MrSmith1's picture

    A Somewhat Steamy Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




    Here's this week's heap of haikus:



    tanka haiku for 9/11 -
    I pass Ground Zero
    often on my way to work.
    I can not forget.
       The scar has still not healed.  Life
       has not returned to 'normal.'

    (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.


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



    9/11 - tanka haiku + haiku
    ‘Dear Lord, what’s happened?!’
    Shocking. Unbelievable.
    Even now, we weep.
       For we sat and watched evil,
       attempt to kill our spirit.

    But we shall resist,
    We will not yield, nor forget,
    And we will survive.





    Electronic tones
    manufacture melodies.
    Inhumane practice?

    (Cindy Electronium 1959 - by Raymond Scott)





    Autumn in New York,
    leaves crackle underfoot as
    I stroll through the park.



    A sleeping dog guards
    the pumpkin harvest while the
    leaves drift from the trees.


    Sad when Summer ends,
    and the school year starts anew ...
    Said no mom ever.





    Though she pined for him,
    she could not find a way to
    gracefully forgive.




    Clouds surround mountains,
    evergreens anchor the slopes,
    temple bells echo.



    Autumn arrives with
    colorful foliage and
    orchards to harvest.






    He sits quietly
    on a stool in a diner
    and stares at his soup.





    Silent surrender;
    she flops onto the sofa
    and turns on TV.


    I gave you my heart.
    Tuck it in your shirtwaist and
    gaze at it often



    I gave you my heart ...
    and now my blood is pooling.
    Form follows function.






    And so, moving on,
    he gave up all his comforts,
    to find a new path.





    As I fall asleep,
    whispers of memories drift
    through my consciousness ...


    tanka haiku: 


    She found some paper,
    then opened her crayon box
    and began to draw.
       She scribbled wildly, then
       triumphantly, signed her name.






    Down a garden path,
    that leads to a wooden bench,
    I find solitude.






     Then she placed her hand,
    gently on his shoulder, and
    he broke down and sobbed.







    Dropping jaws amongst
    the mystified spectators,
    told him the trick worked.








    She seldom complained,
    was quick with a comeback, so...
    was taken lightly.




     No one is pristine
    by the time they reach sixty
    Life does take a toll.





     Solid evidence
     of who and what we once were
     will get lost in Time.





     If you twist my arm ...
    then my shoulder will pop out ...
    so please ... don't do that.






    You must keep in mind;
    to deteriorate is
    the way of all things.






    double haiku:


    It's three fifteen, and
    wakened from a sad dream, I
    try to clear my head.

    Thoughts of you linger
    and entwine with my day's chores.
    You still haunt my heart.








    You can malinger
    or even procrastinate ...
    long as it gets done.










    Leaves swirled around her,
    tumbling in her wake like
    fawning sycophants.



    Reaching for the moon
    Is an admirable goal.
    Having patience helps.


    (Photograph courtesy Kristina Rebelo)








    We drove through the night
    to see the fall foliage
    mirrored in the lake.







    Through an iron fence,
    I watch autumn leaves fall on
    empty park benches.








    Lying in the sun's
    the universal sign of
    complete contentment.








    The teacher threw a
    book at the sleeping pupil.
    Knowledge can hurt you.






    A quintet of haikus:



    Under a pale sky,
    a man in a hat, sits and
    reads his newspaper.


    As the daylight ebbs,
    the man folds the newspaper,
    gets up, and goes home.


    In the dark of night,
    he lies in bed and ponders
    all that he has read ...


    When he awakes, he
    gets up, finds his hat and grabs
    a new newspaper.


    The mind's the engine,
    that drives our train of thought. We
    must keep feeding it.








    He hikes his socks up,
    she pulls his pants down... In Life,
    things will even out.






    Sucker-punched by thugs,
    smooched by dames, he fired his gat ...
    (He dreams in film noir.)






    There are times when no
    words will suffice, we just need
    to look at flowers.








    tanka haiku:

    We fight our whole lives
    to thrive in the world of our
    parents, only to

    discover that we’re living
    in the world of our children.






    Autumn in New York,
    leaves crackle underfoot as
    I stroll through the park.






    Moon behind the clouds,
    fields aglow in bluish light,
    small foxes prowl.





     Inside his wallet
    was a lonely place to live,
    Single sawbuck sighs.





    In between the lines,
    she'd written stage directions.
    Smart understudy.






    Hark! A noise yonder
    echoes through the dark of night
    Gather the horses!






    The usual flow
    receives the usual ebb ...
    The moon rules the tides.







    Many a great man
    has been brought low by the smell
    of baby powder.






    double haiku:

    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.





    Behind a closed door,
    underneath the sheets, they tried

    to come together.









    Cunning conundrums,
    thoroughly mixed metaphors ...
    twisted conclusions.









