Haibun 159

my favorite flavor cherry red

there were soda fountains when i was a kid. they had little stools that spun around. we would watch as they put the crushed ice into a paper cone. then they filled it with flavors from little spigots with metal pumps that they pressed three times each with whatever combination we requested. it was great to get just want you wanted. the gratification a nickel bought back then was wonderful and fulfilling. everything shiny and sweet is not good for you though. it broke my heart to learn that lesson years later.

still here
on the edges
of my poems

Haibun 158

my ouija board lies like a rug

the tao te ching is a fantasy and my future is as complicated as a box of jujubes. every time i think i have found my favorite flavor i change my mind. the complexity of life lies in its simplicity. if the present moment is too stressful just flow into the next. i tell you all the teachings of buddha are easier to understand than a box of candy that is not good for you but matches your desire as you watch ‘apocalypse now’ for the hundredth time.

my death poem
i read it
e v e r s o s l o w l y

Haibun 157

i didnt come here and i aint leaving

the older i get the closer i am to being me. yeah. it is a conundrum i know. i used to think i would not live that long. now at seventy two it all seems a miracle that will last forever. not that i believe in miracles like forever but it sounds good to say it in a haibun.

november rain
just cold enough
to be…

Haibun 155

leftover dreams

sometimes deja vu occurs in our dreams. funny isnt it when that happens. something that never occurred for real reappears while we sleep. a rumination of a dream in a dream. very odd. psychologists must have a lot of fun when this happens.

recalling
the way it wasnt…
missing you

Haibun 153

portrait of my love

if you want people to like you then make it easy for them. just be your own craggy self with all your imperfections on show. and give each of them a part of you to keep if they wish. take nothing from them though. the peace of a summer breeze repeats itself by doing nothing. a wait is always worth it. do it with the calmness of no certain reward.

casting its lot
with the butterflies
milkweed