Category Archives: It’s the time of the season

Vacation beckons

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From June 28:

Haiku hiatus
Internet independence
Vacation beckons!

Who knows what treasures
In 17 syllables
I’ll bring back with me?

In the meantime, friends,
Enjoy your respite; I know
My targets will, too

And “For those about to beach, we salute you,” from June 30:

My toes in the sand
Big umbrella overhead
Small one in my drink

Let God count the grains
Of sand; my kids will track them
Back to the hotel

Surf sound so soothing
All of this year’s pent-up stress
Goes out with the tide

KC to LA flight

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“Nothing better to do on the plane” haiku, from July 2:

Scenic vacation
Gorgeous start; concrete runway’s
Best I’ve ever seen

It’s sardine city
Gill to gill, but at least we
Haven’t lost our heads

Overhead bins packed
40 of them, inch to spare
Attendant genius

Takeoff delay gives
People more time to not read
Books they brought with them

Runway memorized,
Silent wife trying to sleep
Time to people watch

Hmmm, can see only
Backs of heads; there’s some really
Bad hair on this flight

Gal across the aisle
Nose stud, tatoo, hair died black
Must be the real she

PA says “Carey,
Cody, Rita are our team”
— Or 3 Mouseketeers

Whoever they are
They sure talk fast; safety spiel
Breaks sound barrier

At last we’re aloft
iPads, iPods, iTouches
Somewhere, Steve Jobs smiles

“Waitress in the Sky”
Replacements’ song put them down
But man, what service

Coffee, snacks, refills
Blinding smiles, blonde hair, nice bods
Shallow male’s happy

Bathroom break, best to
Have a plan going in, there’s
No room to change mind

One in-flight bummer:
Noise canceling headphones mean
I can’t hear Ramones

Out the window, clouds
Then canyons, light and shadow
Etched into the Earth

Approaching LA
Swimming pools dot the landscape
Like little blue pills

Man at airport shouts
“I want a divorce!” Will she
Be his LA ex-?

KC to LA
Two extra hours appear
Straight from Twilight Zone

Pismo Beach

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From July 2-4:

The beach on the Fourth
Red, white, and blue, and that’s just
Tourists’ skin and lips

Bodies every shape
Umbrellas every color
Waves — just green, white, gray

Dreadlocks past her waist,
Wide body, richly tattooed
A living mural

Romping on wet sand
Playing tag, catching some rays
And that’s just the dogs

Two women, two dogs
Whippet, chihuahua, that’s the
Long and short of it

Diversity dogs
Golden-yellow by design
Big cross-bred beauties

Chihuahua trio
A dozen tap-dancing paws
Strain sequined leashes

Neat slashes in sand
Gangs mark their territory
The gulls and the terns

Beach boy loves the birds
But wishes they all could be
California gulls

Heads bob, dots in foam
Chocolate M&M’s in waves
Of ocean frosting

Solitary sail
An antenna attuned to
Wavelengths of the sea

Idyllic beach scene
Like movie but God doesn’t
Turn off wave machine

Lifeguard Station 5
Abandoned alien craft
From ’50s planet

Tiny house, west wall
Nothing but windows, gazing,
Catching every wave

San Simeon

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From July 5:

Times few and fleeting
The beauty’s overwhelming
And life’s a postcard

Waves shatter sunlight
Seven thousand silver shards
Refract and reflect

Lone boulder juts up
Takes surf’s pounding, makes its plans
For next thousand years

Seaweed leaves, networks
Of brown veins, like discarded
PC circuit boards

Pop pop popping pods
On a long skein of seawood
Neptune’s bubble wrap

Panhandler sponges:
“Something to tide me over?”
“Here’s a sand dollar”

Pelicans in flight
Angled, prehistoric like
A ’60 Buick

Soft setting sunlight
Dusts the contours of her face
Unparalleled view

Fingernail moon sinks
Into its own reflection
Lights out on the bay

Fire pit, aglow
No match for the icy waves
Breaking in my heart

Quarter moon, chilling
Sends down silver white pathway
Splits the inky sea

Quarter moon, no rest
For waves’ mistress on her quest,
Longing for fullness

Driving back south to LA-LA land

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From July 5:

July’s tawny hills
Like a lion lie in wait
Wind-brushed grass like suede

Voluptuous hills
Dressed in live oak and grapevines
That can’t hide the curves

“Mens Colony” sign
Suspect one of its inmates
Stole apostrophe

Sweet spot: Dylan’s voice
Annoys teen daughter just as
It did my parents

Ventura Harbor
White sails, blinding triangles
On blue glass water

Green mountains one side
Pacific blue the other
Dude, California!

