MrSmith1's picture

    Another Star-Spangled Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


    Here's this week's heap of haikus:

    4th of July-ku:  

    The rockets' red glare,
    bombs bursting in air, gave proof
    that fireworks are cool.

    (3rd line re-write for the diphthong challenged:  "fireworks are cool.")



     tanka haiku:

    John Fluegel played fife,
    Tobias Giltner fought, in
    The Revolution.
    Here's to our ancestors who
    fought for our Independence.

    Tobias Giltner and John Flugel were two of my ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War.   There were also members of the Phippenny and Hammond families in my tree that also fought as well as members of the Smith family on my mother's side.  As far as I can tell, my father's Smith family came down to Ohio from Canada, although, if I recall correctly, some of the Burgoons on my father's side also fought.



    At his wife's urging,
    He posed with her step-father.
    Happy July 4th!

    (Photo circa 1920.  My maternal grandfather and step-great-grandfather.)




    Summers of my youth
    seem so distant now ... only
    memories remain.

    (mid-1950's ... me and my mom at the beach.)




    A day at the beach
    in the old days; more like a
    wet pajama fest.

    (circa 1917: My maternal grandparents are third and fourth from the left.)




    On July 4th of
    1903, two boys posed
    for my Facebook page.


    (My maternal grandfather is on the right)




    There was a time when
    waving striped thing-a-ma-jigs
    was quite a fun thing.




    When you're at the beach
    with your best friend, you let her
    carry the shovel.




    That summer, I learned
    two things; to whistle and how
    to blow bubble gum.




    Toshiro lit the
    firecracker while his sisters
    watched with excitement.





    tanka haiku:


    Two days out and the
    Er-i-e is a'risin' ...
    Whiskey's gettin' low ...

    Scarcely think I'll get a drink
    till we get to Buffalo.


    (198 years ago, July 4, 1817, work began on the Erie Canal. )





    I wandered along
    the tow path of the canal
    'til I found New Hope.






    Hot dogs on the grill
    burgers on the patio ...
    blame the clumsy chef.





    If you're wondering
    why you can't find a seat ... it's,
    a bit confusing.

    The work of artist Doris Salcedo created from more than 1,500 wooden chairs 





    tanka haiku:


    When you define the
    world in a limited way,
    change will upset you.

        Know that possibilities
        are endless ... and God did that.





    Was bound for glory,
    then I got waylaid by Life,
    now I'm bound for bed.






    double haiku:


    I advocate but
    I do not insist.  All hearts
    will change when ready.

    The flag that I plant
    is but a marker, that says,
    seeds were buried here.




    He buttoned a fly,
    which, he thought, more manly than
    zippering a moth.




    Procreation blues:
    Long lost memories scratching
    our id's bids for kids.






    Stored in the garage,
    like the sleds on which we slid,
    broken toys we hid.




    With tiny fingers,
    reaching for ten tiny toes,
    she learned her 'piggies.'




    Like a fog horn's drone,
    my GPS annoys while
    giving directions






    Echoes of sunrise,
    fade from the bluing sky; the
    moon goes back to sleep.








    Sweet aggravation,
    and a love that kicks my rear,
    feels like home to me.





    His life was a mess,
    but his imagination
    was immaculate.






    Will you ever wake?
    Or will you dream forever?
    Will you ever know?






    On a Summer’s day,
    an old jalopy sputters
    down a dusty road.






    A starry night, wind
    rustles the dandelions.  
    We cautiously kiss.





     As the dawn breaks, a
    boat with peeling paint, drifts on
    the shimmering lake.






    What is on your mind,
    the weight of the world ... or the
    lightness of being?




    A cool Summer night;
    he whistles a sad song as
    he strolls down the street.




    Pertinent scrawls on
    University walls are
    "Art" ... to some degree.





    When you feel you've been
    thrashed, trashed and stashed away, you
    don't sashay, you pray.







    Aided by a breeze
    a cardboard cup strolls along
    West End Avenue.






    There's a sweetness that
    lives in my lover's eyes, which
    melts my fears away.






    I am trapped in a
    universe I can't control.  
    Worse, I'm a cockroach.




    Life has informed me,
    Life has deformed me, yet it
    hasn't reformed me.


    Happy Fourth of July to all you Patriots out there ...

    Remember, if it feels Revolutionary, your head may just be spinning.










    I hope everyone enjoys their holiday week end. I plan to sew  pj's. 

    Many people would say, "Sew what ..."  But I know that sewing Peanutbutter and Jelly can be a sticky, difficult and thankless task.   Try using rye bread, it holds the stitches better than wheat ... and thank you for doing the seamingly impossible this holiday weekend.

