(This month marks the 66th anniversary of the start of the Peanuts comic strip. I was born just about two months after Peanuts’ debut. Peanuts helped me to learn to read and to understand the world. It made me laugh and feel at a very young age. Charles Schulz’s gentle world is one that I will always treasure, especially at this moment in time, when everything seems so crass, vile and angry.)
Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
Good Old Charlie Brown …
he can never fly a kite
or kick a football
His baseball team may not win,
but he never stops trying.
A single dead leaf,
floating down to the sidewalk,
makes memories bloom.
Down a garden path,
leading to a wooden bench,
I find solitude.
Folded up and kept
in an old wallet, was her
late husband’s love note.
thoroughly mixed metaphors …
Willows in the wind,
gently swaying back and forth,
like sleepy dancers.
We sat and watched a
Law and Order Marathon …
All day long … “CHA-CHUNG!”
The sky’s blue as I
picked blueberries in bluejeans …
Why am I so blue?
Much flapping of wings,
pigeons on my window sill,
I tap on the glass.
A stalking kitten,
emboldened by sleeping prey,
pounces on some yarn.
The Autumn winds blow,
swirling leaves seem quite confused,
as to where to go.
Silly Ogden Nash homage-ku:
Shoes need cobblin’
that’s why he’s hobblin’, (and
sadly), sobblin’ …
She found some paper,
then opened her crayon box
and began to draw.
She scribbled wildly, then
in big letters, signed her name.
Sally Brown likes her
older brother, but Linus
is her ‘sweet baboo.’
(Kristen Chenowith as Sally Brown on Broadway in the 1999 revival of “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown”)
My grandpa did not
like keeping the parlor neat …
which drove grandma nuts.
Not without effort, per se,
they kept their relationship.
Fact: Kids destroy things
In a haunted house, they’ll kick
away the cobwebs.
“Never quote my spoken word.”
said the Senator.
At Heaven’s gate, will
Saint Peter use Saltpeter,
on Trump’s libido?
Pity poor Pig-pen,
whirlwinds of dirt swirl ’round him,
though he’s unaware.
Linus always keeps
his security blanket
within easy reach.
has black keys just painted on …
yet plays Beethoven.
Good Old Charlie Brown
never wins a baseball game
or kicks a football
He can’t get a kite to fly
Yet … he’s still out there trying.
She’s a fuss-budget
gives psychiatric advice
for just a nickel
Neurotic and self-centered
Lucy’s in love with Schroeder.
Did you ever look,
Through a small knothole and see,
A whole diff’rent world?
Those tiny brushstrokes,
Don’t really amount to much,
Until you step back.
Napping on sofas,
barking at the mailman,
the life of my dog.
Posing as ‘Joe Cool’,
Flying a Sopwith Camel
Red Baron dogfights
While both are beagles, my dog’s
a cat compared to Snoopy.
Bonus poems … In honor of this week’s World Arthritis Day, here’s three old poems I wrote about having an arthritic disease.
“The Lethargy Waltz”
Where has it gone, that youthful rambunction,
It seems nowadays you can just barely function,
Your chronic fatigue makes you want to say “screw it”,
There’s much to be done but you’re too tired to do it,
You’ve tried all the NSAIDS and even some gold salts,
But you just keep dancing to that old Lethargy Waltz,
Slogging through mud,
Feeling like crud,
Stiffly you move,
as if stuck in a groove,
You once did it all,
You felt you were Super,
Now you careen around in a stupor,
You can’t fall asleep though it’s way past eleven,
You doze off at six, but have to get up at seven.
Slogging through mud,
Feeling like crud,
Stiffly you move,
As if stuck in a groove,
“New Age Believer”
I believe that everything I read is true,
What the internet tells me to believe, I do,
I think there are miracle cures galore,
That I can easily find in the health food store,
And there are age-old secrets found in ancient lore,
Which we modern people should not ignore,
These secrets heal the sick and reveal once more,
The ancient secrets of our meta-physical core,
I shout in defiance,
“Screw Medical Science!”
Those moron docs of Rheumatology,
All operate under the fallacy,
That the only way to cure all my ills,
Is to shovel me full of little pills,
The only thing worse than a gypsy’s hex,
Is all the awful pills’ side effects,
And the bodily functions that the side effects wrecks
I scream with some wrath,
“Where’s a Homeopath!?”
I know I’m being somewhat facetious,
Most arguments against science are silly and specious,
I’m just so … damned frustrated … and in a great deal of pain
I’d rather something work than have to explain.
Still it’s better to take something based on what someone said
than to have someone tell you, it’s all in your head.
“We Will Slog Through”
When Rheumys and family all are agreeing,
Painful and Difficult’s our ground of being,
Y’know lesser folks might shout, “Enough!”
When the going really gets rough,
But a Spondy’s made of much sterner stuff,
Somehow, we vow, with iron wills,
To keep on marching up those hills,
And not give in to ‘being ill’,
We’ll wake each day,
so we can say, that, still,
we will, slog through.
When you’re stuck in molasses,
With an ache in your chassis,
And you feel like Life has betrayed you,
Don’t let a pain in the butt,
Keep you stuck in a rut,
Or the joys of this Life will evade you.
You need to,
Live each day, and keep sloggin’
Drum that into your noggin,
(I know it’s nothing new),
Keep at it, or you’ve had it,
Though you feel like you’ve been through the mill,
Trust, you will, slog through.
When people come ask, “How ya doin?”,
And y’know if you tell them,
their whole day you’ll ruin,
But like when it rains and you can’t get any wetter,
They’ll take it in stride, if you shout, “Never better!”
Now, what can you do when you’re stuck in a bog,
In the midst of the fog and dew?
That’s right, you just,
yes, you must,
You just, you must, slog through.
I’ll add more haikus later. Check back.