Here's this week's heap of haikus:

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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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triple haiku:

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait ... then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait ... then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait ... then give up
and now I can't sleep.

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Summer colds are like
crazy ex-girlfriends;  they're both
unpredictable.

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"Haberdasher's Hopes!"
"Picnics in Cluttered Canoes ..."
(Plays closed Out-of-town.)

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 Like a garden rose,
the nurse showed up in the Spring ...
and pricked my 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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a tanka haiku warning:

Don't wear pink spandex
on your Summer vacation
it will cause riots.

Cops will come, then you'll get 'pinched',
and do a stretch in prison.

 

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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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The moist earth gave way
to one insistent daisy,
and now, fields of them.

 

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double haiku:

Swimming with the tide
may take you into oceans
of profound regret.
 
Lying on the beach,
however, may burn your hide,
so ya takes your choice.

 
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When the tide rolls in,
a strolling avocet should
ignore reflections.

 

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

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Sometimes you should just
dig a hole in the sand and
watch the waves come in.

 

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

 

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You can not always
turn the world upside down, but
you can turn yourself.

 

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

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Miss Otis regrets,
when photographing egrets,
there are no secrets.
 

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

 

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Some flowering quince
brighten up my room, while they
taunt my allergies.

 

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The theater went dark;
then flickering images,
danced upon the screen.

 

 

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Without warning, two
Trucks collide near the corner,
Police cars converge.

 

 

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Rhythmic melodies
drift from grandmother's bedroom:
Old 78's!
 

 

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

 

 

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Scars are reminders,
That Life can be risky, but
we can, and will, heal.

 

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Fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the split rail fence
Rain in the forecast.

 

 

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Five thirty AM
on a Summer Sunday morn,
life is damned near per...

 

(alternate take:)

 

Early Sunday morn,
the soft yellow sunlight mutes
harsh realities.

 

Edward Hopper (1882-1967), Early Sunday Morning, 1930.

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In a stately room,
a book lies open on a
mahogany desk.

 

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In their living room,
a conversation started
in jest, ends badly.

 

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He once walked two miles
through the wind and pouring rain
just to see her smile.

 

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hanging limply from
an overhead pipe; one sad,
deflated balloon.

 

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As a precaution,
I wrap my arms around her,
then share the sad news.

 

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Two glasses sit on
an old oak table, emptied
of kumquat liqueur.

 

 

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There's so much music
in this world we inhabit,
why aren't we dancing?

 

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Ev'ry stream that flows
through a lush valley, first knows
a barren mountain.

 

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Capitalism
rocks, Socialism reggaes,
and Monarchies waltz..

 

 

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I used to wonder
what makes the world go 'round. Now
I know; it's wonder.

 

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A faraway look
does not demand great distance;
just hope for nearness.

 

 

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Please try to keep your
imaginary distance.
my folks are watching.

 

****