Singin’ the Blues on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

 

 

An immortal soul
demands that you acknowledge
heaven gets crowded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slouched in a corner,
of a dingy juke joint, a
young man learns the blues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ducking down alleys
looking for a few close shaves
scored some Mary Jane.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You cheated, then lied,
Now you say that you’ll be good …
Which you should I trust?

 

 

 

 

 
Lord, keep me healthy,
gals in dirty dungarees,
start my rodeo …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cold-hearted woman
on a hot Summer ev’ning,
loosens my collar.

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku:

 

Why do we suffer?
Does it purify the soul?
Is it bad karma?

Do pure souls ever suffer?
What if it’s all just random?”

 

 

 

 

Got up this mornin’,
I believe I dust my broom
You can wring my mop.

 

 

 

 

 

 
A knock at the door.
her face rings a bell  … My past
has caught up with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like her paint job
and she’s got a stick shift, but …
too many drivers

 

 

 

My sweetheart wandered,
And made a fool out of me,
all my love in vain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He beat out rhythms
on the edge of his guitar,
while his voice would scat.

 

 

 
Settin’ on my porch;
‘Why did my woman leave me?’
Sing those Whiskey Blues.

 

 

 

 

 

Feel so down and out,
I can’t deal with all the pain;
buried in the blues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soft hands on rough stone,
grasping for crevices, will
soon form calluses.

 

 

 

 


 

 


All things pass away,
And all relationships change,
We are in motion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
New England autumns,
The trees ablaze with colors,
A chill in the air.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All’s right with the world,
but I am still left-handed,
looking for scissors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pig’s feet and possum,
Mama serves them with some yams.
Down home country meal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost my job today,
All my friends lost their jobs too …
The factory closed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My red-haired woman,
wagged her finger, shook her hips,
taught me ways to love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anguished and in pain,
she never thought that her life
would end up like this.



 

Pies on windowsills
send aromas wafting through
the nearby schoolyard.

 

 

Ten, Jack, Queen, King … Four.
It’s time for Ted to go home.
Poker can be cruel.

 

 

Carol’s begonias
offer a coral contrast
to mom’s yellow mums.

 

 



 

 

She has a great smile;
it can send him to the moon.
So … he makes her laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

Walking in Spring rain,
past flowers being nourished
and snow drifts destroyed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A nuanced answer’s
often misunderstood … or
picked apart by ‘friends.’

 


My baby left me,
all I do is sit and cry,
forlorn forever

Sitting on my porch,
watching the day going by,
Night time hide my tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m feelin’ homesick,
for the town where I was born,
Life was easy then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 
double haiku:

Oh, sweet saxophone,
play for me a most gentle
lullaby for Bird.

I passed his house on
Avenue B today and
muttered, “Too soon gone.”

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Now that I’m alone,
my mind will sit in corners
and think about you.

 

 

Got the pastel blues,
no spectacular failure,
just a shade away.

 


If you’re blue and want
to feel happy, listen to
Potato Head Blues.

****

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A Wind-Swept Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

He buried his fear
in the pleats of mother’s skirt.
( … wiped his nose there too.)

 

 

 

 

 Fear is a fabric
that folds under stress, and when
in hot water, shrinks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stubble on my chin
Clothes I’ve worn for two full days …
Still sick as a dog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who would have thought that
Diana, an Amazon,
likes to play with girls?

On the other hand,
where does that leave Steve Trevor?
(Still tied up in knots.)

She’ll lasso a lass,
while hauling ass … they’ll still say
she fights like a girl.

 

 

She has a smile,
That can send him to the moon,
So he makes her laugh.

 

 

 

 

What he missed the most,
was her passionate embrace;
it reassured him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My heart’s on a train,
Heading for a distant town,
while I lie alone.

 

 

 

 


tanka haiku:

 

Can it really be?
It’s National Coffee Day!!
Do that Java Jive!!

   Brew Joe, don’t keep me waitin’
drip fast, stop percolatin’

(Thursday, Sept. 29 was National Coffee Day)

 

 

Forget yesterday.
Survive today and dream of
brighter tomorrows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, farewell to thee.
Thou has stayed beyond the Spring,
Now, the Sea beckons.

 

 

 

Sunday afternoon
we talked, and strolled through the park …
others rode horses.

 

 

 

 

 

A split rail fence was
respected in the old West.
But barbed wire helped.

