Tumbling willow haiku?

I tumble over
a wondrous wayward willow
it's a new nightmare.

Pill for everything??

Autumnal sleep
Body needs
Would a pill help?

Seven deadly sins

Vølva Vigga looked at a painted picture
Hieronymus Borsch from anno 1485
wishing she could contemplate it
where it hangs: in the Prado museum.
By now Vigga knew she had committed
one deadly sin: invidia or
envy.

Sitting at her twisted old tree Vigga Vølva
suddenly felt hunger and she tumbled
over her own feet trying to gather nectar
from the busy bees and drinking it devouringly
with a straw. She then thought a terrible thought
She had committed another sin : Gula
Gluttony.

Shaking her head she become irate
why should she not drink this nectar.
Granted it was destined for healing
the sad souls of her little village, but
she had worked so hard in the night
that she needed it. Irate is
wrath.

Calming down she then stretched her
long limbs and thought of her past night
she had been in the arms of Odin
strong, handsome and sensual guy,
old and warn, but knew the femina.
Another sin called luxuria or
lust.

Vigga Vølva with her long auburn hair
then took it upon her self to shake
away the thoughts of sin and walked
in her autumnal wood and came upon
the little brook where she often mirrored
herself. She smiled! Beautiful. Vanitas
Pride.

She sat down, mulled over the fact
that within minute minutes she had committed
deadly sins galore - does a human do
that every day, Vølva Vigga's mind questioned?
It was so magnificent here that she languished
along the bank, even though work called.
Sloth.

Vigga Vølva got up and wandered wondering
about - thinking again avidly several minutes
about the Bosch world picture of humanity
and its feeble follies of committing the sins
taught so carefully to keep folks in somewhat
a harness - wishing eagerly she could do it too.
Greed!

Vølva Vigga took a deep breath and exhaled
the wood ventured to try and humor her humor
its brilliant colors of the month of October
was the only way she could look at the sins
all within herself - satisfied she would never be.
And the others? Each individual decides
individually.

For those interested in seeing the picture here is the address
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Boschsevendeadlysins.jpg

Rires

Cirque du soleil
c'est une epiphanie
rires fous

Car haiku

Young person relax
old car makes noises and stop
no personal feud.

Frustated fruit

Bitter autumn
enjoys frustrations
fruit picker

First senryu

Summer's end
Poetic strike
Tragic word play.

Auguring Autumn

another fifth season
crisp - morning
brisk- evening
moon waning
September sings
its last days
the praying mantis
is dead -
leaves are dropping
and coloring
the days of glorious
auguring autumn

More on Bel-Ami

Bel-Ami is getting hitched
to-day
many girls will sigh and cry
but it is time
Bel-Ami is getting hitched

Bel-Ami is gaining a friend
for life
many girls will cry foul
but it is time
Bel-Ami is gaining a friend

Bel-Ami is an inamorato
for life
his wife will applaud
and it is time
Bel-Ami is an inamorato

Bel-Ami is a lucky guy
to-day
This will be good
time is changing
Bel-Ami to Beau-Mari

Yet when I think of him
he will be always my Ken-Ami

Old versus new

A thing of the past
a cursive hand
smoothly written -
reflection demands.

To-day emails fired
quickly, lethal,
without a thought.
We - neanderthal?

Our fast connections
promptly are sent.
Convenient - yes!
Brains often absent.

However, it's nice -
to hear from old friends
in any way
this lament must end.

So poet - get off
your high horse so thin!
When was last time
you sat with a pen??

To Elincalime

19 minutes, Bel-Ami

Bel-Ami had an accident today

if he had not had that big fat
heavy car he would have been

smashed
flattened
squished

like the kid this summer
who is no longer
as old as my youngest

It told me one thing
that I keep forgetting

Live in the now
Walk the dog
Hug the world

19 minutes and then you might be -
on the landfill/
in the grave/
over the rainbow

Bel-Ami had an accident today

A mother's why?