    Whenever someone said, "So?", my best friend would quip, "Sew buttons on ice and watch 'em slide off!". I've no idea what that means, but it's stuck with me like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich ever since.

    HA!   I Love that!!  "Sew buttons on ICE and watch 'em slide off!!" 

    I have to have them made by Monday morning when a grand child leaves for summer camp. He was given and opportunity to go.  

    "PJs for Summer Camp?  Wow, you must be Rich!" ... My mind goes back to the Boy Scout camp I went to in my youth, which was located on a remote part of Long Island; Camp Baiting Hollow.   We didn't do PJs, we slept in our underwear in tents that had two cots per tent with wood floors ... The camp did have toilet facilities and showers in a central location if you absolutely could not do without modern plumbing ... and it did have a dining hall where they served kool-aid for every meal, but it also had trails and swimming and skeet shooting and all sorts of boy scout type activities.  I hadn't thought about that in years.  Thanks.  Funny thing; I found out a few years ago, that one of the family's in my tree that I had been most curious about, my mother's maternal grandfather's family, had owned property around the turn of the 20th century, in a town very close to this Boy Scout camp.  Weird.   Sometimes I feel I am re-tracing steps, trying to re-discover my roots without even knowing it ...

    This is church camp with cabins for boys and cabins for girls.  I am making him some sleep pants and shorts. He can wear a tee shirt with them.  I found a sleeping bag at goodwill for $4.99 that was in excellent condition.  That way he won't have to make a bed.  I am sending a light blanket and top sheet so he don't have to sleep in the bag just on top of it. The sheet will keep the bugs off of him.  He will be on the Suwannee River.  He leaves Monday morning and will be back Friday night. it will be 4 nights.  It will be fun for him. 

    Hey, enjoy your fourth.

    What do they mean by the "fourth"?

    Maybe the fourth word.

    tanka haiku:  

    You can March forth on
    March fourth and even ask, "May
    One?" on May 1, but ...
        You can't ever drink a Fifth
        of July on a Sunday.

    Cause June busted it?

    It's August Wilson.   (It's August's will, son.)

    I ate the eighth but thtill can't get rid of the taytht.

    April, Lavigne is deMilo.

    Mile after de Milo, trial after trilo bytes, we walked in single filo dough and scaled new culinary heights. Better to Lavigne, uff, alone.

    Oy.  That's really bad.   Congrats, PP.   You given me a new low to shoot for.   hahahaha.

    Then try a dish of Jimmy Fallon Dough.

    I told the prostitute to get up, so I look forward to the horizon.

    I can't get over you, dear, so do you mind answering the phone?

    Boy, were they angry!

    Extra show, but no more dough.

    The Rockettes' red glare.

    You are sadly mistaken, Oky, if you think you are going to bait me into doing that old "Jose can you see?"  joke.   I can't do it.  Donald Trump bought it and will be delivering it in a speech tonight in New Hampshire.

    Oh, we haven't even started to grovel in the dirt. Wait till I hit my specialty, Volgon poetry slam. Haiku being a most hazardous sub-category, numismatic dyspepsia a particular concentration.

    nugneH!  First of all, do you mean Vogon, Volgan or Vulcan? .... You sound as if you are describing a Klingon Poetry Slam.  Anyone who confuses Klingons with Vulcans does not deserve access to the internet.   Secondly, this is a thread which strives for beauty, not babble, delicate, high-minded expression without pandering to the Bulwer-Lytton fans of mediocre meanderings.  In the spirit of fun, the Haikulodeon will put up with only so much brazen banality.    Sir, you dishonor our work by coming here, insulting me and the nature of haikus and figuratively pulling the curtains down and scribbling obscenities on the walls.  With all due respect, PP, go make a literary pig sty and wallow in its ugliness somewhere else, for you have worn out your welcome here.  Good day.  

    P.S.  If you collect stamps by swallowing them, no wonder you have indigestion.

    Sorry. did I type that out loud or just think it?  

    Edit to add:  I just re-read this and realized it might be misunderstood.  It was meant to be a posting that poked fun at the way people get offended so easily on the internet and then post an over-the-top response.  Sorry if I offended anyone, esp. PP, for real.  

    Damn Greeks.


    Damp Creeks.    Stupid Auto-Correct.

    I am glad for the edit cuz I'm never sure about anything. Now I can just enjoy that good run of word smithin' that was above it.

    If there's a soul on this site who would totally grok your comment, it's Peracles.

    Not to mention "delicate, high-minded expression without pandering ..." - around here? Dead snark giveaway.

    What's that Greek doing in a delicate essence?

    Understanding of some
    mediocre meanders
    is why I like Dag ...

