THE HAIKU CHU CHU

The CLOUD CHAMBER

japan beauty

THE HAIKU CHU CHU

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MOON IN THE YOUNG EARTH

Moon in the young Earth,

Ripped away; that Moon yet stays.

I cannot let go

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THESE THREE THINGS I KNOW

These three things I know:

I loved you, I love to write,

Without you I write.

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THE LOVE ZOMBIE

Exhume me no more.

I am yet undead to you,

With a zombie love.

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CONVALESCENT HOME

There’s no more pleasure;

Only easing of the pain.

You’ve surrendered me.

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THE SINNER’S HYMN

Great is God, our God,

Greatest of all, Who is our

Greatest Invention.

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LE SACRÉ BLEU

I have examined

A life not worth the living.

What now, Socrates?

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shadow_of_leaves_11388078736

I, shadow haiku,

Cast from leaves moved by a breeze

That I can’t conceive

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THE GRASSHOPPER IN WINTER

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In all the facets of his eyes, with Meadow of the Valley burning green,
The rolling colors up and down the hillside shined, petted by the wind.
Galahad the Grasshopper did thus not need to dream,
Offering to Aesop Ant, in passing, morsels of a leaf that he did love,
From high atop the towering weed, from where his heart did leap,
Called Galahad to him below, “Hey, can you stop, Aesop, my friend, and watch the spring in beauty burn?”

Aesop Ant replied, “Well, meadows do that sort of thing”, and tilting head from toil’s burn,
“You will find the Meadow is not always green,
And what is real is dreadful preparation. Somehow does the worst upon us always leap.”
Appalled at Aesop’s rude philosophy, cried Galahad into the wind:
“What of Love?”
Aesop Ant just smiled and waved good-bye, “Good luck with Love, a Dream.”

A shadow fell on Galahad, and startled him from Aesop’s troubling Dream;
Above him saw a Butterfly alight upon the flower, wings a prism interceding for the sunlight’s burn.
“Sorry to disturb your dreaming. I am Bethanie.” She sipped the flower she did love.
“I am Galahad. It is a lovely day.” His armor never shone before so green.
And Bethanie enjoined, “I hid when I was just a silly little caterpillar, dreaming of the wind.
But now I raise my wings to me and into beauty soon shall leap!”

Into every facet of his eyes did Bethanie’s true beauty leap.
Galahad did nod with every movement of her wings, to hear as if he did thus deeply dream:
“But now is time to drink the world and spill no drop into the wind.”
Then suddenly was Galahad no longer happy; something in his eyes did burn.
Added Bethanie, “But, you are welcome to accompany my journey high above the green.”
Galahad restrained himself from leaping then and there, while saying “That, I would be sure to love.”

“Can you stay apace with me?” asked Bethanie, “No matter what you love?”
Galahad without restraint said, “Yes, I can. For I can glide the farthest of them all after I leap.”
“Then let us go while sun still shines and all the grass is green.”
Away from Galahad she fluttered like a dream.
Galahad leapt to the sky, and spread his wings to glide; to leap and glide until his legs did burn.
Down the valley to unseen horizon blew the wind.

Galahad did slowly fall apace, and finally descry not Bethanie in bygone wind.
Heart of his, a beating compass, blindly pointed love
Until the sun of that first day was no more seen to burn,
And from behind, a full moon crouched and into stars did leap.
Galahad now found himself beside a tiny creek that fell into a sandy pool, inviting him to dream.
Wearily he nibbled on a leaf, and heavy was his armor, fading green.

Far away, a Cricket choir chirping helped his spirit into slumber leap,
Rekindling desire, cherishing an unforgotten Dream.
Something cold did his way whisper, withering that Dream so green.

Waking up most suddenly from all he thought were memories still green
Galahad felt fiercely cold and bitten by the wind.
In all the facets of his eyes were tears that froze that former Dream
Of springtime months ago; Of Love.
Winter cold was gnawing now upon his heart, to death if he away could no more leap.
Beyond the gloaming garden, thence he knew not when he fell, he smelled a farmhouse fire burn.

Shivering, an ember in his heart did once more flare and burn,
Shining in all facets of his eyes, again so brightly green.
A leap
Into the wind,
Gliding for his unseen Love
With their waiting Dream,

Narrowly ajar, an open window, shining bright, perchance another dream,
Through which Galahad could see a lusty fire burn,
Embracing in the fireplace a sweet dry branch with love.
And near the windowsill in colored lights bestrewn, there stood a Christmas tree still green.
Galahad nudged through the open window, as it kept at bay the wind,
To the Christmas tree then did he leap.

Sailing to the crowning star where with that faithful leap,
Galahad, now warm beside a golden light that shined just like his Dream,
Without the wolfish winter wind,
Within him fever still did burn,
Glowing tarnished armor green.
Thus did he believe delirium brought Bethanie, in visions of his Love.

