write haikus, not just on Fridays

body failing, now
recalling debts unredeemed:
much love given me.

i speak of irish
melancholy: this is crap.
it is personal.

nationality
is not the answer to my
too-late found regret.

i have no worries
except for all the mistakes
back to haunt me now.

older, not tired but
weary of being this kind
of disappointment.

when i was younger
my problems seemed so dreadful:
and they were nothing.

in youth i knew no
existential fear that i
would be this way now.

betraying those i
loved most: recalling those i
can never repay.

and i had some dreams
that will never be fulfilled:
oh, they could have been.

wed-nez-day they say;
wenz-dee or wendz-day from me:
proud mumbler i am.

it’s america
and i say we don’t need no
etymology.

we talk good. shut up
you namby-pamby snobs: we
have hydrogen bombs!

all this crap from a
guy living near washington:
we are in deep shit.

i will never be
what i should have been and that
shame will never leave.

lies, deception and
distancing are not the way
it was meant to be. oh, no.

an academic -
never an ersatz writer
producing nothing.

old subscription so
certain of her deadly wrath -
and subscription gone!

here is my friend james
thirteen months old, i am told:
so young and wise too!

In the new year is
always so much of the last:
slow tread toward old age.

falling, declining
unidirectional flow:
rusting to death.

tuesday afternoon
i’m eating spicy chili
oh so very good!

My big sister Gail
and her daughters are coming
this very Tuesday.

I’m glad to see them
and hope to meet their demands
or I will suffer!

Now at fortynine
in her flashing pale blue eyes
I am but a child.

(Not really so bad -
it is meat for this haiku:
truth is much calmer.)