span defines
grace and elegance.

Like giant harps that
span the river Jordan, the
bridge’s cables loom.







tanka haiku:


From her widow’s walk,
she gazed at the horizon,
hoping to catch sight

of sails from her husband’s ship
returning from its voyage.






While you sleep at night,
miracles tiptoe past you.
If only you’d wake.






Eating blackberries
on a Summer’s afternoon
makes me feel care-free.






When your heart is full,
be generous, When bereft,
be understanding.






A starry night, wind
rustles the dandelions.
We cautiously kiss.





tanka haiku + haiku:


Has it all been said?
Do we just repeat words which
have lost all meaning?

   Does the subtlety of one’s
inflection change anything?

Does memory loss
bless one’s creativity?
Maybe … I forget.





 Implausible schemes
might come to fruition … if
the timing is right.




bonus poem:


On having a chronic illness:


What do you do each day to say, I am still and ever me?
To plant your flag and tell the world that what you are, you’ll be,
To state emphatically that you’ll remain the person that you’ve been,
For though your path is shifting, the tides still go out and in,
You are the same now as you were, it’s just a diff’rent game,
The wrapping may be ‘brand new’ but the content is the same.







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