GPS working
“Satisfaction” on K-Rock (KROQ)
Next stop, Hollywood

Hollywood high-ku

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From July 6, 7:

Stars in the sidewalk
Stars in strollers’ eyes as they
Walk this street of dreams

Five stories above
Shoppers and his sure demise
Billboard artist hangs

Suspending his life
So we’ll suspend disbelief
And buy that Pepsi

Roll by roll he works
Choreographed wallpaper
Unfurls new message

LA shopping day
Tree-lined streets, my daughter’s hand
Palms out everywhere

On Rodeo Drive
It’s true: If you want to ask
You can’t afford it

On Rodeo Drive
Dad sees so many pricetags
So little fabric

On Rodeo Drive
Exquisite bookshop provides
Island of relief

On Rodeo Drive
Millionaires pause, sigh, envy
All the billionaires

On Rodeo Drive
Fundraiser for the homeless
Seems so far from home

Stuck on LaBrea
Apropos since my daughter
Thinks I’m dinosaur

Clouds give rooftop pool
A hint of reality
Just a hint, mind you

Candy-striped one-piece
Plaid trunks, sleek swimmer’s Speedo
Kids in what suits them

Flight back haiku

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July 8:

Flight back to KC
From reality TV
To reality

Life-saving advice
Mumbled quickly, fuzzy like
A grade-school PA

“It’s against the law
“To destroy the smoke alarm”
Never would have guessed!

A roar of engines
Long run to get momentum
Wing flaps flat; we’re off

Harbor’s blue jewel
Marina del Ray, beaches
Wink a last goodbye

From high above, sprawl
Of LA is still enough
To fill the window

Print on wing says “Don’t
“Walk outside this area”
Air monsters, take note

Her head, my shoulder
Get reacquainted during
Little in-flight nap

Grand or not, canyon
Stretches to the horizon
Gaping red, green, brown

Cotton clouds hover
Unreal, like a kid’s stickers
Pasted to the blue

Flight’s slowed down a bit
Headwinds? No, humidity
KC must be close

Sprawl, KC version
Cul-de-sacs’ cookie cutters
Stamping out farm fields

LA to KC
Rod Serling appears, to take
Those two hours back

Blustery day haiku, redux

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Reminiscent of our weather yesterday and today, from April 4

Around here lately
Every day has been winds-day
Isn’t that right, Pooh?

It’s not just bluster
That destroyed the owl’s house
And has wrecked mine, too

How windy is it?
My breezeway just blew away
Roof’s not far behind

How windy is it?
Hammer blew away trying
To nail my stuff down

How windy is it?
They’re lashing kids to street signs
At the bus stop

How windy is it?
Forget leaves; entire trees
Are blowing away

How windy is it?
The wig shop is offering
Free Gorilla Glue

How windy is it?
I don’t even have to dance
To make my tie fly

How windy is it?
Like talk radio bombast:
Blustery and wild

Wild like a toddler
With his diaper off — Oh no!
There goes the diaper

What else just blew by?
Was that a small animal?
Or Donald Trump’s hair?

Windy? It’s a first
Across the great Kansas plains
Windmills overheat

Tumbleweeds tumble
Faster than the Roadrunner
In this kind of gale

Dylan, Hendrix sing,
“And the wind began to howl”
Pee-wee says, “Well, duh”

The answer, my friend,
Blew down the street yesterday
And is long gone now

Random haiku

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Cold air, frosted ground
December morning wanders
Into October

Olive oil question:
How is it that something can
Be extra virgin?

October’s the month
To adopt a shelter dog
Diamonds in the “ruff”

Haiku rolling in, redux

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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”