Hollywood high-ku

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

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

Raging haiku

I wish I could write
Like Dylan Thomas, verses
Intoxicating

And not just verses
Scripts and short stories, an ear
That never failed him

Though how could he fail
With Welsh place names like “Mumbles”
For inspiration?

But however strong
His work, his body was frail
Whisky his death knell

Rage for him we must
Drink deeply this life, and his
“Griefs of the ages”

Blustery day haiku, redux

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

“Someone REALLY needs a cup of coffee” haiku

Making school lunches
And brewing up the dark roast
The job has its perks

Oops! Added too much
Yoda says: “Right state of bean
“There is no ‘too much’ ”

Joe from Sumatra,
Guatemala, Honduras,
Ethiopia

Golly Malawi,
Dominican Republic,
Zambia zingers

Jamaica mean pot?
I Haiti when that happens
Uganda drink it?

Tastebuds round the world
I almost forgot Java
Kenya believe it?

No moss haiku, part 1

Bill Wyman’s birthday yesterday makes this as good a time as any to get some past Stones stuff onto the blog. From Mick’s birthday, July 26, 2011.

Happy birthday, Mick
68 years of big lips,
Those skinny-ass hips

The rolling-est Stone
Fronting THE rock ‘n’ roll band
Nearly five decades

For generations
He symbolized rebellion
But was he that wild?

Born in Dartford, Kent
Dad Basil and mum Eva
Teacher, hairdresser

Sang in church choir
Guess he learned sympathy for
The devil later

But Mick, Keith Richards
Were school chums early, got back
Together later

Chance train stop meeting
Joint love for Muddy and Chuck
Glimmer Twins were born

Keith, Brian Jones planned
A band; Mick kept up
London School studies

But the music won
What’s a bachelor’s degree
Versus world conquest?

Mick and Keith, wedded
For life, like rhythm and blues
Yeah, like rock ’n’ roll

Mick said he was just
“This guy from suburbia
“Who plays in this band”

But he had the look,
Strut and swagger to make him
Rebel No. 1

And he had the band
To mine the grooves, much longer
And so much deeper

“The Last Time”: first time
They wrote a No. 1 hit
It wasn’t the last

No stopping the Stones
They played with fire, tears went by
No satisfaction

His cloud and his thumb
Flash, shelter and street fighting,
Women, wild horses

The music’s menace
Took shape and then came to life
A little too real

The suburban boy
Grew up fast in the spotlight
Brian dead, fans killed

Drug charges, tax bills
Women troubles multiplied
But the band played on

Killer albums all
For years on end, and the best
Came while in exile

Forty albums, give
Or take, hits beyond counting
Across the eras

Glam rock and disco
Country, punk, soul, but always
Back to R&B

He played the celeb
Better and worse, married twice
Seven kids all told

But for all his wealth
You know he couldn’t always
Get what he wanted

“Sir Michael Jagger”
Knighted by the Queen, caught some
Grief from Keith for that

Star turns with Tina
Vamping with Bowie, singing
With Michael Jackson

Stones’ output slowed down
But tours still broke all records
Fans’ hunger untamed

Mick just keeps rolling
Shaking it on the Grammys
Forming a new group

And there should be more
Music from the Stones, the itch
Mick still has to scratch

Happy birthday Mick
Thanks for being you, helping
Us get what we need

—————————–

Gilda Radner’s Mick tribute and Patti Smith send-up: “Gimme Mick”

No moss haiku, part 2

Bill Wyman’s birthday yesterday makes it as good a time as any to get some earlier Stones stuff onto the blog. These are from Charlie Watts’ 70th birthday, June 2, 2011. I know nothing about playing the drums, but I always thought Charlie was the perfect drummer for the Rolling Stones — flexible, solid, content to be in the background. And he always seemed to have some sort of cool jazz or blues project going on the side.

Haiku powered by Charlie’s wattage

Today’s the birthday
Of Charlie Watts, Stones’ drummer
Renaissance beat man

Rock traces its roots
To folk, country, mostly blues
But how about jazz?

Jazz caught Charlie’s ear
“Flamingo” and “Walkin’ Shoes”
He lusted for drums

Before his first kit
He hacked off a banjo’s neck
Drummed on its body

Soon he played skiffle
‘Round London street corners, joined
Alexis Korner

Keith and Mick showed up
Blues Incorporated group
Morphed into the Stones

Whatever a song
Needed, Charlie knew the beat
Time was on his side

The Stones, the rolling
Circus, creative chaos
Charlie was the rock

Pick any Stones hit
Listen to Charlie’s drumming
It will be just right

For instance, it’s there
On “19th Nervous Breakdown”:
Sticks, cymbals, big toms

He didn’t forget
His first love, either, once formed
A jazz orchestra

Boogie-woogie lived,
Too, in his great pickup group
Rocket 88

With Stones and without,
He’s played it all, and he marks
One more year on time

And on “Moonlight Mile”
Charlie Watts proved he drums to
A different dancer

No moss haiku, part 3

Bill Wyman’s birthday yesterday makes it as good a time as any to get past Stones stuff onto the blog. From the anniversary of the release of a great album.

May 12, 2011, haiku

Exile on Main Street
Released 39 years back
On a dark May day

The Stones were exiled
To France and LA, fleeing
Britain’s back taxes

Music deep in blues
Vocals buried in mixes
Murky, layered, drugged

Country, calypso
And soul sank into the songs
Blurring the picture

Musicians drifted
In and out, heroin shot
Through Keith Richards’ veins

The dissolution
And delays bugged unstoned Stones —
Mick, Bill and Charlie

Despite everything
The beast was corraled, not tamed,
Baffling to many

Dice tumbled, joints were
Ripped, hips shaken, a light shined
And Keith got happy

A time of excess,
Restless music, “more is more”
Captured brilliantly

And the Voice critic
Robert Christgau got it right:
“Fagged-out masterpiece”

Another rolling birthday

Almost missed a Stones birthday. Bill Wyman, Oct. 24, 1936. Hard to believe he left the band almost 20 years ago.

Rocker of ages
Bill Wyman, 75,
This October day

Followed bass instincts
Made his own fretless model
Amplifier, too

Decent audition
Joined Stones, December 7th,
1962

Great rhythm section
With Charlie Watts: pulse, heartbeat
Of the classic Stones

Followed base instincts
Scandalously so, bedded
Then wed a young teen

Son from earlier
Once engaged to the mother
Of Wyman’s child bride

But enough weird stuff
Or maybe not — I mean who’d
Quit the Rolling Stones?

But he’s done fine since
Married an adult, more kids,
Own band, Rhythm Kings

Always keeps journal
Wyman’s written several books,
Bio “Stone Alone”

Dig this: Hunts treasure
(You thought Keith was the pirate!)
Metal detective

Wrote movie scores, takes
Fine photos; 2010 had
Own exhibition

Ex-Stones bass player
Bill Wyman, 75,
Gathering no moss