Here's this week's heap of haikus: 

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

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

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With hands o’er hearts and
eyes on the flag, a bugle
plays a mournful “Taps”.

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

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His band of brothers,
on his mind and in his heart,
remembered and mourned.

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

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A most peaceful sound
soft rain falling from above
on a quiet night.

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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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Oh sweet Art Nouveau!
Rounder than rococo and
more square than deco.

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It's sad when modern
becomes passe; it means the
future is finished.

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Would Mary Cassatt
drive a Passat? I get the
impression she'd not.

(Happy Would-have-been Birthday on May 22, to Mary Cassatt)

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There was a woman
I loved not wisely nor well
such a fool was I

 

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I am no sweetheart,
nor husband or dad, I am
a desert cactus.


 

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Friday night routine;
Bacon cheeseburger deluxe ...
Manchester Diner.


 

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Words can get scrambled
when one is won, two is too
shortly, you'll belong.

 

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God's biggest regrets;
He made dinosaurs too big
and men's hearts too small.

 

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Dick's dissipation;
dismal and disappointing,
distant and dismissed.

 

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Auto-correct-ku:

For these are the rhymes
That try men's soup ... and the rhymes
they are a changeling.

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double haiku:

Chrons disease is an
allergy to wristwatches.
on the other hand ...

Crohns disease is an
inflammatory illness
with diff'rent movements.
 

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Fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the barb wire fence,
somewhere, a dog barks.

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In Autumn's dotage,
death's a gentler tiger,
greeted with a smile.
 
 
 
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 Like a garden rose,
the nurse showed up in the Spring ...
and pricked his finger.

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Try imagining
that strangers you encounter,
are friends from past lives.

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 tanka haiku:
 
 

Why defy the wind?
Or swim against the tide? Why
make things so damned hard?

There's but one answer to this ...
It's the path I chose to walk.

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Wanderlust re-born ...
when the circus passed through town,
Now he clowns around.

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A tall vase full of
happy yellow daffodils
assuages anger.

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Five thirty AM,
a Summer Sunday morning,
the smell of bacon.

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Kids were not allowed
in grandfather's library,
but cats wandered in.

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Near the temple of
Dionysus, peonies
plead for one more chance.

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Spring has just arrived,
Earth's re-born, and we rejoice.
Turn, turn, turned once more.
 

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Live a life of love,
look to better angels, carve
your own walking stick.

---

 
When poets can twirl
literary lariats,
they're soon laureates.

---

tanka haiku:

Sunny, Summer days
running through fields, resting 'neath
the shade of an oak.

  Then we ride bikes to the park
  and play baseball 'til dinner.

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Waiting for my ride,
A little boy runs past me,
chased by his nanny.

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Wisps of her fragrance,
Becloud my concentration,
my thoughts are of her.

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In the wilderness,
A frivolous distraction,
Might also eat you.

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Endicott's pear tree,
planted here so long ago,
is still bearing fruit.

(Planted in 1630 near Danvers, MA)

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Enjoy the Memorial Day weekend!