Sadness fills my evening
a friend is in severe pain
telling me about her son
who is her only one.
So high hopes she had
but she was both father
and mother to the lad -
the dad so into his own
just similar to his offspring
again - a dance of anger
threesome tangled rings.
The son brilliantly bright
could do anything - yet
failed to live up to his own.
Sadness has invaded his mom
she cannot reach him
bailing him out almost always
and the kid smart as he is
if not one - then he taps
his father for needed dole.
He is working, living,
drinking, and whatever.
He lost his driver's license,
he lost his car, his old friends
threw him out -
living with new friends
until .... whenever.
Is he self-medicating?
Who knows - does anyone
realize what's going on
inside a human soul?
Is it just a sordid role
he is playing to get back
at the people who loves him most?
Is he depressed - can he boast
of waddling in self-pity
or doesn't he care to use that mind
he once so brilliantly had?
He cuts his mom off for months
and only when he needs money
or shelter he will appear.
This mother refuses to give up -
is trying to get a grasp of why?
She does not want to see him
in prison or worse - on the streets.
How can she reach him, she asks?
I really don't know - there are
several ways - some will work
for some - others will work for others
I tried to listen and give my 5 cents,
alas, my 5 were not satisfying enough
neither to the giver nor to the seeker.
Wishing I could have been more helpful,
what a sad waste of a wonder
an unreachable enclosed child
a sleeping beauty - never to wake
before it may be way too late, - yet -
his mother's heart is about to break.

Not now - not then - not ever

The commoner screams alert
the elected waddles in kickbacks.
Solon was so on the ball -
no honest politician will be found.
Not now - not then - not ever.
The nature of politics is beastly -
dog bites dog - man fights man -
true democracy holds this fallacy,
but we can all dream of illusions.

Daily comment

Flying high: a rocket away from the earth

flying low: a stealth stealing to bomb dirt

lying high: a man dressed in a fancy shirt

lying low: a rumormonger on the alert

spying high: a warrior seemingly overt

spying low: a congress saying: subvert

Empty haiku

A post was empty
the poet deleted it
obviously bad.

Bel-Ami Encore

he is a dreamchild
he is what a man should be
he is my BelAmi

he is a male child
he is what a friend should be
he is my BelAmi

he is a sad child
he is what a man is when lost
he is a BelAmi

he is a fun child
he is what a lover should be
alas, he is not for me
yet
he is my BelAmi

he is a groom
he is what a husband should become
wishing him luck -

Bel-Ami.

'Ness

youthfulness
middleageness
oldageness
other kinds of 'ness

somethingness
anythingness
nothingness
more kinds of 'ness

sadness
stillness
quietness
all kinds of 'ness

Erato errata

Völva Vigga shook her mane
today it was stark black
vicarious ways to change a name
of who started what.

War of a president now tagged
for a war of a general
would not fool the big brass -
only the public ephemeral.

How dare the people in power
try to throw scraps of cake
instead of standing up and glower
admitting their defeats of late.

Völva Vigga perused a figurine
standing erect, looking faraway -
ebullient Erato made of citrine -
frowning fiercely forever a day.

Vigga swore under her breath
the victors have history rewritten
the researchers routinely conquest',
but this time truth intermittent.

Mighty misnomers - miserable -
for this president - not a first -
ingenious invention of ignobles
the trail of truth traversed by thirst.

The Völva Vigga wondered wearily
how common man held at bay
would grasp that Erato figurally
instantaneously is erratum today.

Birthday Haiku

Mom of my grandson
you are one fabulous gal
Lady in Aussie.

La vie a trois

La jeunesse embrasse la naïveté
l'âge moyen encombre la vivacité
L'âge avance embrume la ménagerie.

Why?

Midlife is a scary time
Hormones flying not so bright
the last fling before old age!

Sheer "I cannot help it"
coup de foudre - never felt
this way before/ever.

I evolved - he/she didn't
Changing persona or
challenges from within.

