MrSmith1's picture

    A Wistful Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

     

     

    Here's this week's heap of haikus:

     


    tanka haiku:

    All one ever knows,
    Is what they’ve experienced,
    Or taken on faith.
        But, like silt in riverbeds,
        Both can muddy the waters.

     

     

    ---

     


    They think they've won, but ...
    like the phoenix from ashes,
    I shall rise again!


    ---

     

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

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


    walking through the woods,
    I find a weathered birdhouse,
    nailed onto a tree.

     

     

     


    ---

     

     

     

     

    the arc of each life,
    pierces many hearts, which sews
    tapestries of hope.

     

     

     

     

    ---


     

     

     

    He says he will learn,
    through obtuse introspection …
    (This may take a while.)

     

     

     

     

    ---


     

     

     

    Whispering biddies,
    Sitting in their parlour chairs,
    Can, sometimes be right.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


    Waltzing through life is
    not as easy as it sounds …
    There’s all that counting!


     

     

     

    ---


     

     

     

    Whispering your name,
    in my darkest moments, gives
    me soothing solace.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

    A muse in a mews
    may muse on what an awl weighs,
    in all ways, always.

     

     

     

    ---

     

    haiku quartet:

     

    Another shooting.
    Still more lives lost, more wounded.
    Still too many guns.

    Too many shooters
    that should never own a gun,
    can still get a gun.

    Stop protecting the
    guilty by hiding them 'midst
    all the innocent.

    Americans own
    way too many guns, (It's true!)
    Way too many guns.

     

    ---

     

     


    Weekends never end,
    The beer's free and sex sublime ...
    I know, in my dreams.

     

     


    ---

     

     

     

    James Joyce had no choice,
    baby wanders Nighttown and
    cries, "Haiku-chee-ku."


    ---

     

     

     

    On the bus ride home,
    he reached into his pocket,
    and found her love note.

     

     


    ---

     

     

     


    Fine fettles of fish,
    fancily filleted, feed five ...
    flounders feast filling.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

     

    The worker began
    rummaging through his tool-box,
    looking for pliers.

     

     

     

     


    ---

     

     

     


    blue serge suits haven’t
    gotten better. The truth is,
    they’ve gotten worsted.


     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


    Shuttered cottages.
    Settled dust on empty chairs.
    Light peeks through windows.

     

     

     


    ---

     

     

     

     


    Chatting with strangers,
    finding commonalities,
    makes the world seem small.

     

     

     


    ---
     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    An angel’s blessing,
    cleanses souls and awakens
    hearts to receive love.

     

     

     

     

    ---


     

     

     

    Anguish and remorse
    when embraced by solitude,
    will shed bitter tears.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     
     

     

     

    Waiting for the dawn,
    I lie in somber darkness,
    replaying the past.

     

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


     

    To friends, be loyal,
    to enemies, forgiving …
    Siblings? Persevere.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     


    She was of good faith
    and she did all the right things,
    still, she felt empty.

     

     

     

     


    ---


     

     

     

    in his cubbyhole,
    a writer pecks his keyboard …
    inspiration strikes!


     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


    In a second mug,
    he pours himself three fingers,
    of ten year old scotch.
     
     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


    Open up your mind,
    free your thoughts from tyranny.
    let your dreams escape.

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

    tanka haiku:

     

    How do the living
    deal with the dying, and not
    get stuck in their realm?
     
         It’s difficult, as we must
         tread lightly ’round Life’s edges.

     

     


    ---

     

     

     

    Whispering bridesmaids,
    gossip ’bout the men at the
    bachelor party.

     


    ---

     

     

     

     

     

     


    Two little dogs rush
    onto the elevator ….
    then, ... the door closes!

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

    If you want the world
    to be your oyster, it helps
    to know how to shuck.
     

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

     
     
    Waiting by the door,
    a shy young girl fidgets with
    her yellow wrist-band.

     

     

     

     

    ---
     

     

     
     
     
    On a cloudy day
    with intermittent rain, a
    laugh may still break through.
     
     

     

     

     
    ---


     

     

     

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

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

    double haiku:

     

    He sees kids at play
    and represses sadness at
    not having children.

    Sitting in the park,
    he looks at ducks and swallows,
    wishing he could fly.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     


    A yellow balloon
    dances in a cloud-less sky
    and we’re all children.

