“Send Not To Ask*”

(May 21, 2019)

send not to ask

for whom the sirens scream, storm

they sound not at thee

*(With profound apology to Mr. Dunne for the appropriation but I was so fuddledbe by my brother Storm’s suggestion that the not-even-registered fire engine howling banshide scream was in my honor – and me without a spare butterfly net! to lend my captors – that I had to “huh?” The lad needs more work on his sotto eye-roll to get me into the spirit. Of course, since he trolls out in Seminole Woods where the only screams he hears are from Sandhill Cranes out on a shakedown – what? no peacocks? – that he fails to realize we “ruralified cinsitty dwellers” do data-dumps with the detritus of daily wear on aural nerve-endings.)

“Young Lass Said To Me”

(May 21, 2019)

young lass said to me:

wish I had your butt =

walk five* miles daily!

*(Actually, three miles daily, and three times weekly go for a pair of threes and if you can get someone to pay for the beer atterward, go the full nine! Gotta keep The Anti-Famine Protection Device filled donchaknow! I know, I know: ’twas so fuddled by the complement I forgot utterly how to snark. It wasn’t ’till I just sat down to transcribe what the notebook tells me I realized I had the perfect – okay, nearly so, or just good ’nuff – ‘joinder all set up to put in play: this false-maturity thing is getting out-of-hand!)

“The Moon Must”

(May 22, 2019)

the moon must look out

for itself in these matters

full…and with *lanith

*(Obviusly, *lanith well may be unword…but until I race down those dark passages yet again this will serve as placeholder because I remain entranced by a moon making good for and by itself: I just wanna know whatinhole the ‘matters’ are, full or otherwise! This is not the first time a midnight haiku insistence has bucked me off: the last word problems me not all that much, but at present universal solvent/lubricant is in diminished state though I am aware of where further supply yet may be found.)

“‘S Good Exercise” An Haiku Trio

(May 22, 2019)

baseball(s) a study

in failure(s) at best

frustration(s) abound(s)*

*(Pardon The Parentheticals)

sometimes one wins by

extrapolations

or lose from ennui*

*(Some have said Baseball is The Best Nap Ever)

‘s good exercise*

either way you go

or run third-base first

*(Whist playing Jungle Rules volleyball some near double-dozen miles from Danang, one wag suggested we play tackle baseball and I countered with Full Contact golf.)

“No ‘Constable’* Billy Crapps To Keep First Street Sacrosanct!”

(May 23, 2019)

window-cruising cars

reflections flashing streetshops

until semi-‘trudes

*(When old – though a mite younger, actually – high schoolmate Billy Crapps found out how to game the system – stop the former mayor’s wifey at speed and get ‘demoted’ to walking the First Street downtown beat here in once-small Sanford for pennance like the rabbit in the briar patch, no big-rig semi-tractor-trailer would dare First Street’s sacred precincts. Like an old-fashioned love song from Simon & Garfinkle, Where Have You Gone Brother Billy, First Street’s not the same, though we have fewer if any handlers-of-pan so to balance the equation. Watching car-reflections in downtown storefront windows a pleasant morning interlude whilst awaiting the library’s opening. You up in Jaw-Gheea or hangin’ hout hin New Smyrna, Billy? Storm needs a speedin’ ticket coming down the railroad hill on Park so’s he can fee right at home.)