 

 

 

 

 

In a small garden,
pansies patiently wait for
roses to be picked.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Once you discover,
You’re swimming in Illusions,
You can float upstream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
You can’t always get
what you want, but if you try,
you’ll get what you need.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a reason
for all things and that includes
orange-haired billionaires.

 

 

tanka haiku:

On a corner lot,
a two-story brick building
is all that remains.

    Glories of another time,
too soon reduced to rubble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I carve spindles on
a swiftly turning lathe to
make new bannisters.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Foliage ablaze,
Vivid reds, orange, yellow!
Breathtaking beauty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slave to their iPhones,
Dead-eyed Zombies walk and talk,
And order lattes.

 

 

 

 
Swiftly flows my life,
days fly by before I know it,
the future is then

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Will America
EVER learn from it’s mistakes?
I’m as mad as Hell …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Humid autumn night,
Too muggy for a blanket,
Too cold for A/C.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A pastel sunset,
occurs behind some buildings.
I wait for the bus.

 

 

 

 

 

That babe with the braids
and the tie-dyed mini-skirt?
That was your mother.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As dusk approaches,
Earth secretly conspires,
to bring back the light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now all that remains
are images in my head …
and her purple scarf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leaning up against,
A dilapidated shed,
a toothless old rake.

 

 

 

 

 

Moon behind the clouds,
fields aglow in bluish light,
sly foxes prowl.

 

 

 

 

 

The world keeps changing
old friends leave us or retire
Thanks to all. Godspeed.

(For Charles Osgood, David Ortiz and the late Arnold Palmer.)

 

 

tanka haiku:

 

You can not end the
persistence of suffering
only appease it.

    That it still will annoy us
is what gives us bright futures.

 

 

 

 

 

Is the potato
a metaphor … or a plant?
I bake for tubers.

 

 

 

 

 

 
It’s too warm to wear
sweaters and corduroy pants.
Damn, global warming!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swirling embers rise,
riding a smoky breeze, then
die, and fall to earth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SNL returns
“Live from New York” again.
Generations laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
A drizz’ly morning’s
walk through a nearby woods, cleared
his mind of its gloom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
When busy swimming,
you don’t think about drowning.
So it is with Life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

triple haiku:

 

Consistency makes
unimaginative lives
seem less vacuous.

Consistent is not
a value, it’s an action.
(Erratic is too.)

Be bold when needed,
steady when necessary.
Embrace ups and downs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Immortal souls that
live in mortal bodies … That’s
one of God’s jokes, right?

 

 

 

 

 

The blaze of Autumn
will soon start to wither and
gnarly winter bloom.

 

 

 

 

 

A quintet of haikus:
Under a pale sky,
a man in a hat, sits and
reads his newspaper.

As the daylight ebbs,
the man folds the newspaper,
gets up, and goes home.

In the dark of night,
he lies in bed and ponders
all that he has learned …

and when he awakes,
he gets up, finds his hat and
grabs his newspaper.

The mind’s the engine,
that drives our train of thought. We
must keep feeding it.

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn in New York,
leaves crackle underfoot as
I walk through the woods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Sucker-punched by thugs,
smooched by dames, he fires his gat …
(His Life as film noir.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The teacher threw a
book at the sleeping pupil.
Knowledge can hurt you.

 

 

 

 

We may never know
which winds blow thoughts through our minds
to swirl up our past.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fragrant aromas
awaken sweet thoughts of you,
my long ago love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The trees in our yard
are reluctant as children
to let Summer go.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 Jet vapor trails slice
through a Maxfield Parrish sky
of back-lit pink clouds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
If you choose to use
a magnifying glass, know
that you will find flaws
.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What night ships do you
sail upon? What adventures
find you in your dreams?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More later.

 

 

 

 

 

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Finally, a Finely Fried Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
In that ‘long ago’,
all of us are ever young …
never more alive.


First, you find a place
to rest your weary soul, then
applaud your journey.


There is happiness
and when there’s happiness, it’s
undeniable.

 

Autumn at the beach;
looks like a picture postcard.
Vibrant hues, cool temps.

 

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

 

When uncertain, he
will look to you for guidance.
Offer steady hands.

 

 

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, the autumn leaves,
that drift gently to the ground,
blanketing the lawn.

 

 

 

 

Pillow fights online …
debating philosophy …
both get you nowhere

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silhouettes of trees
turn my river view into
a jigsaw puzzle.