     
     


    ---
     

     


     
    Fridays, after work,
    She really lets her hair down,
    And dances till dawn.

     

     

     
     


    ---

     

     

     

     

     
    tanka haiku:

     

    Those that can not deal
    with their friend’s adversities,
    fear their own weakness.

        But smooth sailing weakens sailors
        while stormy weather breeds strength.

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

     


    When all around you
    things are erupting, it helps
    to take a long view.

     

    (This week in 79AD ... Vesuvius erupted.)

    Painting:  "Herculanum, August 23, year 79" by Hector Leroux (1881)

    ---

     

    The Woman in Gold ...
    Those that admire, sometimes
    conspire ... (
    'Nuff said!' )

     

    Painting:  "The Woman in Gold"  - Gustav Klimt.

     

    ---

     

     

    Do you spend your days
    mopping up calamities?
    or creating them?
     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

    Willows in the wind,
    gently swaying back and forth,
    like sleepy dancers.
     
     
     
     
     
    ---
     
     
     
     
    Troubles never last …
    Like cream poured into coffee,
    They’ll soon swirl away.
     
     
     
     
    ---

     

     

    ---

     


    tanka haiku:

     

    My dog, Christopher,
    a beagle of character,
    Came when I was 5

       and left when I was 20.
       We shared lots of adventures.

     

    * This week included National Dog Day.  Christopher was an older beagle around the time this photo was taken. We got him as a puppy in 1955 and he lived until 1970. We were told his name was Goldie, but my sister and I decided to name him after St. Christopher. It turned out he was a pure-breed, so my dad, on a lark in 1955, went down to the AKC to register him. The American Kennel Club wouldn't take his name as Christopher, however, because they thought it was too plain and easily confused with other dogs, so my dad registered him officially as "Happy Herman of Lostbrook",   Lostbrook Road being the street in West Hartford that we lived on at the time.  Christopher was given to us by my mother's godfather, who was an advertising executive in NYC for many years. He drove up from Florida with Christopher in the back seat of his Buick.  "Uncle Ed" knew Sherman Billingsley, who owned the Stork Club, and the story goes that Christopher was one of the puppies from a litter from one of Mr. Billingsley's beagles.  The story also goes that Christopher was traumatized by someone in uniform when, as a puppy, he flew on an airplane.  That is supposedly why he barked at anyone in uniform; the mailman, the milk man or even my father's brother, Brad, who was an Army Officer.  ... but never mind that.  In the early years, we kept a box in the garage, as Christopher enjoyed roaming the neighborhood and returning with items swiped from the kids on the block like doll's heads and rubber balls, etc. He also liked to eat pies that were cooling on window ledges. Other than that, he was a very good dog. When Christopher's body began to fail, it came at the same time my father was fighting a losing battle with cancer. It was only a few months before he himself died that my dad had to take Christopher to the vet and have him put down. I was away at college at the time, so I could only imagine how tough that must have been for my dad. The house in this photo was the one that was cut into the side of a hill, and my dad built a kind of overhead zip line for Christopher. so he could get some exercise, but not run wild through the neighborhood.  I don't know if you can see it in the photo or not, but he was tied to it when this photo was taken. 

     

     

    ****

     

    Comments

    a day in August

    the heat was never-ending

    Mom made lemonade


     

    Good one, Oxy!!

     

    Mom made lemonade
    Dad worked on the truck, and I
    held the monkey wrench.

    When we took a break
    we listened to the ballgame,
    Mom made sandwiches.

     


     


    Thank you for the lovely haikus.


    Thanks, trking!

     

    Behind a closed door,
    underneath the sheets, we try
    to come together.


    I pinned my hair up,

    looked at myself in the glass

    and wondered what else.

    Were my cheeks too pale?

    My lips too thin and pasty?

    Fearful eyes gazed back.

    The brush in my hand,

    I hesitated to choose

    between me and him ...


    Excellent haiku triplet, Missy!  
    (Here's an unsolicited last line alternative that might also work;  'See him or stay home?' )

     

    The sober mirror
    flaunts my discrepancies and
    glues them in my brain.
    .
     