Galahad was sure that now he truly saw his Love;
All the facets of his eyes across the room did leap
Above the mantle, on the wall, inside a frame of green,
Where Bethanie, transfixed as mid-flight in a dream,
Held her wings outstretched, where interceding shadows race and burn,
Everlasting in a chambered replica of wind.

Then Galahad in flashing horror saw a pin was driven through her back, to hold her in imaginary wind.
He cried out as he leapt across the void to be beside his Love.
Tapping frantically on glass reflections in which shadows race and burn,
Slipped and fell he to the hearth. In paralyzed despair he watched for an eternity the hellish fire leap
Until the flames revealed his fate inside a final Dream.
Into the glowing ashes dipped he tattered wings that once were green.

With wings of fire, back up to the crucifixion chamber’s frame of green
Galahad did leap his last, to lie with Bethanie and immolate his Dream.
The mingled smoke did through the open window toward unseen horizon leap.

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VISIONS OF THE GONE

VISIONS OF THE GONE

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Into the party, as I gravitate

To the rugs, a couple says hello;

Bob and Cinda, fisherman and mate,

I kid you not. Bob rolls a joint real slow

From crumbled, sticky, bud de México.

He passes it. I take a hit and blow

The rolling smoke aside and then I cough

That I’m a grad student, and I know

Marine Biology. But, I’m off

For this semester and I’ll tell my prof

That I will make it up. (I know he’ll scoff.)

Oh, yeah. So what? The job market’s a trough.

Then Cinda rises up above the cloud

Of smoke where I am playing Philosophe.

She saunters to the kitchen where its loud

With jabber bent by turning heads; the crowd

Has eyes that open wide and then beshroud

Her brown hair and the soft and whispered smile

As Cinda navigates politely proud

In blue-jeans and a blouse that suit her style.

She opens the refrigerator while

The guys make faces like a crocodile.

So meanwhile, back upon the Persian rugs,

My words are flying out so infantile

That Bob just smiles so wryly thin and tugs

The whiskers of his beard, and then he shrugs

To Cinda who is coming back with hugs.

I tell them of my odyssey today:

Across the campus students swarm like bugs

To Science and Humanities’ display:

Cadaver Woman, naked, leaden-gray

Like plastic. Lying on a tray,

Her heart is poked apart for hours there;

Formaldehyde perfume my nose unplugs;

As tan young girls in flowered dresses stare

With green-eyed souls and chew their long blonde hair.

Of all things, then, a bomb threat stops the fair.

But, how I got to Steven’s party here

I can’t remember, so I’ll never care.

Near Muckenthaler Ridge it all comes clear;

The laughing, music, and the clinking beer.

So Mo, and me, and Dobzhansky appear.

And there is Steven, girl upon his knee,

Inside his house. We cross the wild frontier

Where we and all the co-eds will run free,

Debate abortion, and Society,

And watch for willing lovers, constantly.

I realize it’s past too-late o’clock

When Bob and Cinda rise and draw for me

A map to where their boat is at the dock:

286-G, the limit of the block

On Island Terminal. No need to knock!

Near where the tuna catch is being canned,

Their blue Volkswagen van they park and lock.

Their boat of 38-odd feet is manned

By just a seal who hears us coming and

Abandons ship, deserting out of hand.

We climb below the deck, all single file.

Therein, the cluttered narrows take command.

Inside the cubby-kitchen cooking aisle

Is Bob, who’s boiling coffee grounds awhile,

Then pours it for us, sipping with a smile,

As Cinda plays for me a cassette tape

Of Beach Boy songs, all that she could compile,

My eyelids slowly drooping like a cape,

I hum with “Sail On, Sailor” to escape

The buzz from beer and smoke and get in shape

With all the coffee, dark as prophesy,

That I can hold. I feel the coffee scrape.

Then Cinda plucks a book to show to me:

Another Road-Side (what?) Attraction (see?).

“It’s by Tom Robbins and its great”, says she.

Beside the nook where Cinda and I sit,

Bob is standing. Both of them agree

That Disco is a platter full of shit,

And yet I argue Bee Gees now have hit

Arrangements showing cleverness and wit.

While tugging at his beard, Bob starts to grin

Real wryly. As he listens to my skit

I know he thinks that Disco is a sin

And disregards my thesis. I can’t win.

I change the subject, finally. Wherein

I tell them that I like their fishing boat.

I ask them how they wound-up fishermen.

As Cinda rolls a joint, Bob clears his throat:

“Oh, I was in the Army to promote

Nguyen Van Thieu and keep his shit afloat.”

“Commanding men is mostly giving them

Activities. (Do not give them a vote.)

Without a mission, men will cause mayhem.

