The frog car

driving in the mountains
in and out, out and in -
back and forth
swaying the little Twingo
the frog car -
from one side to the other
often in the middle
croaking the horn
I became the frog princess.

Tramontanian past

My childhood spooks
because born by the sea
only a few days a year
the water was calm.
In the village of my dreams
- the tramontane -
I return to storms of my past.

Sad haiku

Prostrated person
hiding her face in childhood
neglects her duty.

Candy haiku

Return to childhood
eating odd candy gallore
very little sleep.

Garden

My firend's garden is in bloom
A garden tended for, cared for, loved
in the old country
My yard is different in the new country
it is a practical garden, a little less tended to...
perhaps too big?

Klampenborg Station

My compatriot
an old poet
Johannes V. Jensen
wrote on a trip
about Memphis Station.
This lurked in my mind
because I now wait for trains
in my country of my birth
just like the poet waited for
6 hours once in Memphis Tennesee.

My childhood's station
a beauty?
A reality where I found
the world.
From there I travelled to the city
from there I travelled the orb.

Klampenborg Station.

Under your old waiting roofs
of wrought iron
chiselled swung holders
I dreamt in my youth
of the earth I wanted to see.
Yet now when I return once
in a while
it is you I yearn for
a symbol of my virginal reveries.

Klampenborg station.

Your pavement
your rusty timber framed walls
your airy half sheltered colonade
with a glimpse of the ocean
when facing to town
everything
the sphere is hidden
in your old buildings
that once were brand new
signifying progress.
Today in our global warming
you still reminds me
that collectively we should
visit you and what you stand for.

Klampenborg Station
in your tracks my soul rests
especially
when the trains are delayed.

A Sunday walk

Childhood memories
of special happy days
with kids in tow
walking seeing everything
anew.
Dreams of walking
with grandson
showing him
the same I enjoyed
twice.

Tivoli Haiku

Tivoli Gardens
Sunday in May full of tulips
65000.

True road haiku

Road of memory
my childhood and pubescence
strangely still unchanged.

A couple

parallel runs of mundane tasks
one at home in a huge nation
the other at home in an old country
bound by feelings beyond belief

blank-void

out of the blank stare
lures a new insight
out of the void
spouts a cornucopia
...

The Id and I

Is the me Id?

I am the incorrigible me.
I cannot run away from me
like it or not - the me is I.

But I can change - circumstances can switch!
The core of me is the core of Id.
I can evolve - the me can evolve.

I absolve the me from whatever the me has done
alas, at night the me tells me what I'd wrong.

Parallelogram

I lift my head
somebody else bends it
I slurp a cup of coffee
somebody slurps a cup of tea
I pet my dog - someone pets a cat
I scratch my back- someone scratches her belly.

Someone makes her family dinner
I make my family breakfast
Someone takes a shower - I take out the trash
Somebody tends to their aging parent
I tend to a grave
Somebody cries at the war in their land
I cry with them.

Gerbils and poets

Gerbils must destroy
that cardboard roll
in their confinement cage.
Poets must describe
that feeling they have
inside their inner hide.
Gerbils and poets
are passionate gonzos.

Bra haiku

Nipples are sexy
brassieres covers them primly
bothersome fashion.

to a special man

you humor my humor
my idiotic idiosyncrasies
my crazy quirkiness
every day - always
love or lunacy?

May Morning

Mood for mellow music
"Moon River" on the player
May gray morning
somewhere on our planet
maybe my endorphins
will actively call me to dance
cause the news certainly do not.

Seussical stab

Out of the zoo
belly dancing Baloo
to my fancy kazoo
danced with a Roo
twisted with a Moo
smiled seeing YOU!

Lunch haiku

Concerts at lunch hour
is refreshing and noted
Youth - I applaud you.

On going to hear local college students'
lunch hour concert.

Clown's haiku

A clown among us
expressed gently a lost skill
laugh and know thyself.

More on Vigga the Volva

Vigga Volva digesting news
shuddered silently
wrinkling her bright brow.
Broaching her toils of work
she mumbled humbly
T'is is not going to be easy!
How can philosophical people
just gerrymanderingly accept
this whole wretched war.

Started on false fear
of invasion of the island
an islet so isolated
that another awesome attack
would be irrationally likely
like the one one scenic September.

Fear is a moving mover
and a shimmering shaker
therefore plain people believed
because the powerful powers posed
that this was their fulsome fear.

Ach, the way Vigga the Volva
warily sees the solemn situation.
It was an explanatory excuse
to get the weary wheels going.
Signs of economic decline
before the wary war was declared
slumpingly slither into
forgotten memories falsely
accused that it is not a war
about ominous burning oil
but about frightening freedom.

Volva Vigga shook her maidenly mane
and twirled a twist of her auburn locks
muttered while meandering
between the mighty moss
in the dark shade of the gleaming glade.

Why do Gaia's folks not adhere to
sensible sense and see twisting tales
for what they honestly hold?
Where was Sophia, her sensible sister?

Vigga the Volva was sorry
because Sophia had swearingly left -
not to return to the glimmering glade
for as long as the pesky people
who would not want sensational sensibility
and had forgotten all about
everlasting emissary enduring Erato.

Vigga the Volva haphazardly hastened
her nightly necromantic Nordic steps,
she was late for her throbbing toils
digging in the dire dirt for winding weeds
around her stout seedling planted
a full moon before Beltane's ballyhoo.

She started to weep wearily but well-spent
tears dropped daintily on the startling sprout.
Every tear every night reminded
Vigga the Volva of the many many people
who died for naught but hatred and gain.

If all the feisty females would go and cry
every eve and refuse their menfolk
the jubilant joys of conjoinment:
Lighthearted lusty Lysistrata.
Mayhap the menfolk would moan
and give up fearsome fulsome fights.
Although the pensive protagonist
would not biddingly bet on it.

Vigga the Volva lifted her head
crowned with beautiful auburn locks
of earthen eery shimmering sheen
and stared out in the dull darkness.
She stole another anxious look
down on her symphonic sycamore's
sprightly growing sprig.
It accepted her tears and dewdrops
from her almond-greyish eyes.

Vigga the Volva was going to toil
tending the newborn Yggdrasil.
Turning her back walking away
she would return the next eve -
her chilly cheeks hurt hauntingly
from her dried saline drops.

Muffled haiku

Presidential thought
musters civic correctness.
Muffled mask of mind.

Light

Crazy comments
from friend
lighten literally
dull day
Thousand thanks.

Again Elincalime!

De rêver

...un point de mon rêve
existe peut-être
et puis cela change
a un cauchemar
on ne sait jamais
si on rêve ou si on vit...

Je m'excuse haiku

Did I hit a spot
beyond what you tolerate?
Not with vile intent!

Shoes & society

Chinese binding equals
concubines or consorts

high heels - red lacquer
hieroglyphs of hookers

in certain cultures
women cannot wear
red foot wear for fear
of real branding

shoe shopping reveals
society's labels of ladies

narrow spiked heels
pertain to keeping
a choking reign on
wrenches, babes, gals

sports shoes occupy
equal space in few stores

observation only
shoe solution - alas - nil.

Timely haiku

Time keeping device
howls unheard in mi(d)st of night
Nevermore's delight.

May Day

May Day
hey day
dancing
prancing
around
abound
in flowers
of powers
unknown
full grown
spring moon
so soon
joys end
life's bend
black cat
begat
loon's play
on
May Day.