A gifted man

this timbre of his craft
to many he was a titan
to others a true traitor
a generous man with a gift
he performed - he sang
his voice - a superb tenor
we have his vocalizations
on records for our storage
forever until another idol....

On Luciano Pavarotti's death.

Faust und frei

Ohne Faust und seinen Teufel
konnte man nicht begreifen
warum die faule Menschbeutel
ein strebend Abenteuer antreiben.
Leider wissen wir niemals
ob Belzebub zufrieden sei -
denn das Objekt war jedenfalls -
das Mensch wird nimmer frei.

A "romantic" sonnet

Of Shakespeare's romantic sonnets
came thousands of couplets and bonnets
couplets were thoughts and wild verses
bonnets covered beloveds' mild tresses.
One thought was repeatedly heard,
"I can't live without my blue bird".
Wild yearnings of poets endowed
doubts of dear darlings enshroud'.
Yet writers and dreamers of love
tell tales to dwellers of the earth -
ars amandis and behavior so courtly.
Whereas reality is not a dream dove -
power and sex - death and birth
paints better this petite life portly.

Thoughts over a day

It was a quiet day
in the writing lab
not much going on
yet.
It was a quiet night
in the fire station
not much going on
yet.
It was a quiet day
in the wide desert
not much going on ...
war.
It was a quiet day
in the hospital
not much going on ...
death.

Continue ad nauseam
yet...
In the writing lab
words and thoughts
were created.
In the fire station
alarms responded to
and lives saved.
In the desert
the animals awaited
and procreated.
In the hospital
a Cesarean birth
was celebrated.

Down to earth

The scope of the globe
stands to lose all hope
the earth is warming
- heed her fair warning.
Alas, fools remain
this poem is in vain.

Notes sur la memoire

La nature de la mémoire
est telle comme des oiseaux
volant vers le sud a l'automne,
des notes de la symphonie
nous quittent immédiatement
et ceux qui restent pâlent.
Maintes fois leurs vagues
me trouvent épatantes
et je deviendrai vivante.

Power haiku

Abuse of power
signifies lack of respect
for the common man.

Une promenade matinale

En me promenant
ce beau matin
je rêve des près lointains
remplis de raisins
jaunes et rouges, pleins
de liquide succulent.
Cet été un paradis humain
avec d'esprit surprenant
m'a prit extrêmement.
Moi et mon petit chien
regardont les pelouses fines
et je rêve des beaux vignes.

Where to turn

The Völva Vigga was wistful
when watching her wholesome toes
wiggling them in the stirrring whirlpool
what weirdness was predicted?
Which way would her vision work?
Where would her world wind?
Whirling her thumbs in the water
she whispered to the water nymph,
"Voiceless vestal, where can I walk
to calm my vanishing vernacular ways?
I am weaned from my views
of wise worldliness to witless vibes.
Can I revisit my tranquility?"
The water nymph "Evagore"
whipped her tail in the warm whorl
vanished quickly with a wry face
leaving the Völva Vigga to wonder
whether wisdom can be won
from without or from within!

A blend

Temple of my familiar
faces and places
like an old Macintosh
you bury yourself in
when you feel cold
or suddenly afraid.
Suddenly paradise tinkles
far away on the other side
only memory savoured
blazing bulwark
a lightness - a wrinkle
but to what depth!
Blended for one moment.

Trusty London

London by a sunny cool day
strolling leisurely along a wharf
pottering into an olde pub -
the Globe unto Lincoln's Inn,
tumbling upon Covent Garden -
yet all would be for naught -
if not accompanied by a glorious
feeling of trusty friendship.

A disease

Short term memory
gone away - circuits broken
medically temporarily fixed
hits so many humans

Dangers await those
inflicted - bliss it is not
partners need patience
patience and patience

For the well - a true loss
slowly build up a strength
needed - a time out
to give and give and give.

No equality is left
nothing you expected
will be there - a void
Avaunt terrible disease.