One night we cruise the Province of Quáng Nam

And bullets rain a hundred RPM.”

Bob’s lips lock on the joint, and he inhales:

“A round has blown away this guy’s brainstem.

We find a bunker, running down the trails;

My men dive in and then the light impales

My eyes. A booby-trap the bunker now unveils.”

“My men are all bomb-fragments in the wall.”

He holds his reminiscence, then exhales.

But silence is concrete between us all

As skeletons of memories start to crawl

With yellow bones. In blood they scratch and scrawl.

He starts again, “I was discharged and got

An office job with music in the hall.

And there it was that Cinda and I caught

The sight of one another. She was not

Unhappily divorced. And, we both thought

That working for somebody else did suck.

Together we would have a better shot

At being happy. So we planned our luck:

We didn’t let our spending run amuck.

I saved my pay; she sold her pick-up truck.”

“We bought this fishing boat. It was a deal

So far away from working for a buck.

And here’s a picture of it taken real

Soon after Cinda listened my spiel

To say our boat would have her name reveal

That Cinda, in bold letters clearly drawn,

Would have no sadness to conceal.

We have our own contentment from now on,

Awakening together with the dawn,

Horizon all around, the land foregone,

The water’s edge is all that lies out there,

Where fathoms stand on soil, down thereon.

But you had better know how to repair

An engine. Mend it ‘cause there is no spare.

Convenience like an Auto Club is rare.”

“For weeks to us no vengeful God displays.

Yet, though we live a dream of laissez faire,

The Mafia, at most ports, always pays,

But haggle not with what they do appraise,

For your catch. Going elsewhere can take days.”

“We shop over the side for most our food.

It comes to us. We still need culture’s ways

For beer and stuff to burn that suits our mood.”

Another fisherman comes to collude

Onboard with us, with wine, and I conclude:

These sailors (and that sailoress) will wait

For no excuse: no drink will they exclude.

“’Cause what’s the use?” says Jimmy. “To first mate,

The Cinda.” Boyish face cannot negate

He’s captain of the Zeppelin, sedate

For such a big guy. We four celebrate,

As we are tethered there against the tide.

“Just listen”, Cinda says. Our words abate

And I can hear the mussel shells outside,

That cling onto the hull and congregate:

They’re clicking, snapping, drinking until late.

Our bottoms up above them share their fate.

 

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THE REVEREND O.L. DUCK SONGBOOK, VOL. II

 

What is the Present but the Future Past?
– Reverend O.L. Duck

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NATIVE CHILD

Moon Stream, can I row my dream
Where a sea bird flies?
Captain Breeze showing all the trees
Where freedom lies.
Sailor Shell, I can hear so well
The song inside.

[CHORUS]
I’m as light as a lover’s sigh.
I’m as free as a native child.
There’s nothin’ gonna leave me dry.
I’m gonna sail away on your smile.

Stars rise like the fireflies
Who saw high noon,
Unplanned, while a Southern band
Strummed a lazy tune,
On deck in the driftin’ wreck
Of a Tear Tycoon.

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LORDY, LORDY

Everything I own is attached
And hung right all the time.
Good for lovin’, that’s how I hatched.
Since when is that a crime?
Big girls fit in little tales.
I warn ‘em but it always fails.

[CHORUS]
Lordy, Lordy, I won’t be long.
Just keep your motor runnin’.
Don’t let it stall.
Get it on, hard to the floor!
If you keep pullin’ over
Love will be gone.

I thought about takin’ you back, but
My love is such a short ride.
Look both ways down the track.
Problems come from both sides.
Two sides can make a one-way street:
Two sides who know not to meet.

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THE PEOPLE WE WRITE

Oh, the people we wrong
And write to while we’re falling asleep at night.
I got your letter the other day
And I had to laugh at your paragraph
The thought behind it wasn’t clear
Because the tear caught upon it made a smear.

We used to scheme and find
We lost an awful lot of loose and spare time.
Wherever we went, sparks drew tears.
Like victims allied we had to decide:
If we needed that then we’re destroyed,
And nothing is something to avoid.

But our love grew stronger and it evolved
And ate only the people who were involved.

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© 1974 Zelmo Mutz Publishing
Katmancross Agency, WI

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DINNER WITH MY MENTALLY ILL BROTHER

DINNER WITH MY MENTALLY ILL BROTHER

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ME: “This place is heaven!”

HIM: “Yeah, China Diamond Palace Buffet has everything. Remember: I’m paying.”

ME: “Oh, you won’t forget.”

HIM: “I see you got your usual fried calamari and your usual creamed corn. What kind of soup is that?”

ME: “Oh, I chunked-up some salmon filets into the Sweet and Sour Soup.”

HIM: “Yuck, I can barely stand the smell of sea food.”