    Wait. That is NOT what
    I meant ... What I meant was ... well
    you people "grok" me.

    The Mediterranean backstroke.

    trying new dance craze 

    the Mediterranean

    Backstroke in the sun

    Delicate essence
    is what Greeks do with shampoo;
    Lather, rinse, repeat.

    lather, rinse, repeat;

    just follow the directions;

    tell me what to do 

    Beware Greeks bearing GIFs - you've been warned.

    To quote A Fish Called Wanda: "Vulgarian? You're the vulgarian, you fuck." Actually I was referring to *Voglon* poetry (damn Android autocorrect), as any serious student of literature recognizes the 13th century Bulgarian priest's immense influence on the early Renaisance in Black Sea trade routes with his introduction of circadian rhythms and diatonic polyphony to poetry, postal delivery, taffy pulling, and damn near anything he could get his hands on, he is believed to have inspired Vlad the Impaler, Voglon brought a ritualistic element to post-Byzantine literature that used long-duration extensions of minor subtones in both music and poetry that would distend the esophagous unnaturally,leaving it susceptible to subharmonics that would both create hypnotic cacophonies as well as strangle the singer or orator through gradual crumpling of the muscles all the way to the diaphragm. This would be mostly unremarkable, except the harmonics could be controlled to create a sympathetic resonance in the audience, causing what might be described as an early "Jonestown" effect while leaving the performer unscathed. Described as both the most painful way to die (a proper Voglonian symphony or simple Haiku both approximated 24 hours of an agonizing pre-Lennon "Day in the Life") and one of the most beautiful artforms and yes, efficacious diurnal postal delivery for a region slow to figure out the clock, the Voglon Distensions were met with disfavor by the new Ottoman regime, and slowly fell into disuse, with a minor revival when a band of Joycian enthusiasts thought it sounded "more Gaelic than Gaelic". Fortunately for the sake of Western Civilization, this perverse lot was largely wiped out during the fight for Irish independence.

    I take back my apology.  

    I think I'm distending.

    I thought this was the never distending story.

    The best distentions of Mice and Men...

    the best distensions

    the babble of written words

    cloud over haiku

    Better to burn out than dysphase away, mai tai hairspray.

    yell hairspray hairspray

    watching the street crowd react

    looking for hairspray


    Reports reduced to
    watching the street crowd react;
    Journalism? No!


    Reports reduced to


    shreds of paper, confetti,


    nothing left to read

    Mental disorders
    are all in your head, hair-sprays
    are all ON your head.

    I wear my emotions on my sleeve,

    my weaknesses down on my knees,

    my psychoses are my pet peeves,

    and behind a trail of my beliefs.

    You think I'm schizo, whether on or in,

    but I'm quite certain I'm OUT of my mind.

     Nut-so or Schizo
    it strains at the wits so,
    I use Ju-jitso

    and behind a trail


    of my beliefs, overgrown grass


    bending to a breeze

    Nice. but check your syllable count. 

    I count 5-7-5


    of my beliefs, overgrown grass  - 8

    1,  2,    3,4         5,6, 7  -   8


    P. S.  Why are the replies suddenly not full screen and showing up squeezed so weirdly to the far right margin?




    As Alex Trebek would say, you've run out of time (and space)

    As Alex Trebek
    would caution you, replies should
    be in haiku form.

    Haiku is IQ Beat to some stranger's rhythm - 2nd hand futon

    (Sigh)  Second hand futon?

    moving out, he put
    his desk on craigslist with his
    2nd hand futon.




    bottle rockets just

    bombs bursting in air, gave proof

    I detest fireworks

    like walking a beam,

    the tow path of a canal

    requires some focus

    carry the shovel

    carry the rake and hand trowel

    with the garden gloves

    with no one aboard,

    boat with peeling paint drifts on

    its own journey home

    These are all lovely, trope.  Nice work, indeed!


    You must be like me.
    Or mostly for the most part.
    That is how it is.

    She trembled before the show,
    knowing the cost of the play.


    Dark dreams connect me
    to your crazy bright patterns:
    Words stuck on your shirt.

    Listening starts out of time;
    Late, but just behind the words.

    Laugh with me, honey,

    let's just feel the lemonade

    and ride the porch swing.

    The mosquitos are smiling ...

    moonlight glaze upon our skin.

    Sweet and wonderful, Missy!!

    Riding the porch swing,
    we kiss while listening for
    your father's footsteps.

    The moonlight creates
    shadows which tease my desire
    your allure is pure.

    the moonlight creates

    it's own world across the field

    shifting all night long

    so much commotion,

    let's just feel the lemonade

    think of nothing now 

    Memories ...

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