 

 
A quartet of haikus:

 

After all these years,
I still haunt the lost and found,
looking for my life.

I still ride the train,
in hope the next station will
be where I get off.

I cross bridges knowing
I can not wash away all
the sins of my life.

I am stuck in time
living out a meager life
extracting fool’s gold.

 

 

 

 
Walking the shoreline,
the fog envelopes me and
the ocean inspires.

 

 

 

 
Delicate flowers,
Battered by the wind and rain,
Petals on the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you fight the wind?
Do you swim against the tide?
Worlds turn, why won’t you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The leaves drifting down,
Make a carpet on the lawn,
For kids to romp through.

 

 

 

 

 
Sad when Summer ends,
and the school year starts anew …
said no mom ever.

 

 

 

 
Mother Nature sends
an eviction notice and
the foliage leaves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you are taken
out of your routine; rethink,
resolve, then re-set.

 

 

 

 
Geisha on a bridge,
watches the swans, then hurries
off to serve the tea.


 
Toy soldiers remain
lying in the lawn; battle
called due to bedtime.

 

 

 

There’s a twilight time
between dusk and eve’ning that
nurtures reflection.

 


tanka haiku:

 

Perusing the hall,
he picked out a girl and tried
to make eye contact.

At first, she acted shy … then,
she slowly … drew him to her.

 

 

 

 

To live without love
is to whisper to angels
and yet, be ignored.

 

 

 

 

Some people say that
Naked Gondoliers are what
made Venetians blind.

 

 

 

 

 
An incoming tide,
coral clouds at sunrise … all
of our Hopes reborn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A doormat thrown in
the trashcan has probably
worn out its welcome.

 

 

 

 

 
They say that I am
hopelessly optimistic …
I just hope they’re right.

 

 

 

 
The lush foliage
of autumn, clings to trees like
those dots of Seurat’s

.

 

 

 
Bleeding hearts mixed with
bloody ignorance will soon
need a transfusion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 tanka haiku:

From the cab of his
pickup, he could see grey smoke
rise from the chimney.

It was nearly sunrise and
he could not wait for coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We drove through the night
to see the fall foliage
mirrored in the lake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a lonely road weaves
through a dark forest. My soul
tries not to linger.

 

 

 
If the sky is blue,
and the grass always greener,
more books should be read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Won’t you have some tea?
I’ll sit here eating biscuits
watching boats pass by.

 

James Tissot (French, 1836–1902) | Tea | 1872

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Collapsed in a heap,
and yet … she watches closely
as suitors stalk her.

 

“The Green Cushion” ca.1895 by Irving Ramsey Wiles (1861-1948)

 

 

 

 

 

 

His trousers are gone …
her dress hangs from a flagpole …
That was some party.

 

Do you wonder why
all day long, you walk on air?
My friend, you’re in Love.

 


 

A red moon rises
in the sky above D.C.
the Capitol gains.
 

 
A red moon will rise
o’er a House divided and
illuminate hope.

 

****

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A Deplorable/Adorable Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

 

 

When I was little,
sitting in my parent’s car,
was an adventure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Small traffic island
pedestrian oasis
‘midst a sea of cars.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He recalls fondly
how one rainy afternoon
they shared an awning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thoughts, planted wisely,
blossom in reluctant minds,
when the time is right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Remember; Thousands
of things will go RIGHT for you,
ev’ry single day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
In Nantucket pubs,
Zithers and dulcimers play,
to pleasant drunkards.

 

 

 

 

 

 
A wren mocked a rose,
‘I can sing a song of love’,
The rose smiled, then bloomed.

 

 

 

 

 
A wind-swept plateau,
where the sky looms large, as in
a John Ford western.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walking through meadows,
I gaze at distant fences,
and ask … what’s beyond?

 

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku:

 

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

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

 

 

 

 
In a musty barn,
a rotted wooden basket,
once held a harvest.

 

 

 

 

 

 
A hammer pounding,
driving nails into the wall,
hanging tranquil art.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A convent garden …
a devout mantis prays for
Jack-in-the-pulpit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a haiku quartet:

 

The sidewalk peddler
earns his living lately in the
glow of the street lamp.

He can not go home
to Rivington Street ’til he
has sold all his fruit.

To each passersby
he offers a plum and smiles
when they do not buy.

the glow of the streetlight
enshrines persistence as he
continues hoping.