ME: “I know. You tell me every time. Well, I see you’re sticking with your Biscuits and Gravy. We could have just gone to Denny’s.”

HIM: “Hey, I didn’t have to invite you, you know. I’m paying.”

ME: “Oh, I’m only kidding, come on.”

HIM:“You still make fun of me.”

ME: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I’ll try to control myself.”

HIM: “Mom and Dad got tired of telling you.”

ME: “Well, I got tired of Mom always taking your side, never preparing you to be on your own. She wasn’t doing you any favors, believe me. She didn’t let Dad say anything to you, either.”

HIM: “Dad said he was disappointed in you, not in me.”

ME: “Well, they punished me good. They left half the money from the house to you and one quarter each to Melanie and me when it was sold.”

HIM: “Mom wanted me to have the house. She told me.”

ME: “Uh, just how were you going to keep the house, again? Your Government Disability would have been cut off if you owned a house. And you have no other income.”

HIM: “I told people at church that you and Melanie were trying to take the house from me. They told me to get a lawyer.”

ME: “You never told those busy-bodies the whole story. Uncle Harold was the Executor and he must have explained it to you a hundred times. How much did you waste on that lawyer?”

HIM: “Uncle Harold did not do what Mom wanted him to do. Mom told me that I was going to get the house! I never liked Uncle Harold.”

ME: “Mom always protected you and let you do anything you wanted. She felt terribly guilty because a child out of wedlock was a big deal for that generation. Your real father disappeared. Dad was amazing to marry Mom. You were a fucking retard.”

HIM: “Dad never did anything against me. It was you and Melanie and Uncle Harold.”

ME: “Mom wouldn’t let him!”

HIM: “Dad was so disappointed in you, he told me. You were always in trouble and you were into drugs.”

ME: “Listen, you freak, I always admired Dad. He was my hero. All I ever wanted was his respect. So fuck you.”

HIM: “Excuse me, but I thought you just said that you were going to control yourself?”

ME: “Yeah, yeah, let’s not fight about old shit. Uh, sorry.”

HIM: “My minister said that…”

ME: “Your minister just wants you to keep spending your inheritance on ‘donated’ bibles ‘with your name in them’ and new podiums, new microphones, and anything else that he can con you out of. Don’t you get it? Damn it. So much for church.”

HIM: “Dad and Minister Rob prayed for you when you were on drugs. Minister Rob said that we should still Love you. You don’t know how hard that was.”

ME: “Fuck Love.”

HIM: “That’s why Dad used to beat you! Stop saying that. Don’t you believe that Love is the most powerful thing in the world?”

ME: “No. No I don’t. Forgiveness is. We are all just trained animals. There is no God! We are always going to be cruel and selfish. We need to step up and be God. We tell ourselves that we are so special, so different; the “Crown of Creation”. Bullshit. We need to face our horrible savage lives with a shield of Forgiveness.”

HIM: “How can you say that there is no God? I’m going to make you go back. Are you forgetting that you are dead?!”

ME: “No, no, but you only ‘invite’ me to have dinner with you on the anniversary of my death! You’re the one who got my share of the inheritance when I OD’d. Maybe you feel guilty?”

HIM: “I don’t have to listen to this! You go to Hell.”

ME: “Sorry, there is no Hell. There is no…”

HIM: “Stop it, stop it, stop it! You go back right now!”

ME: “…and there is no Heaven. And there is no God!”

HIM: “Get out of here!”

ME: “See you next year, freak show.”

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HIM: Good. He disappeared again. I hate him. He always starts an argument and now everybody in the restaurant is looking at me. How embarrassing. He always embarrasses me. Next year I am NOT inviting him to dinner!

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TRAVIS HAS COME 🇩🇪

Travis has come.

Some say he’s a bum.

White is his hat.

That’s enough of that.

Travis likes beer.

None have we here.

Soon he’ll be a Dad.

That is not so bad.

What did you expect?

Travis had come.

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ELEGY FOR OUR CAT RONCHO


November 20, 1980

We love you.

That will never pass

Though all else seems to end.

Hey, fuzzy guy,

We love you.

You are still

Our little friend.

This morning was clear and bright

But it was not right.

The warm sun was out of place

Because you hid your sweet face

Beneath the garden

Where you would play

And capture butterflies

On their way,

Or touch the water

Against your fears.

We wish you were here now

To touch our tears.

Last night

With the moon so nearly full

We let you rest

Forever

On my shirt

While your sister played

Unafraid

In the open dirt.

We held a simple light

And stroked your pretty fur.

You were so peacefully with us

We wondered where you were.

You even had your sleepy smile

As we scratched your little cheek.

The sorrow fell

In shovelfuls

And buried us complete.

We love you.

That is never good-bye.

We love you,

We love you,

We love you,

She and I.

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