Here's this week's heap of haikus:



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A stone partition
never stops my neighbor’s dog
from barking at me.


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Borne upon the wind,
Forrest's feather dips and twirls;
Capricious Nature.


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Know this, my sweet child,
precious are the memories,
that some day you’ll have.



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In a corner, sits
a patient wooden desk that
waits for me to write.

 

( This wooden desk has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. First, in my childhood homes and then in my apartments here in NYC. At one point, my mom stripped it and painted it blue, then later, stripped it again and left it in an unfinished state, which is how I've kept it for almost 40 years. The photo on the left is of my first apartment in Long Island City in 1975, when, as you can see, I was so poor, my furniture consisted mostly of this desk, a foot locker, a couple of packing crates, and a couple of plastic chairs and sofa, and some wooden chairs I scrounged from the street or from the Volunteers of America thrift store. The other photo is of the desk as it looks today, sitting in a corner of my apartment in Manhattan, next to a keyboard which my arthritic fingers have yet to master. )

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9/11 haikus
 

(This Image for 9/11 courtesy of my friend, Jennifer Dye Visscher's Art Apple a Day Project to raise AS Awareness.)

We will read 'the names'
as long as it matters. It
will always matter.


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... then the buildings fell;
our world decimated ... but ...
heroes would emerge.



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9/11 - tanka haiku + haiku
 

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Heard when raising joists
on the terrier’s doghouse;
‘Beam is up, Scottie!’



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Bright red begonias,
offer quite a contrast
to those yellow mums.


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Marble-sized hailstones
bounced off air conditioners
in the East Village.


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tru-ku: Ev'ry Flea Market
has old folks who'll wrestle you
for Fiestaware.


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double haiku:

One-eyed man met a
one-armed gal; she was leggy,
he was two-fisted.

They went to Vegas,
where he was blind-sided, and
she was a bandit.


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Stop ... Listen to me.
Nothing   will   last.   Got it?   Good.
Now go out and play.


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Whistling was the
first iPod; it makes music
where-ever we go ...


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We will persevere.
We'll wake again tomorrow
and tend our gardens.


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Wishing for rainbows
is fine, but refracting light
through a prism ... works.


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Fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the split rail fence
cows stare at salt licks.



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Thoughts run through my head,
in-congruent images
chasing after them.


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Moon behind the clouds,
fields aglow in bluish light;
foxes prowling!


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As dusk turns to dark,
Nature negotiates to
bring back morning's light.


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Torn between lovers,
he was not sure what to do,
then ... he beheld her.”



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Sprawled on an ice floe,
you tend to forget that you’re
heading for the falls.



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Idyllic dreamscapes;
lush, green mountains still surround
the Hudson River



(Painting by John Frederick Kensett (American, 1816–1872) | Hudson River Scene )
 

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The New Yorker sat,
in his Oklahoma dorm,
drinkin’ three-two beer.




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She's out of booze, so
dreams will have to be enough
to loosen his tongue.



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You know t'ain't right to
treat me like you do ... It's a
lowdown cryin' shame.



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