 

 

“Okay, let’s begin.
Insertez-vous tab A?!  Damn!
The plans are in FRENCH!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

We stacked the firewood
then trudged through the mud to the
hen-house to get eggs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Observation-ku:

 

 

Lately, more strangers
that I meet on the street are
calling me, “Poppy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An empty vase sits
on a cluttered office desk
waiting for flowers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sadly, it seems while
June was pinching pennies, John
was pinching barmaids.

 

 

 

 

 
When you have a lot
that’s on your mind, let your day
begin quietly.

 

 

 

 

 
None shall ever know
private failures we endure …
unless we succeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her vichyssoise was
so cold, the potatoes wore
jackets to keep warm.

 

 

 

 

 

Red veins on noses,
and whiskey-filled kittens?!! THESE
are your fav’rite things?

 

 

 

 

 
rain-soaked city streets,
the glare of flashing neon
blinds a private eye.

 

 

 

 tanka haiku:

 

A man with a limp
quietly whistles on his
way to the bus stop.

    His halting steps belie the
music he hears in his head.


Sometimes an echo
from a life you left behind,
catches up to you.

 

 

 

triple haiku:

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and now I can’t sleep.

 
The glow of the moon,
Illuminates the stillness,
Of country meadows.

 

 

 


 

 

There is an old tree
that knows my heartaches and has
heard my confessions.

 


 

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.

 

 

 

While more coffee brews,
whisperings in the kitchen,
often burns the toast.

 

 

 


 
What you are drawn to,
has within it, the lesson
that you need to learn.



There are times when no
words will suffice, we just need
to look at flowers.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 
His hopes had been dashed,
his dreams all surrendered … The
tide pulls at his feet.

 


A thimble of gin
Is all I’m allowed these days,
my thumb’s a drunkard.

 

 

 

 

I put on my Keds,
and an old college sweatshirt …
It’s walking weather!

 

 

 

triple haiku:

 

I met a rabbit
in the glen one dewy morn,
we stared warily,

but neither of us
moved a muscle ’til we had
sized the other up.

and then I felt an
aimless breeze, wander past us,
and we went our ways.

 

 

 

She paused to reflect …
She had read this book 6 times …
Same ending each time.

 

Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890) –  L’Arlésienne: Madame Joseph-Michel Ginoux

Lonely blue highways,
asphalt to infinity.
No rear view mirror.

 

 


 

Coffee and crullers,
sitting on the dock, watching
the boats come and go.

 

 

 

—-

 

 

Sometimes, I think back
to the heroes of my youth,
and just enjoy them.

 

 

More later.

 

 

===

 

 

Bonus poem – (Facebook keeps reminding me of poems I’ve written that I have forgotten about … )

 

A poem for Emily –

I’m adrift in damp depression
over moonbeams which don’t shine for me
each darkened night, my porch swing’s empty
and no-one sips my tea but me.

Gloom is an amber shadow,
which hides behind each flirting tree
and yet … in spite of all misgivings,
my violets still await the Spring.

And so, I can not help but wonder …
and while I’m wondering, I sing.

Now, I know my voice has gotten raspy
and my memory’s lost a thought or two,
but what I feel has sailed the oceans
and wrestled dragons (more than a few.).

my feelings scaled enormous mountains,
and engaged in many a daring fling

Still, I can not help but wonder
and while I’m wondering, I sing.

Hope, my friend, has perplexed many,
Emily says it’s a feathered thing,
But whether you’ve got much or you haven’t any,
my violets still await the Spring.

 

( Michael Tracy Smith – c 2012 )

 

 

****

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Autumn in Hiding on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

 

 

A golden surfer
rides a quiet wave to shore
the world is at peace.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

triple haiku:

A dark woods may rise
in the midst of your journey
do not be afraid.

We all must walk through
darkness at some point in life
hold on ’til the dawn.

For day will always
follow night, and the sun will
see you safely home.

 If the world’s a stage,
And people are all players,
who’s in charge of props?

My friend, D. Thompson:  Mother Nature’s boss,
And we are all just players,
Not nice to fool her.

My response: Poor Mother Nature,
like margarine or butter,
she’s spread way too thin.

 

 
Empty city streets,
faint sounds of music playing,
somewhere, a parade.

 

 

Three years ago, I came out of my building and noticed this tragic scene across the street.

