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A Pre-Blizzard-y Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Here's this week's heap of haikus:
Lads from Liverpool
landed in New York; A sad
world found joy again.
(Feb. 7, 1964, only a little more than 2 months after JFK was assassinated, The Beatles arrived in NYC ... )
Mind all aflutter,
She left her glasses at home
and her keys at work.
 In Grandma's parlour,
quiet domesticity ...
and a sleeping cat.
Scars are reminders,
that Life can be risky, but
we can, and will, heal.
 Her plaid flannel shirt
clashed with his pink cardigan;
They were perfect mates.
 She stirred the stew and
sprinkled the pepper, while she
glanced out the window.
Winter winds chill me,
cold rain soaks through my clothing.
What a rotten day.
Across the river,
lies a land where dreams still thrive.
Help me build a bridge.
Two hearts beat as one ...
which begs the question; How high
is their blood pressure?
A life resisting
being told what she should do,
left her wondering.
Though old of age, he
felt he still had tales to tell,
and trails to wander.
 There is an old tree
that knows my heartaches and has
heard my confessions.
 When you are away,
I sit and stir my soup and
listen to old songs.
Young eyes hold magic;
look into them, and see the
world as it could be.
She was beautiful,
in a way some could not see,
but God, I sure could.
triple haiku:

So ... how cold was it?
It was so cold, hot chili
was sold on a stick.

It was so cold that
when I spilled my coffee, it
didn't splash, it broke.

It was so cold that
the polar bears were wearing
Eskimos as scarves.
As I fall asleep,
whispers of memories drift
through my consciousness ...
Some words reveal truths,
some just try to sell you stuff;
wise words open hearts.
Emphatic rainbows,
Strewing colors 'cross the sky
Inspire our hopes.
Saturday snowfalls,
kids still get the day off, and
parents still shovel.

Outside, snowflakes fall,
comfy in my bungalow,
time for hot cocoa.
Hippie drug slang like
Bogart, roach and Mary Jane ...
seem kind of "quaint" now.
Weary troubadour,
guitar slung across his back,
waits for the next bus.
An old weathered rope,
hangs 'round a lonely fence-post,
purpose forgotten.
Can we ever hear
the footsteps of history
marching through our lives?
T'was way too early
to come to a conclusion,
so, he simply guessed.
tanka haiku: 
Sirens start screaming,
in the middle of the night.
causing dogs to bark.

  Then, the neighbor's lights go on.
  I drove through their shrubs, okay?
Can a group of people committed to raising AS Awareness, walk the equivalent number of steps equal to walking all the way to the moon ... in a little over two months?

We can if YOU help!

The 2nd Annual  "Walk Your A.S. Off" starts March 1st.  Join us!

Last year, the goal of circling the globe was easily met, as collectively the 23 teams involved in "Walk Your A.S. Off", took over 63 million steps. So, this year the ante has been upped and the goal is to get to the moon!

For more info, go to:

I like this walking thing.

During the 15 years I jogged my goal was 25,000 miles and I ended up with around 35,000.

I went on a walking program later for another 7? years without logging.

Teams going to the moon? See I could go around the world but a team kind of generates spirit!

We are getting another blizzard beginning tomorrow (a day later than expected).

Everytime we get a mess of weather, some of it ends up where you are!

What a mess in Mass, huh? I guess the worst you received was on Long Island?

One of the pleasures

of living in Manhattan;

snow won't reach my floor.


I was a runner in my youth; long distance and cross-country.   I need to get back to walking more.  I've become too sedentary in my old age, using my Spondylitis as an excuse to become inactive.   I'm going to use this as an excuse to walk more.

Manhattan is lucky to be so perfectly situated that the brunt of most storms seem to pass it by.




Snow-kus! Wonderful!  Thanks for the tip, AA, I just tweeted mine. 



She took leaping steps,

expecting to fly each time.

Wings hatch from desire.


But the foot comes down again.

Progress has an awkward gait.


Simply beautiful, moat.  Cheers!


The point of flying
is to leave the ground. Our dreams
keep pulling us up.



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