That hallowed feeling

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Halloween horror:
Came as my best self — no one
Could recognize me

Jack-O-Lanterns carved
Porch light switched to the red bulb
Scary music’s on

Cider’s warming up
Scarecrow’s in the front porch seat
Time for trick or treat!

Ghosts and princesses
Little pumpkins, bumblebees
Vikings, vagabonds

Witches with itches
Darth Vader wheezing, sometimes
Costumes just don’t fit

All will take your stuff:
Pirates and politicians
Just dress differently

First-time toddlers cute
Jaded teens out for some loot
And that sugar high

All brought to you by
The American Dental
Association

Enjoy this fine rite
The little ones’ lack of guile,
Sense of make believe

Their masks worn but once
We put ours on every day
— And don’t get candy

“A little off the top” haiku, redux

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From May 28:

In the barber’s chair
The world doesn’t spin so fast
And the mind slows down

A little gossip
A little sports fill the time
In the barber’s chair

In the barber’s chair
You solve all the world’s problems
— Or not; it’s OK

Conversation hums
Like a bee by the window
In the barber’s chair

In the barber’s chair
Tension falls away like hair
Clipped loose, drifting down

A yawn never tastes
Better than the one you get
In the barber’s chair

Annual checkup haiku, redux

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Note to those who sometimes take this stuff too literally: My most recent doctor’s visit was routine and went fine. No X-rays or MRI. But my imagination spent too much time in waiting rooms.

From May 27:

At the doc’s office
It all seems pretty sterile
But I guess that’s good

At the doc’s office
Preliminaries go well
I still have a pulse

“X-ray of your head
“Shows nothing,” the doctor says
Well, Jeez, I knew that

“Get an MRI,”
Doc orders. “What’s that?” I ask.
Doc says, “Three, four grand”

MRI: Strapped in
And deafened by pounding sounds
This makes me better?

MRI’s two truths:
— It sure as hell has a beat
— You can’t dance to it

But I flunked this test
Just wasn’t patient enough
To fit their image

The MRI broke
Stymied by my magnetic
Personality

Doc, I don’t know what
You hoped to see in me
But you’re out of luck

Epilogue:
The bill makes me ill
Doc says, “Take out two loans, pay
“Me in the morning”

“Once more with filling,” redux

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From a visit to the dentist, where actually I’m always treated well and kindly, by dentists and hygienists alike. This is the first of some “Everyday things” postings, followed by an annual checkup and a haircut.

From Feb. 22:

Dental cleaning day
My God, excruciating!
Hearing “lite” FM

They didn’t numb gums
Or teeth, but Jeez my poor brain
Went catatonic

“Easy listening”?
To rock ‘n’ roll ears that’s just
A big freakin’ lie

Molars, incisors,
Bicuspids all were agreed:
This music bites it

They thought I had lost
A filling. “No, music’s lost
“All feeling,” I said

“Please switch the station,”
I beg; they refuse, tell me
I should know the drill

Next time I’ll demand
Some Hendrix, or else I take
Hygienist hostage

Or maybe protest
Nonviolently, eat box
Of Oreos first

Or I will wimp out.
The mean hygienist, Flossy,
Always has me cowed

But please, just no more
Little River Band; how ’bout
Root canal instead?

Note: The “lite FM” station has changed formats, so on my recent dentist visit for the first time in memory I did not hear “Reminiscing” — and I didn’t miss it a bit.

I’m on vacation, redux

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I wish I were on vacation, but I’m not. Instead, I’m posting this batch from a spring vacation. It’s followed by a pre-summer-vacation batch, and then six batches from a July vacation in Southern California.

From March 30:

“Boo hoo, no haiku,”
A friend writes. “So what’s the deal?”
I’m on vacation!

I’m on vacation
But going nowhere real fast
Kinda like working!

I’m on vacation
All of me, not just my brain
Which checked out years back

As the Ramones say,
I’ll have to tell ’em I got
No cerebellum

I’m on vacation
But I did go to Borders
Discounting good sense

My home’s already
Crammed full of unread volumes
Begging to be cracked

My CD shelves sag
With rock ‘n’ roll, classical
And, yes, all that jazz

But could I resist
Borders’ zombie siren song?
You know the answer

Borders closeout sale
Books on everything except
How to walk away

“Famous Last Words” book:
Jeez, if I can’t top these quotes
Pray I die silent

Doctor Laura’s book
“Stop Whining and Start Living”
You go first, “Doctor”

And for just 5 bucks
“A Short History of the World”
Nah, not short enough

Man, it’s depressing
It seems that the only “Glee”
Is in the CDs

Borders closeout sale
87 copies of
“Essential Yanni”

Borders closeout sale
Punk prices rule! 5 bucks for
“Rocket to Russia”

One section does seem
Alphabetized: ZZ Top
Follows Vivaldi

Elsewhere, Fogerty
Meets Manilow, but what will
They sing? “Proud Copa”?

In another row
Britney, next to Placido,
Hits a high G string

Borders closeout sale
“Blue Kentucky Girl” real cheap
Makes me not so blue

R.E.M.’s right: End
Of the world as we know it.
And I feel a sigh

I’m on vacation
Giving further proof: A mind’s
A terrible thing

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