To a friend of timelessness

A friend from the past
yet it seems like Thursday
last week when we spoke
but it was ten years ago.
Rub another 28 years
away from the window
of unreal relativity.
Our bodies' timekeeping
counts for nothing -
sentiments everything.

Les vins futurs

le vendange commence
dans mon petit village
les gros bleues machines
araignées piquent les mouches
les raisins verts et lilas
les vignes supportent
leur machinations brutales
la saison de l'automne
les vins futurs font rever
les maitres et leurs esclaves

Mon don

Paralysie cérébrale
est mon nom
et mon don
sans cette maladie
je ne serais pas
l'être humaine
avec l'ironie.

A wet dream

Hypnotic eyes
dazzling hands
where are you
my dream lover?

Brains abound
taking by storm
calming my wits
my horny desires!

A dream lover
remains forever
an illusion: yet
I can dream, can't I?

A Constable painting?

Winds high and mighty
against the tide we flow
the fairies and the women

Sun peeking through
flying fierce clouds
the gnomes and the men

Storms and quietude
variety abound
souls' meeting forever.

Now Haiku

Trotting happily
with the sun as a sidekick
I dwell in the now

L'homme et son chien

Un homme qui promène avec son chien
dans mon petit village
Il m'embrasse - il me dit bonjour
Il me donne des compliments
Il fait me sembler comme une reine.

On a besoin de l'amour simple
de sérénité, de l'amitié, de se sentir bien.
Un homme qui promène avec son chien
je lui suis très reconnaissante
car il me donne un jour qui n'est pas en vain.

A dent

Dent in my car
most cars have one or two
in my little village

Bruise on an ego
of a young male
in my little village

A learning scar
if nothing else
in my little village

Un cadeau

Ma soeur d'esprit vivant
si peu de temps on s'est rencontrée
mais dans nos années qui nous restent
il faut se bavarder, se rire, s'émerveiller
du rencontre de notre jeunesse.
Un cadeau de la vie folle.

A book

Read a book
about a boy
from a world apart
we could learn
a lot and I applaud
the author's art.

On reading the final book
by J.R. Rowling

Un jour d'ete

Un jour d'ete gris
les fleurs du village
sont plus formidables
qu'au soleil brillant.

Trip forgotten?

Romantic spot
oddly enough
not far away -
add the wine
listen to music -
divine dream.

Everyday mayhap
leads to nowhere
gone is the allure
yet
enticing me to
not forget my trip.

Mythaway

Myth making is as common
as the dreams that we dream -
escape or understanding
our every day lives.
Today we let the directors
and the authors create them,
then priests told us what to believe
the story makers entertained us.
Yet Schliemann found Troy
while reading the Iliad,
some places have been dug up
because of the Bible,
rumor has it that the vikings
knew of a faraway land,
so was Columbus really a Norseman?
Myth makers all - dream away:
I do - - sometimes.

Escape?

My son went out into a world of war
my oldest - yet I knew that streets smart
was his name - he survived two war zones
and he barely communicated.

My daughter had no problem getting
to an Internet cafe - we are close
so she knew that soothing of my mind
was crucial for me and she attuned.

My youngest son is a true escape artist
he left on a plane and landed? Took a bus??
No email - no phone calls - we wondered
did he arrive at his destination?

Since I am on the same continent as he
it just now dawned on me to call the place
asking only of somebody, did he arrive?
The eaglet has sure enough landed.

Gentleman haiku

Tomatoes tendered
by a genteel gard'ner -
peeking at his patch.

