Here's this week's heap of haikus:

 

 

 

The gentlest breeze
slides sweetly past my face as
I hail her a cab.

 

 

 

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Littered with teardrops,
on a Sunday morning in
my garden of hope.

 

 

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

 

 

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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.

 

 

 

 

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Eating blackberries
on a Summer’s afternoon ...
I'm without a care.
 

 

 

 

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Never a doubt 'bout
that Okie from Muskogee ...
Merle was a badass.

 

(Merle Haggard RIP)

 

 

 

It seems somehow weird;
when you let things go to pot,
You don't cut the grass.

 

 

 

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He sits quietly
with a small flag in his hands
haunted by landmines.

 

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Another Agnes ...
my grandma, born April 4th
Eighteen Ninety-one.

 

 

(Agnes Marion Mulry Tracy Tharp - April 4, 1891-1951)

 

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I'm a seed-planter,
sowing thoughts to imagine
I tend each garden.

 

 

 

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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.

 

 

 

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

 

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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.

 

 

 

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Triple haiku:

 

She was diagnosed,
and medicated, but now
felt isolated.

Friends now thought her strange ,
fam'ly felt she was deranged,
but ... she had not changed.

Illness does not mean
you're no longer who you've been,
you're walking new paths.

 

 

 

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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 mortal beings.

 
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Eschewing sunsets,
he loved the subtler hues
of mid-afternoon.

 

 

 

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double haiku:

 
Jiggling joggers
waiting for the light to change
bouncing up and down
 
When the light turns green,
a pony-tailed tsunami
sweeps across the street.

 

 

 

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Whatever ends will
begin again; our journey
is but a circle.

 

 

 

 

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Mom’s gold charm bracelet,
clanged against the banister,
as she climbed the stairs.

 

 

 

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White sails seem to float
upon the lazy ripples
as the river flows.

 

"Regattas at Argenteuil" by Claude Monet :
 

 

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tanka haiku:

 

The curve of her waist,
the creases of her smile, the
wisdom in her thoughts.

She slowly consumed all his
waking moments … then, his dreams.

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

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Leaves swirled around her,
tumbling in her wake like
fawning sycophants.

 

 

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I hear distant trains
and think of riding boxcars ...
whistles on the wind.
 

 

 

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Orchid on her wrist,
she twirls in her crinoline,
the 'belle of the ball.'

 

 

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Rhapsodic Romance;
our souls dance joyfully to
our heart's cantatas.

 

 
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When  two hearts in love
decide to pledge their troth, all
heaven's doors open.

 
 

 

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tanka haiku:

 

Leafy canopies
Riding up Riverside Drive
Sunset through the trees.

   The world looks like a painting,
   without either cares or fears.

 

 

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In days of Deco,
even a hood ornament   
aspired to Art.

( Amilcar Pegasus Hood Ornament 1926 )

 

 

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Throughout history,
all success has stood on the,
shoulders of failure.

 

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It doesn't seem fair
that an impotent heir means
the end of the line.

 

****