Synapse gap haiku, part II

One thing I’m sure of
Can’t be sure of anything
Yes, I’m sure of that

For how do we know
What we think we know, really?
Reason with me here

We think we decide
Based on logic, not feelings
But that’s a brain trick

We should admit there’s
No such thing as pure reason,
Disembodied thought

Because brains are part
Of the body, sensory
Organs like the rest

We hear what we want
Faulty memories, senses
Make us sure “That’s right!”

Surely certainty
Is a feeling, cleverly
Disguised as a thought

It’s the ultimate
In emotion, not reason,
That certain feeling

I guess that explains
Why more facts don’t often help
To change someone’s mind

Ambiguity
Seems more real, honest, though it’s
Less satisfying

Eventually, though
You have to decide, and act
— Just don’t be so sure

And of course, some things
We do know — and know they’re based
On all sorts of things

We know whom we love
And treasure, who makes our lives
Worth living each day

And sure, some feelings
Will disappear — so will life.
It’s called “now.” Live it.

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“Lost my head” haiku

Happy Valentine’s Day. Last year it seemed as if lots of different people were singing to me. For some reason, this year it’s Van Morrison. Here are a couple of light ones.

“Crazy love,” I love
That craziest phrase in all
Its redundancy

Valentine, a saint
But not first guy, or last, who
Lost his head this day

I wrote a lot of verses last year, but for some reason this one got the most response. Hmmmm.

It’s Valentine’s Day!
Hug your sweetie; love your spouse
Just don’t let them meet

The whole 2011 bunch is here.

And here are the rest of this year’s, not so light.

Courageous, we love
Surrender our hearts, ourselves
Out beyond the fear

Courageous, we love
Losing those we hold most dear
Inevitably

No more to savor
Taste of salt, scent of flowers
Intoxicating

No more to drink in
Every line, curve, lash and lock
With forever’s thirst

But till then we dare
To love with all our senses
Out beyond all sense

“Write, writer, rightest” haiku

Carole King, Feb. 9, 1942

Carole King, such gifts
“You’ve Got a Friend,” “Sweet Seasons”
No one wrote more hits

It’s true. They counted.
Last half of last century
No one wrote more hits

“Will You Still Love Me
“Tomorrow” first of more than
100 to chart

They weren’t just jingles,
Either, but pieces of heart
Life in 3 minutes

Shirelles to Winehouse
Seems everyone’s sung your songs
Been better for it

Aretha, Dusty
The Byrds, Everly Brothers
Beatles, Rod Stewart

Even the Monkees
With “Sometime in the Morning”
Channeled your romance

“Tapestry” showed you
Could sing them, too, masterpiece
Of rich, royal hue

“I Feel the Earth Move,”
“It’s Too Late” — every affair’s
Alpha, Omega

But my favorite’s still
One I hope, somehow, is true:
“Only Love Is Real”

Seven decades, lived
In the magic of music
Lady, take a bow

“Waist deep in words” haiku:

Feb. 1, 1884: First part of Oxford English Dictionary released

OED was born
At least the first installment
Called a fascicle

“Fascicle” — oh joy
600,000 words, they
Had to pick that one

It took 40 years
To finish that pig, which grew
To 12 … fascicles

A definition:
Fascicle — what you get when
You freeze your fas off

Second edition
Grew to 20 full volumes
Took 61 years

The third edition?
Complete through “Ryvita,” up
To its “S” in words

It’s also online
Good thing it’s just text or we’d
Be out of bandwidth

Happy birthday, book
With 600,000 words
Guess that says it all

Also see haiku from Aug. 22, when the latest OED update was released.

And from Oct. 6, haiku on British-isms, to mark U.K. Poetry Day.

And check out the latest newsletter for ABC Books in Springfield.

“Quite a pair” haiku:

Warren Zevon, Jan. 24, 1947 — Sept. 7, 2003
John Belushi, Jan. 24, 1949 — March 5, 1982

Zevon, Belushi
Does “birth” describe arrival?
More like “eruption”?

Zevon, Belushi
Two volcanoes of talent
Nothing could contain

Zevon, Belushi
Werewolves and Animal House
“Rah-hoooo!” and “Food fight!”

Zevon, Belushi
Shared a birthday, their demons
A death wish, times two

Zevon, Belushi
Too many drinks, hits and smokes
The real blues brothers

Belushi, untamed
Star-crossed and drug-crucified
Dead at 33

Belushi, a waste
When laughter died, tombstone said,
“Rock and roll lives on”

Zevon, redemption
For Mr. Bad Example
Some extra decades

Friends sobered him up
Music saved him till cancer
Ripped his lungs out, Jim

Zevon, Belushi
Left on the wind; let’s keep them
In our hearts awhile

“Bushy appendage” haiku

It’s 1-21
“Squirrel Appreciation Day”
Rocky would love it

The squirrel family’s huge
Three hundred sixty-five kinds
One species per day

Except it’s Leap Year
So I might jump in and join
The parade of squirrels

Tree squirrels and ground squirrels
Chipmunks, woodchucks, flying squirrels
And cute prairie dogs

Pygmies (3 inches)
To Marmots (2 point 5 feet)
Long and short of it

Excellent vision
(Where did you get those big eyes?)
Sharp teeth, sturdy claws

A nuisance, granted
(They empty our birdfeeder)
But much fun to watch

And Letterman says,
“It’s so hot I saw a squirrel
“Out fanning his nuts”

Etymon of “squirrel”
Includes Latin sciurus,
Norwegian ekorn

(Those sound like “scurry”
And “acorn” — you must admit
That’s kinda squirrelly)

And Greek skiouros
Means “shadow-tailed” — poetic
For rats that jump, fly

So put out some food
For your favorite squirrel today
I’ll be right over

Poe man’s haiku

Edgar Allen Poe, Jan. 19, 1809 — Oct. 7, 1849

He passed through this world
Like a wraith on holiday
A solid shadow

Abandoned, orphaned
Breathing disembodied words
Instead of Earth’s air

University,
Army, West Point had no use
For this phantom man

But the phantom’s words
Insinuated, haunted
Recesses most dark

Poet and critic,
Macabre’s master, creator
Of detective lit

Child cousin his bride
(Foreshadowing Jerry Lee)
Her death did them part

Before his heart stopped
Poe’s pen poured out his terrors
Still tingling today

Poe man’s haiku:

Flutter in the dark
Raven wings, or telltale heart
Terror of unknown

Single bead of sweat
Right between the shoulder blades
Defies gravity

Rustle in the dark
Fevered brain, or rodent’s claws?
Imagined, it’s real