Lucky 13

Our lovely daughter
16 today — yesterday
Seems so long ago

Yesterday she was
Just a little girl, precious
And so precocious

Yesterday she played
Without a care but to choose
Which crayon to use

Yesterday she drew
Pictures, some larger than life
As big as her dreams

Today she’s 16
Tasting, what? Love? Confusion?
She’s not telling me

Today she’s 16
On the threshold of it all
Perfect — Just ask her!

We love you, sweetie
Though now you’re so hard to hold
Harder to let go

“You have a nice voice”
Louis Simon told his boy
That was all it took

“How terribly strange
“To be 70,” Paul wrote.
Now he is, today

In between, he blessed
The world with so much music
The world loved him back

With childhood pal Art
He turned folk music into
Magical soundscapes

“El Condor Pasa”
So perfectly exotic
To this Kansan’s ears

And “For Emily”
I think there never will be
A more perfect song

“The Sound of Silence”
Was his first hit; I wonder
What will be his last

Perhaps his most played,
“Bridge Over Troubled Water,”
Still soothes many souls

Solo career soared
But it was more than just hits
Decades, deeply felt

Been around the world
To Graceland and back, Elvis
Without all the fuss

Such a good man, Paul
He’s shared so much of himself
His pop would be proud

Haiku rolling in, redux

Fog in and around my neighborhood this morning reminded me of this batch, written Feb. 16, a really foggy day this year:

Haiku rolling in
Blotting out any hope for
Some good poetry

I feel a kinship
With the fog rolling in as
I too am quite dense

I am so foggy
I can’t remember when it
Last was this foggy

In NYC, sure,
But strange to be in KC
When that foghorn blows

And forget the knife
Better get out the chainsaw
To cut this baby

Like the fog, cliches
Can be as thick as pea soup
This kind of weather

We’ll have our breakdown
Right here, thanks; no need to get
To Foggy Mountain

Stevie Nicks could dig
Witchy, misty atmosphere
Fit for a Welsh bog

Like a shot of hootch
Fog makes many things blurry
Around the edges

“How’d you like that wrapped?
“In guilt? Confusion? Some angst?”
“No, I’ll take the fog”

Random haiku, let it be

Most glorious fall
(Complete with juicy apples)
Since Adam bit in

Full moon, windshield mist
Cross the line from crisp to chill
Autumn’s first shiver

Country Club Plaza
Folks suntanned, sinewy, blonde
KC’s fat free zone

Preacher: Paul, do you
Take Nancy to be your wife?
Sir Paul: Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

Moments on the couch
Intimacy can shrink if
Overanalyzed

This must be a day
To tap into, for twice it
Goes to eleven

Java enabled haiku, or It’s bean real

Sept. 29, according to someone, is National Coffee Day. Of course, so is May 16. And July 24 is just plain old Coffee Day, falling during Coffee Week. And August is Coffee Month. Sheesh. Not that I don’t love coffee.

One of my first haiku was about coffee, part of a batch of “Recession Haiku” on the Kansas City Star’s business page April 29, 2009.

Ruthlessly spend less
But cut out coffee? I cut
Out your heart first, Joe

Java (with steamed half and half — the breve latte) perked into a Feb. 2 “Buddha made me do these” batch:

We say namaste
To recognize the divine:
A breve latte

The breve brewed again on April 12, in “Half and half haiku”:

The breve latte:
Coffee, half and half equal
Heaven in a cup

Just keep that Equal
Or any other sweet’ner
Outta my latte

Can coffee poems
Be grounds for legal action?
There’s something brewing …

But barista barred
The barrister from Starbucks
No subpoenas here!

My tall tales can turn
Grande, or even venti,
Not good under oath

I would testify
That my waistline’s expanding
From all that breve

But if that’s what stops
My clogged up heart one fine day
I’ll go with a smile