Haiku Sunday - Palermo Streets

Arriving by car

to the last stronghold of chaos

before I see the truthMamma so tired from

lastly looking longingly at

the human wastes of life

Rising higher than taxes

the people cannot finish what the church

has taken from them

Guarded by forces

less natural than the feline

where is the new home?

Standing vigils hope

the distances may shrink soon

between life and death

The state is enemy

the underground is not

keeping them all back

Markets are meanings

life cannot bear more than is asked

truth is not possible

Smiling like he knows

why life is much simpler for him

than mine will ever be

Inviting a friend

to lunch is always better

before a long nap

He knew better

he thought to himself as he watched

him leave one final time

so many choices

meat, kidney, lights, flash, smoke

mirrors the way we live

It is not smoking

it is breathing in a choice

to be Sicilian

Haiku Sunday - When in Rome

The final Haiku Sunday before our departure tomorrow. I am in the midst of packing and could not help but play these memories of my beloved Rome for you guys today. I look forward to your comments as I fill the camera bag and suitcases for our big return to Italy. Happy Haiku Sunday!

What are you looking

at, she thought as she lit her

smoke. Get out my face!

This aint no postcard

no animals were harmed in

making this film

Young lust publicly

viewed by many to be too much

isn't it better to touch?

excuse me sir, said

the server as he floated

about the diner

a walk along roads

much older than most reveals

so little about man

Athena always hates

the last hour before bedtime

she sometimes cries alone

Dante often tires

of hearing so much latin and greek

this is Italy damnit!

Wedding cake icing

never tastes very good nor

makes one feel sated

eyes have a way of

telling stories that perhaps

even the mind does not

A warm night stroll is

the impetus for choosing

this image of the Tiber

When Roman eyes are

smiling all the world is

subjugated

Marion, how do

you suppose these little men

drive these teeny cars?

she laid flowers at

the foot of the dead world just

before her night prayers

Haiku Sunday - Memories of a Junkpile

This i the first time I have prefaced a Haiku Sunday. Juliet and I were out on a walk in our new urban development when we happened upon a pile of things strewn about a street corner. It was quite hard to believe that the items had not been intentionally and very likely maliciously dumped right across the street from our apartment building. It set our imaginations aflame with supposition and intrigue. Here is our interpretation of the mystery.

living on samples

trolling the aisles trying to look

different from before 

In the early morn

the baker of dreams pulls off

the covers himself

she put down the book

as the last drop of the bath

turned cool and ugly

On a new street we

sometimes see the city guys

holding their paint cans

Mother was charged with

separating the new from

no longer needed

Botswana was his

only memory and still

she took it from him

the nape of her neck

called to him as he hoisted

what remained of his heart

into the pickup

while she laid there lifeless and

with nothing to say

trying them on was

always more fun than wearing

these clunkers she thought

her final hope clung

to her clutching hands as the

tornado touched down

Haiku Sunday - A Collaboration of Photos and Words

So much madness

in the streets of life and only

so little solace

(Photo by Juliet Housewright from her upcoming blog SCHMEE JOURNEYS)

Lace curtains could never

recover from what they have seen 

them do to each other

Photo by Mike Fiveson - photographer and author of the exceptional blog -

Mike's Look at Life  - Mike's work and talent inspire my work each day. Follow Mike's journey through life's doorways and be ennobled.

The day was opaque

before he burrowed through the pillow

to find her sleeping

In the most banal

of images there is a story

hiding inside us

they called him king Arthur

because he was the bravest wasp

and broke the glass prison

he left his pants on

the stairs as they loved in the

doorway and the floor

confessions of a priest

often fall on the ears of 

a faceless image

he always played close

to home but once he left the confines

discovering it was lies

For Cara today

he thought as he drew color

from the image here

Blue blue blue blue blue

he whistled as he pushed the levers left

leaving only the blue

Haiku Sunday - Easter Ingredients

Left or right hands can

bring the raw to the real while

perhaps not the same

color is often

how we decide and how we

judge food and humor

words are difficult

to describe the tastes and names

of life's blood and pain

imagery: a rotting

tomato at the bottom of a well, half eaten

on one side by worms (Dr John Alvis circa 1990)

flowers come in shapes

that often bear no resemblance

to anything aliveat the end there will

be only joy in the finish but

not in the leaving