Common denominator

I walked today with two ladies
bumbling along a beautiful country road
somewhere - anywhere

We saw thistles and clear blue skies
rallying at random chattering
somewhere - anywhere

We are what the French would say
women of a certain age
somewhere - anywhere

We described our different roads
of a life - out of a mother's womb
somewhere - anywhere

Thrown together in a blink in time
yet motherhood and grandmother hood
somewhere - anywhere

Each with our own background
so different and yet a sisterly bond
somewhere - anywhere

From the Pyrenees to Albion
via the Netherlands and North
somewhere - anywhere

Three ladies on a country road
from birth to grave bound one day
somewhere - anywhere

House revisited

Knock Knock - who's there?
A lady standing
outside the glass door
to-day asking,
Do you speak French?
Oui Oui, is my reply.
I lived in your house 25 years ago!
How could I not invite her in?
I get goosebumps,
she told me.
It was my husband who did the stairs.
Each room - she saw - she said
It looks the same.
Time was away and somewhere else
for this lady, she was smiling.
I have to tell my daughter.
The arch in our living room
they found behind the walls.
They think it was a convent once.
The arch in the kitchen should also be there.
The cupboard on the landing
I left it, she said.
Here my daughter learned to walk.
I asked for her address,
she willingly gave it to me.
I will send her pictures one day
because she did me a favor.
Her obvious joy told me
she had been happy here -
just like me - in my nunnery!

Et in Arcadia Ego

Over the hills and in Tempe
or the dales of Arcady
kens Keats to the Urn.
He cannot have his muse
but she is forever there
a cursory dream... of fulfilment.
Et in Arcadia Ego

Poussin's two vistas and his tomb
weld the same anagram?
The elusive essence exists
only in human minds
controlling our frail fantasies
of wishing to spin tall tales.
Et in Arcadia Ego.

Visiting Rennes-le-Chateau
on a stark summer day
with rain and clouds around
it did not yield any myths
except a lightening of a candle
in the little Marian church
Et in Arcadia Ego.

This morning I went where
my Visigoth friend walks
often when he is at home.
I saw the hills and dales
the mountains shrouded
in the clouds - a chimera
Et in Arcadia Ego.

The peregrination purely
therapeutic for the soul
fathomed the wishful ideas
of human longing and belonging
trotting along the country road
near earthly mounds and salty seas.
Et in Arcadia Ego.

Myth Haiku

Father Saunieres
rainy stark Rennes le Chateau
mysterious myths.

A little red toy car

Around the world
a tiny red toy car
travelled miles
to reach a grandson
by way of friends.

A tree was felled
wood was formed
a toy car painted
it trekked and toured
thousands of miles.

A little red vehicle
whirled its way
to the fantasy
of a growing mind -
a dream of a drive.

A horse woman

A horse woman hovering erectly
a pride seldom blatantly observed
she knew where she was going
dressaging her horse fiercely,
gently, and firm over the jumps -
she wanted control of the male
A horse woman with potent poise.

Brain haiku

A country ramble
brambles and wild vines abound
healthy breeze to brain.

En moi

Autour il y a d'orages
en moi - du calme.

Village life

Vølva Vigga whooped
she had found fulfillment
in a wee wild village.

It was not ideal
there was wickedness for wit
Eager goodness was evident

Flowers bloomed potently
some wild, some tame
some ancient, some just born.

Politeness ruled mostly
Curiousness was an affliction
but just because - because.

Undercurrents are there
they exist everywhere
accept the self-administered anvil.

Vigga the Vølva in Visigoth's lands
lingers her lithe limbs
to her summer in the sun.

A stupendous study
of humanity under heedful scrutiny
watched by the weird Vølva.

An evening walk produces a Spaniard
who mixes his native Andalousian
with the foreign French tongue.

A Parisian persistent pearl
with a withering wit of Pepys
a Gallic grande old dame.

The stable ladies of gossip
sit and gawk at life passing
but they have seen so much.

Mellowing with their musings
a visiting Visigoth Vølva mutters
her hello: they respond graciously.

Another is germane Germanic
if he speaks it is only in Gallic
he resembles a faraway friend.

The village is getting ready
for the fourteenth of festivities
so the square shifts to prytaneum.

The Vølva wonders vicariously
if she should partake in the fete,
is it only for its illusory inhabitants?

So she will ask her natural neighbours
whether they shall try their palates
on the eve of the oppidan enjoyment.

A healthy hanging beautiful basket
of red and white flowers tended for
had disappeared from its place.