    The dark before dawn;
    lonely hearts beat quicker in




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







    Slightly Risque-ku:


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






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






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





    Psychedelic 60's-ku:

    While the Patchouli
    smoldered in his filthy room,
    his mom got incensed.





    When you're old enough
    to stand upon a chair, it's
    time to take a seat.

    (A young MrSmith1  in 1951.)










    A little Autumn to listen to.

    Lovely.  Thanks, trking! 

    You are welcome.  I just thought is was soothing.  A nice change from the arguing that goes on sometimes. 

    I am looking forward to cooler weather.  I get tired of the heat.  It has rained here this morning so it is like a sauna outside. I need to get busy and get some of my Saturday chores done.  I am dragging my feet today.  

    I sent my baby

    A birthday card for her First

    Singing telegram

    I wrote her my take

    You will soon find out that you

    Are the middle child

    And that's just okay

    But you shall always

    Be in the middle of my 

    Heart, my heart will be

    With you, and always

    One year is a mark

    Time goes on and on and on

    I love this girl

    Happy Birthday Jolee Diane!!

    Why do tears come when I read this?

    You remember.

    Jolee Diane indeed! ha

    Enjoy those early birthdays.  Those will be the ones that will stay in your memories. 

    A Singing Telegram!!  Oh DD, you really are such a doting Grandpa!   I can't think of a better thing to say to a middle child than what you wrote here about their being in the middle of your heart. 



    Mr. Smith, they have these cards that 'sing'.

    You open them up and a song appears!

    Some computer thingy.


    We actually have this card shop (how they ever make money on this side of town is beyond me) that has all these singing cards.

    And I thought about the old singing telegrams.

    At any rate, my son and his wife love children and this love is just wonderful.

    I have had the opportunity to watch Mama with her baby. She loves her baby and babies.

    I hope the new one is a boy.

    Is that misogynistic? hahhaahha I do not care! hahhahaah

    ​Anyway, Jolee is just perfect and Precious still loves her. And life is nice.

    It is nice when life is nice?

    And Jolee shall always have a place in the middle of my heart.


    Jolee, Jolee, Jolee

    Joe leeEeeeeee

    Oh ​I beg, don't you mind being the middle child

    Jolee, Jolee, Jolee

    Joe leeEeeeee

    Please don't mind being the middle...Grandchild.

    (Ok I did the chores. Now would some one jump in with the next verse)


    I like Miley better this way then what she has made herself now into. 

    Just delightful!

    Where's the glove?

    Once upon a time, Joan Baez thought Dylan would stick around forever playing folk songs. But people get them itchy feet (& other parts). Diamonds & Rust, eh?

    She's hurting tonight.

    The brother she loves is lost

    inside homelessness.

    But it's too simple,

    too innocent to say he's

    washed inside the dark.

    He walks his own path,

    finds a way to make her laugh;

    even as he cries.

    Wouldn't it be nice

    If we could step back just once

    From now to back then

    All the adult fears

    worries and complications

    turned back to a game.

    Once it was "play right"

    And all we had to risk was

    Losing or be spanked.

    Wouldn't it be nice

    To face the world with support -

    "Mommy, I'm so scared..."

    Blood is thicker than

    Water, and sticks around all

    These tough, trying years.

    You did it again.


    Nicely done. PP.

    Lovely, Missy!

    She knows through her tears
    the brother she loves is lost
    in a haze of drugs.

    feeling so helpless
    is bewildering to her
    she's been strong so long.

    Devastated by
    her own ineffectiveness
    she sits, not moving

    She cries for him now
    and later for herself for
    she knows he is lost.

    lost until and / or
    if ever her brother finds
    the path back to Life.


    he said I love you

    in a yellow subtitle

    so, how does she know?

    Keith Partridge singz it

    Shirley Jones plays tambourine

    Yellow feathers coo

    Shirley Jones could sing
    without help from Partridges ...
    or that stupid bus.

    Sometimes she would lead

    Sometimes she would sing backup

    Danny did the drugs.

    Nice, Oxy!


    'cuz a woman's heart's
    intuitive; subtler
    than a sub-title. 

    Constitution Day

    the date Ramona arrived,

    as well as myself.


    Happy birthday to us, Ramona.



    HA!!  Happy Birthday to ALL of you!!

    Strict interpretists

    Birthed on Constitution Day.

    Original intent?

    Who ya callin' strict?

    A living Constitution

    aches with growing pains.

    People trying to
    form a more perfect union
    must work together.

    Providing for our
    domestic tranquility
    ain't no game of jacks.

    Stripped contortionists

    Constitutionally blocked - 

    Philly bustier? Ding...

    Striped contortionists
    On the other hand, often
    are quite encouraged. 

    A leotard change its
    stripes? spotted the diff'rence right
    away. Some G-string.

    Good one, PP!

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