It inspired this haiku:

A suicidal
watermelon’s a sure sign
that Summer’s over.

 

 

The last fifty years
will be known as the time when,
up was sold as down.

 

 

 

Without a kigo
is the fallen maple leaf
any less poignant?

(A kigo is a word or phrase used in traditional forms of haiku, to indicate the season referred to in the stanza.)
 

 
Belated Happy Labor Day!

haiku: Child Labor laws, and
Forty hour work weeks. Like ’em?
Thank the union folks.

 

 

Saturday morning,
biking to the bakery,
The smell of fresh bread.

 

 


 

Cool September night
A golden moon is shining o’er
the harvested fields

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

As day turns to dusk,
neatly anchored sloops slowly
bob in the harbor.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

Red-headed co-eds …
Ragtime on the radio …
Remnants of past lives.

Sticks of patchouli,
smoldered in his messy room,
his mom was incensed.


 

 

 tanka TV-ku:

Horizontal lines,
adjust the Vertical Hold,
play with Rabbit Ears.

TVs were simple once. Now,
you need to call Tech Support.

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

 

Autumn at the beach;
looks like a picture postcard.
Vibrant hues, cool temps.

 

Autumn arrives with
colorful foliage and
orchards to harvest.

 

 

 

 

 

Shimmering water,
Quietly fishing at dusk,
More solace than fish 

 

 

 

 

Back in my hometown,
I know what’s around the bend,
(Grins with affection)

 

 

 
Near the gazebo,
amidst the shrubs and bushes,
gladiolas bloom.

 


 

 

 
Frost on the pumpkin?
Another old saying killed,
By global warming.

 

 

 

 

 

My mom always had,
gum hidden in her purse, to
shut me up in church.

 

 

If you think “Life Stinks”,
You’re wrong. Life is fine. It is
Consciousness that stinks.

 
We started even,
but we can’t say who won; we
had diff’rent goal-lines.

 

 
A stone partition
does not stop my neighbor’s dog
from barking at me.”

 

 
In a garden lost,
overgrown with grass and weeds,
peonies still bloom.

 

 

His steps are cautious,
He’s nervous and unsteady,
First day back to work.

 

tanka haiku:

 

As we approach Fall,
We anticipate Winter,
And the Spring to come.

Our lives are like the seasons,
And what matters? How we turn.


 

When the couch was moved,
some keepsakes from long ago
were re-discovered.

 

 
Lost in thought today,
trying to assess my life.
No easy fixes.”

 

 

 

 
You can spend your time,
Avoiding calamities,
But what fun is that?

 

 

 

 

Azure blue larkspur,
Delicate and beautiful,
Whispers to the soul.

 

Garnish your burger;
cheese, lettuce and onions. Feel
Fickle? Add pickle.”

 

The years went by and
his hold on her grew smaller
as he rode away.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

  

Old photos beguile
Was I ever that happy?
Years have weighed heavy.

An old friend whom I haven’t seen in many years, emailed me these photos yesterday.  He took them around 1976 or so.  I had forgotten leisure suits … and don’t recall ever smiling that happily …not while having my picture taken anyway.  )

 

 

 

Over-heard-ku:

He said to her, “I’ve
got love for you, can’t you see?”
Sadly, she couldn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

Open up your heart,
To ev’rything you witness,
The Show is for you.

 

 

 

 

 


This, I believe’s a
sign of the Apocalypse;
Earl Grey in a can.

Old telephone prank updated:  “Hello. Do you have Earl Grey in a can? You do? Well let the poor b*st*rd out, he must be suffocating!!” (hang up.)

 

 

 

Boldly going where
No one had gone before;
The final frontier.

Sept. 8, 1966, the world changed forever with the first airing of Star Trek. Happy 50th Birthday, Star Trek!! Live long and prosper!

 

 

 

 

And finally, a belated happy would-have-been 80th birthday to Rock n’ Roller, Buddy Holly.

When credit’s given
where credit’s due, well, Buddy …
that’ll be the day.

 

 

 

****

 

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Yet Another Laborious Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus: 

 

 

Autumn taught ’em, when
the first leaf falls from a tree
Summer soon will wane.

 ( I saw that first leaf today, lying quietly on the sidewalk.)

 

 

 

 

Labor Day double haiku:

 

Forty hour work weeks,
Safety and child labor laws …
a minimum wage.