The Vølva was immensely saddened
because stealing a blossom seems
a purposeless act and yet

perhaps this flower brought happiness
to a granny, a mother, a friend
even though it was physically plundered.

Troubles as we enter the freedom week
the fourteenth of July - bloody - one time
reddening again another acute age.

Loss swallowed- plant replaced
by kindness of kindred spirits
a neighbourly knightly deed.

What more could one wish for - kindness
gentleness with colour of humanism
thrown in for good measure.

Village life found the Visigoth Vølva
equalized to the tender time of studying
delving in the daunting dorm.

In and out of each others lives
on good days and on bad days
following the flow of fleeting time.

The mayor's speech brought forth
a great grasp of histrionic hail
in toto it will be quietly told

The day of the Bastille was important
because the subjects of the king
became the citizens of the land.

A lesson relearned in a little village
wound up the essential meaning of it all.
We can all learn from "the village".

Learning haiku?

Raw reminiscence -
drops of umpteenth amassed flops
sound symbiosis.

Friendship

Alas, friend
you talk of your own stuff
you say you listen
but truely you don't.
Still I like you.

Alas friend,
You were born communicating
I was born - in silence.
In some relationships I am you,
but will you ever be me?

Alert, my friend
we should accept
that we are strangely equal
you seem to be lonely
I am oddly content.

La Sourdine

Silencieusement
je reve de la solitude.
Quand je l'aurai
c'est la sourdine
uniquement hantee.

Hop makes you young

A village in full bloom
the kids are off from school
sounds of the mobilettes
roaring by making
the old folks hop out of their way.
Maybe that is why
the old fogies are so alert!

Une chatte dans mon village

Un jour ou je me promène
dans mon petit village
j'ai rencontré une chatte
qui m'ai dit, c'est a moi
cette petite ville
mais si tu serais gentille
tu pourrais la partager;
alors je lui ai dit
Je te respecte, j'espère
que tu feras la même.
Elle m'a regardée et s'est tournée.

Baking haiku

Creating a cake
without any recipe
only with my wit.

Don't do what I do!

Sitting in the alley behind my little house
reading suddenly a voice calls out
you should not sit in the currant air
you will catch a cold,
an old lady from the street calls out;
I tell her I am fine; she leaves.
In the market today I meet her again
she asks me if I am all right.
I said: You are like my mother,
I heeded your advice and went in.
She smiled - I could hear her chest
rattling!

Humanity scrutinized

In the fine houses
in the burbs'
each sits inside
mull their own thoughts.

In the little houses
in the village
everyone gets out
chats with their neighbors.

Of course, not all are friendly
but if you are not - ostracism.

Carcasonne haiku

Medieval fortress
adventure from a far past
Madam sounds the bell.

Sea haiku

Sea conversation
away from the beach unheard
avoiding topics

Visigothess

Borrowing a friend's computer
to email one's family and friends
is a true mitkva for an expatriate
Visigothess - a wonderful Vølva.

Without this the ties would be less
without the ties we cannot move
ties to our connextions
are the muscles of our days.

Visigothess understands this
wholeheartedly
because she is another expatriate
far away from her lands.

Whether you are a wanting vølva
or a wonderful visigothess
we all need the same thing
our strings - ourselves.

Chemistry ?

Is vague knowledge
an awareness of unconscious insight?
Is vaqueness enough
to warn about dangers?
Where from do we get
our "inbred" perceptions?
In the womb chemicals
are thrown at us incessantly!
Today's embryo is radiated
with mobile technology.
Will these sparkling sensors
twist our minds so?
Are vague emissions
a warm warning
of all conscious hurt?

Zealots

Masada to Montsegur
Auschwitz to the Gulags
one less heretic
one less ethnic
the powerful are afraid.
I am afraid of
zealots
of any kind!

Village haiku

Languedoc village
its heritage wine and Cathars
midst of sun and sea.

Sad restaurant haiku

Last year - had the best
I dreamt of that lamb cutlet.
The chef out to lunch!

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.