Here's this week's heap of haikus:

 

 

 

Regrets percolate
under calm demeanors and
eat away the soul.

 

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Whatever happened
to haberdashers?  these are
the things I wonder.

 

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California's drought
makes me think they're headed for
"Urinetown" ... for real!

 

 

Urinetown - The best book and best score for a Broadway musical in 2001.

 

 

-

 

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If you believe what
Republicans tell you, this
is Planned Parenthood.

 

 

(A still frame from a George Melies film from 1898.)

 

 

 

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Watching the debate
was like watching milk curdle ...
just pray for yogurt.

 

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The seas were choppy
when Greenpeace met Mick Jagger,
Protesting swagger.

 

 

(Photo courstesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

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Why aren't there any
large beach umbrellas made of
subtler colors?
 

 

(Photo courstesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

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A foggy dusk near
Catherine Slip; Brooklyn Bridge
disappears from view.

 

 

 

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A storied dead end,
Patchin Place is known for a
lower case casa.

(e.e. cummings lived at #4 )

 

 

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We may never know
what winds blow thoughts through our minds,
swirling up our past.

 

 

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Determination
displayed in each step he takes
screams, “I’m not done yet!”
 

 

 

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Late-Night Java Jive
Take a gulp on the wild side ...
Decadent rebel!

 

 

 
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In the pizza joint,
flakes of Oregano spilled
across the table.

 
 

 

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To remember love
is to journey through the soul
and restore the heart.
 

 

 

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Near shallow shoals,
sallow souls (in hollow holes),
scream at scheming scum.
 

 

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All the king's horses,
And all the king's men, liked their
egg over easy.
 

 

 

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Yet again he tried
running around the backyard ...
but that kite won't fly.
 
 

 

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 A remote forest,
 where towering trees shelter,
 delicate flowers.
 

 

 

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The billowing sails,
The churning, white-capped waters,
grey skies at ebb tide.

 

 

 

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Sometimes in my dreams,
I meet you in Times Square and
we are "us" again.

 

 

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haiku quintet:

What Life really means
can only be understood
'neath a paper moon.

I wandered, looking
for the key to the manor,
(which was B minor)

finding the manor
key, B minor, was major
(See stars in the sky.)

Though Major, Minor
and Manor matter, the
moon doesn't flatter.

Green is my valley,
I kissed Sally too soon, t'was
once in a blue moon.

 

 

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Flatter the valley,
more mountainous the plateau ...
Rivers flow to seas.

 

 

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Crying my eyes out,
then laughing hysteric'lly,
Mood swings seem epic.

 

 

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I'm the curser
cursing the cursor; discuss
this cuss with disgust.

 

 

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Shattering silence,
The car horns’ cacophony,
disturbs my slumber.

 

 

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In a fitful sleep,
memories long forgotten,
rise to consciousness.

 

 

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Dogwoods are in bloom
around the traffic circle,
bumper to blossom.

 

 

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Hanging at Starbucks ...
The Algonquin Roundtable ...
Compare and contrast.

 

 

 

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We all have struggles,
 but is pain your burden ... or
  what gives you purpose?

 

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Goth gals with pierced cheeks
wander through the East Village
"making a statement."

 

 

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He was mesmerized,
not by her beauty, but by
how sweetly she laughed.
 

 

 

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Flying through the air,
should be avoided by both,
dentures and toupees.
 

 

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On a moonlit night,
in a cottage near the dell,
at last, he knew love!
 

 

 

 

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Vacant apartment
Dust has settled everywhere.
Her spirit lingers.

 

 

 

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

 

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A tall glass of juice,
is no substitute for a
big mug of coffee.
 

 

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Resolve by any
other name is stubbornness.
I'm full of resolve.
 

 

 

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

 

 

 

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An incoming tide,
coral clouds at sunrise ... all
our hopes are reborn.

 

 

 

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Across the river,
a past he recalled only
in sepia tones.

 

(Photo taken by me while riding on Access-a-Ride)

 

 

 

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As the dawn breaks, a
boat with peeling paint, drifts through
the calm, clear water.

 
 

 

 

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An old jelly bean
found in my jacket pocket ...
still tastes pretty good.

 

 

 

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When you walk through a
storm, hold your head up high ... The
rain will look like tears.

 

 

 

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The world passes by.
I look out my window and
imagine stories.
 

 

 

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Tucked in his wallet
was a photo from his youth
of a secret love.
 

 

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We're not defined by
what we have lost, but by what
we do with what's left.

 

 

 

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The rain has ended.
Central Park looks lush and green
and eager with Life.

 

 

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Sometimes what we think
are flaws, are strengths when they're seen
in the right context.
 

 

 

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tanka haiku:

 

He sits at breakfast
quietly sobering up
sipping his coffee.

His legs bruised, his hair matted,
he somehow lost his trousers.

 

 

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Plump red strawberries
for sale at a roadside stand ...
cars brake for shortcake.

 

 

 

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We sometimes redeem
mistakes from our past, but more
often relive them.

 

 

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The moist earth gave way
to one insistent daisy,
and now, fields of them.

 

 

 

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 A wise old man sat
amidst the rubble and smiled
at all he had learned.

 

 

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This is the Future
that you dreamed about while you
sat in Study Hall.
 

 

 

 

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A pitcher of milk
and a hamburger for lunch?
Another fine mess.

 

****