    I was trying to express a woman attempting to transform herself for a man via a mirror, and feeling totally out-of-self. Though I like your substitution, it's doesn't convey my point.

    PS - try to be understanding of Peracles ... a pencil to the testicles likely affects a guy.


    Pencil to the lobes

    Is autotrepanation.

    The balls? Just piercing.

    Wouldn't change his stance

    On romance? She gave him a

    Piercing lance. I do.


    I do? So do I.

    Refusing to change stances

    diffuses the lance.


    Yes, I totally got what you were trying to say.  You said it perfectly.  Forgive me for trying to tweak your vision. 

    When a pencil's shoved
    in your testicles, you'll yell,
    "TICONDEROGA!!"
     

     


    Waltzing Matilda,

    Waxing nostalgic

    over the Flying Walensa Brothers

    dancing the Watusi on the wire.

    Late & ingrate

    I appreciate the abatement

    of deadlines, of statement,

    of every minor spate

    Nonsensicle like a tonsil

    Irreverant like a sponge

    A pencil to the testicle

    Cross the checkout line he lunged

    Monday morning

    Sunday's whoring

    Has left me unhinged

    Should be tired

    But my plied earth

    Is piled up where I've binged

    If you expect me to work

    Under these conditions

    Must pay me in roasted pigeons

    Larks tongue under glass

    Smooth style and panache

    If you believe me to be

    Out of bounds, full of impropriety

    I'll leave you to bespoke

    The last butt of the joke

    So I'll raise a toast to thee

    Bring up a ghost or three

    A twisted homily

    Lacking in comity

    A freckled calumny

    To curse me back to sleep


    Okay ... First, it's the Flying Wallendas  or the Flying Karamazov Brothers.  pick one.

    Second, this is the haiku section you've wandered into.  These 'poems' are not haiku.

    Third,  I think you can do a lot better than this.

     

    Thanks.

     


    Lech Walesa is upset you don't support Solidarnosc. And haik you too - I took literally minutes of my precious time to present this inspired (though since fired) standard fare. And 3rd, I'm sure if you break it into 5-7-5 it's teh awesome - where's the paginator around here? Gotta do everything by hand? 'n forth, did I mention my mother's kidney operation? How can you be ruff on me at a time like this?

    The Pharisees crowed

    Bout the stories I'd foretold

    I guess they weren't sold :-(

    The kids next door stoled

    The stuff I'd been holding for

    You. So don't complain.


    So, hit the deck, Lech! 
    I'm not being ruff on you
    I'm being patient. 

    Your precious time's not
    worth the luminous dial
    that it's painted on.

    But never mind that ...
    The purpose of all this is
    to make smiles, not sneers.


      .
     

     


     


    Sniggers, not chiggers.

    Guess after all it figgers

    I made up tiggers.


    Pooh on your figger,
    Milne made up Tigger, AND that
    honey pot digger.

     

     

     


    Now Eeyore is sore,

    Why did you have to ignore

    His contributions? Sulk.


    Eeyore has a tail
    to nail and a tale to tell,
    Piglet rings Pooh's bell.
     


     


    In Suthurn climes (mine)

    Nail has 2 beats: nay-uhl.

    Tails get beat oft.


    Talking with strangers
    seeing I did not get it
    let me know my size.
     


    Let me know my size,

    but please keep in mind that I'm

    constantly stretching.


    We must stay away from strangers, and no one is stranger than me. hahahahah

    I am waiting for tomorrow. I am hand writing these days. Better that.

    I don't even know why i react to this. hahahahah

    Oh yeah, he was talking about strangers.

    I got grandkids. Keep them away from strangers. 


    What's up tomorrow?

    I hand-write things all the time,

    but then can't read them!


    I PRINT MISSY.

    It is easier that way. hahahahah


    Why do you print me?

    It would seem easier to

    use the alphabet! ;-)


    Serial writers
    might find it easier to
    use the Alpha-Bits.

     


     


    The best bits are the

    Last bites, the last word is the

    Most absurd. Da-da?


    The prince cast a spell.

    The prints last a spell, due to

    New copy writes, amirite?


    I dunno, the flow

    that makes me glow's far beyond

    the status quo (wink).


    Twinkle twinkle lit-

    tle asterisk, how I won-

    der how 2 answer  (*this)


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