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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




    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.








    Forgot to add these two:

    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.

    Squirrel on my ledge

    A chilly rain is extant

    Squirrel seeks my help.


    He looks at me such

    But my screen is stuck; no food

    No food for rodent

    He is just shaking

    I can give him no relief

    He's there for an hour

    Or more?


    A few years ago

    I found myself at the store

    But the little store

    Too lazy for super store

    There is this lady

    Retarded she was

    Both In brain and in her soul

    And she snucked past me

    Her aim was for food

    For frozen breakfast dinners

    She grabbed six of these

    The matron said no

    I felt so bad then

    Her account was down under

    The end of the month

    I was short this time

    I was floating a bad check

    I did not help her

    Three years later I

    Am ashamed I gave no help

    To this waif; losted



    I have been thinking about this waif for sometime. And like the squirrel, I was of no help.

    What is a mother to do.

    Happy Fall Mr. Smith!

    the end

    Excellent, DD!!


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

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



    A disproportion
    between promise and event
    is the potato.

    Ha!  Good one, moat!


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



    E'vry now and then

    A small thought crosses my mind:

    How am I today?

      Luckily, my answer is

      most often incoherent.


    Excellent, Missy!!  

    (Are you trying to confuse me by posting this here?  LOL)

    How am I today?
    How was I yesterday? What
    hope for tomorrow?

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