Unions, walk outs, strikes,
picket lines, arbitration …
Which side are you on?

 

 

 

 

Our Ford Country Squire
strained hard to pull the trailer
up Mount Washington.

(Our old Ford Station Wagon with a trailer attached, the Summer we went camping at Lake Sebago in Maine.)

 

 

 

 

 

Moonlight Sonata
played like a cantata, will
give you stigmata.

 

 

 

 

 

A smokin’ Tom waits
for the pentameter gates
I am (something) verse.

“I am bic”, he yelled,
but t’was easy to tell, he
was a fountain pen.

 

 

 

Coming down the steps,
she held onto the handrail
with a fierce-some grip.

 

History today!
The Japanese Surrendered
ATMs arrived!

(September 2, 1945, the Japanese formally surrendered, ending WW2.  On September 2, 1969, the first ATM in the U.S. starting giving out money.)

 

 

 

 
On grey, rainy days,
she first sulked at the window,
then, wished for blue skies.

 

 
They sway with the breeze,
which is why her little dog,
barks at sunflowers.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Weary troubadour,
guitar slung across his back,
thumb out to hitch-hike.

 

 

 

 

 

 
It’s been said that in
the wasted pursuits of youth
live our old-age dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The deepening blue
gently quiets golden waves.
Nightfall approaches.

 

(Photograph courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

 

In a small garden,
pansies wait patiently for
roses to be picked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like they always say,
Love is blind, but absinthe makes
green whores Jane Fonda.

 
“The Absinthe Drinker” by Viktor Oliva 1901

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kindergarten art
saved by mom for 50 years,
always makes me cry.

 

Actual work of art created by me in Kindergarten circa 1955. I called it, “The colored lights of Niagara Falls.”   I found this in the 1990’s in a box my mother had saved of me and my sister;s early creative efforts. As you can also see, I still hadn’t quite mastered how to sign my work of art. The second photo is the scene that I drew from memory.

 

 

 

 

In an apple tree
sits a happy little boy
dangling his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

Faceless men wander
city streets searching for hope
in the pouring rain.

Manhattan rain, unknown location, 1945. Photo by Arthur Leipzig

 

 

 

 

 

When she walked away,
I brought my hands to my face,
To hold in my dreams.
“Without a warning
Trucks collide near the corner
Police cars converge.
Of Life’s many truths,
all come down to just one fact;
you can’t hide from cats.
Don’t resist urges
from an impulse or desire …
they will point the way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Few half-way measures,
get as much coverage as
a partial eclipse

 

 

 

 

 

 

Any given day,
swirling leaves will seem confused
by the winds of change.

 

 

 

 

When daffodils bloom,
near the edge of one’s garden,
passers-by may pluck.

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting quietly,
pondering vicissitudes,
sure works up a thirst!

 

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku:

 

She wore pink spandex
on her summer vacation,
which caused a riot.

Cops came. She got arrested,
and did a stretch in prison.

 

 

 

 

double haiku:

 

Oh, sweet saxophone,
play for me a most gentle
lullaby for Bird.

I passed his house on
Avenue B* today and
whispered, “Too soon gone.”

 

(Happy would-have-been 96th birthday on August 29th to Charlie Parker.)

 

 

 

 

 

double haiku:

 

When I was young, I
looked in strangers’ faces to
find the familiar.

Now that I am old,
I look in strangers’ faces
to find the unique.

 

 

 

 

Wise people see what
is truly needed, not just
what is desired.

 

 

 

 

Under the bleachers,
I watch the rain coming down.
No ballgame today.

 

 

 

 

Walking through my dreams,
happiness collides with fear,
and love’s born anew.

 

 

 

 

 

While meandering
on a quiet, lonely beach,
fog envelopes me.

 

 

 

 

 

Checking Lotto tix
Sadly, more disappointment.
Boo-hoo, no Woo-hoo!

 

 

 

 

Another baseball-ku

 

He steps to the plate,
Takes a strike, then swings away,
A ground rule double!

 

 

 

 

The hardest question,
Makes us all weak in the knees,
‘Do you still love me?

 

 

 

 

 

 

From his lack of sleep,
he tended to forget stuff,
Like, “Why am I here?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harmonizing with
his mates kept the mood bright and
his life in accord.

 

 

At Disneyland, there’s
a room you can visit when
you’re not “tall enough”

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting ‘midst the white
bougainvilleas, Emily
read a Chekhov play.

Delicious solitude” 1909 by Frank Bramley (1857-1915)

 

 

 

 

 

 

What if we defined
being healed, as re-gaining
your sense of purpose?

 

 

 

 

haiku quintet:
I can no longer
listen to people that speak
only of Life’s pains.

Who encourage friends
to believe the world is bad.
The world is the world.

It’s not good or bad,
it’s a reflection we cast.
Tilt your mirror up.

Surround your heart with
flowers and sweet music and
gentle natured friends.

Keep your mind on the
things that move you forward, and
seek joyful moments.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drawn lines create space …
it’s how we define our world selves;
establish context.

 

 

 

 

Though old of age, he
felt he still had tales to tell,
and trails to wander.

 

 

 

She no longer cares
if she impresses others,
she just likes to sing.

 

 

 

It’s a bit awkward
when your wife and your sister
are having a spat.

(A family photo from the 1920’s.  I’m guessing the shadow with the feathery hat taking the photo is my maternal grandmother.)
 

 

 

 

 

We had a good time.
Everyone we knew was there.
At the County Fair.

(My maternal great-grandmother and step-great-grandfather circa 1925)
 

 

 

 

—-

 

 

Breaking Election News!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Spondyville News: 

 

 

Labor Day Weekend in Spondyville:    Two of Spondyville’s fraternal organizations will continue their friendly rivalry tomorrow … The Penguins and the Turtles will once again oppose each other in the Annual Mayor’s Imaginary Football Game, which will be “played” at Brogna Field at 2 PM. The Spondyville Fusers baseball team, the normal occupants of Brogna Field, this year, find themselves playing a Labor Day Doubleheader over in Oswego with the Oswego Osteos (also known as “The hobblin’ O-Os.)

The Mayor’s Imaginary Football Game is traditionally held each Labor Day and benefits the Uriah Stoop Home for Old Codgers.   The first Mayor’s football game was, of course, tackle, but that resulted in the infamous ‘Broken Bone Bowl’ of 1954.   The rules for the game were then switched from tackle to touch football, but even so that still resulted in multiple injuries every year.   At the request of Spondyville General Hospital, the rules were changed from touch to imaginary in 2004, with the result that neither Penguin nor Turtle has since required a trip to the ER due to their participation in the game.

You can find out more about Spondyville’s two fraternal organizations here:

http://www.spondyville.com/Page122Penguins.html

http://www.spondyville.com/Page123Turtles.html

 

 

Bonus poem:

 

About a dozen years ago, I was lying in a hospital bed (for some reason, I forget exactly which one … ), and the television had not been hooked up yet, so I was listening to The Raymond Scott Quintet on my iPod … Raymond Scott was a popular big-band leader from the late 30’s and 40’s, who, later, became one of the pioneers of electronic music. He was also married to singer Dorothy Collins and worked for Mo-Town in the 60’s as head of their electronic music division. One of the songs on the album was titled, “Yesterday’s Ice-cubes are Water Today.” So I start making up this poem in my head, using the title of the song as the first line of the poem, but not having pen and paper handy, I had to keep repeating it over and over in my head until the next morning when I was able to write it down … Anyway. I came across the poem today and it still makes me chuckle.

 

—-
Yesterday’s ice-cubes are water today,
What once was cool has melted away,
Evaporation must come to us all,
Back up to the clouds so the rain can then fall,
Fall to the stream, flow to the river,
from faucet to freezer we soon start to shiver,
We’re back being ice-cubes,
don’t know where or when,
we just know the process starts over again,
Our minds try to tell us there is only the Now,
As if Life after Now is a fiction somehow,
But the soul goes on being,
though each time here is fleeting,
To glimpse the eternal,
well … that would be cheating,
For we are just ice-cubes,
at being cool, we’re the best,
We can understand melting,
but have to trust all the rest.

 

****

 

and here’s the song of the same name by Raymond Scott:

 

 

 

****

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A Feckless, Freckled Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

 
Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

 

 

To illuminate
is better than to merely shine.
Teach thinking, not thoughts.

 

( If St. Thomas Aquinas wrote a haiku … )

 

 

 

 

 

With memories, you
close your eyes, they last longer …
or so I’ve been told.

 

 

(My sister and a very young me on Cape Cod in the 1950’s …)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, consistency …
It’s not just over-rated,
it’s the same old sh*t.

 

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku:
I tread warily
I wear readily, I swear
without reticence
or a hope for tomorrow
but that’s neither here nor there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cats may be pointy,
but a Priest is anointy,
both are a blessing.

 

 

 

 

 
tanka haiku:
If, without a feck
you are feckless, without hope,
you are hopeless … then

Why when you create a wreck
are you considered reckless?

 

 

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku  +1 :

 

We invented fierce.
We will accept your challenge!
Sharpen the weapons!!

    Ummm … it is kind of hot out.
and the dark clouds … it might rain.

 

I hate when leather
gets real wet, you know?  Can we
talk things out … Fiercely?

 

 

 

 

 
Our hearts are tender
Our determination, tough …
All tears shed are wet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Better listen close.
Feel the beat. Get a groove on
Get it in your soul

 

 

 

 

 

  

 
Napping on sofas,
barking at the mailman,
the life of my dog.

(Today is Dog Day.  Photos from 1967 of my then 12 year old beagle, Christopher.   We got him as a puppy in 1955 and he lived until 1970.   He was more than a good dog.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another day of
endless infomercials where
football ought to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

brochures invite me
linger longer by the sea
Cape Cod Cottages

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
tanka haiku:

 

Who have you steadied?
Whose heart have you opened? Whose
dreams have you unleashed?

Ask yourself these, for they are
the questions that matter most.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday’s roses,
in fullness of bloom … recall
our halcyon days.

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

The one thing we do
that’s as powerful as Love
is … that we Forgive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday Street Fair
as the Summer season ends
Broadway barbecue!

 

 

 

 

 

When humidity
rises, discomfort does too.
Go to the movies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Behind my razor
in my medicine cab’net,
lies an old toothbrush.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Drunk and bewildered …
Well, here I am, 2 PM.
Heck, what day is it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Weekends never end,
The beer’s free and sex sublime …
but just in my dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

tanka haiku:

 

 

With fingers tappin’
on the 88’s,  ‘bones wail,
lips blowin’ on ‘sticks’

filling rainy nights with tears,
There, there, lemme buya beer

 

 

 

 

 

 
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 flip-flops,
She ran down the beach and stepped
on a jellyfish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

double haiku: 

 

 

Laurel and Hardy
were pushed into anarchy
by circumstances.

Stan and Oliver
were at odds with a complex
and mechanized world.

 

 

 

 

 

 
To whine is but to
rant with specificity.
Don’t complain, speak up!

 

 

 

 

 

triple haiku:

 
O’er the crest of the
hill, beyond the turn in the
road … where hope resides.

turn the corner, lift
up the veil, enter darkened
rooms, destiny waits.

Do not be fearful.
Trust that no harm will come, for
you have much to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Water seeping in
the bottoms of my shoes
wading through puddles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Uncle Jack sat, as
Drunk as a hoot owl, and tried
to count his fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Working in the field
all day long wearing a hat
my hair gets matted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The piazza is
full of aging young couples
flirting with hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 
In my camp tent, I
write letters by thunderstorm …
eat peanut butter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Useless, useless rain.
Already watered the lawn.
Now it’s redundant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Man with a remote.
Children playing with their toys.
Woman with a cat.

 

 

(Fernand Léger – 1921 – Woman with a cat.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amidst the cattails,
and languorous in repose,
a fairy lingers ..
.

 

 

( by Alphonse Mucha approx. 1920)

 

 

 

 

 

before-and-after-ku:

 

A triangle of
tranquility sails the sea
‘neath darkening skies.

 

Shafts of golden light,
signaled we’d weathered the storm,
so, we headed home.

 

(Photographs courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be committed
is to fly through each sunset
in search of the dawn.

 
(Photograph courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written in margins
of forgotten manuscripts,
lies many a truth.

 

 

 

 

 

 
When it comes to a
thermos nuclear war, it’s
bring your own lunch box.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
The most courageous
words ever spoken, must be,
‘So … let us go on.’

 

 

 

 

 
There’s a twilight time
between dusk and eve’ning that
nurtures reflection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The word, nonpareil
was coined for guys like him – Toots
was without equal.

(Even in his 90’s, Toots Thielemans could play the harmonica better than anyone else.  Toots passed away this week at age 94. RIP) 

 

An Encore:

 

 

 

 

 

 

****

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