Introduction

Some years back, I grew interested haiku. Initially, because these short gems struck me as the perfect match for Twitter—a marriage made in digital heaven, as it were. Besides, how hard could it be to write a seventeen-syllable poem.

As I normally do when my interest alights on something, I read several books on the subject (that this time included Higginson and Harter’s wonderful The Haiku Handbook) and from there proceeded to immerse myself in several well-known haiku masters, such as Bashō, Buson, Issa, Shiki, et al.

Meanwhile, I began trying my hand at these things, initially strictly adhering to the five-seven-five syllable format, which, I soon came to find out (from online self-proclaimed haiku gurus), was quite a crude adaptation of that principle seeing that Japanese syllables do not necessarily correspond to English syllables (which are, by expert reckoning, quite unwieldy by comparison). Also, reading a lot of (published and respected) English language haiku I soon realized that both the five-seven-five and the seventeen-syllable “rules” had long since been abandoned by the better (and more creative) haiku poets.

As a result of seeing things in this particular light, I soon began taking liberties with the five-seven-five rule but for some odd reason the seventeen-English-syllable statute remained on the books, refused to leave, had found a home in me—if for no other reason than that my little haikus (which I soon named Wolfkus for an obvious reason) seemed to percolate to the surface fully grown and just about always in a string of seventeen-syllable creations. And when they did not, say they surfaced as an eighteen-syllable Wolfku, or a sixteen-syllable one, well, then I discovered that when I sand-papered the longer ones into seventeen, or added some air into the shorter ones into seventeen: the meaning seemed clearer, more definite—besides, this was a fun exercise (I love language and its many words and their bendable uses).

Struck by something, an image, a feeling, a thought, before long this seventeen-syllable raft came bopping to the surface (having been let go of by some curious and creative, though shy, deep-sea Wolfku deity). During a morning’s walk by the Pacific, three or four or sometimes five of these Wolfkus might surface, and it was all I could do to remember them all until I returned home to a pen or a keyboard.

Sometimes I did forget them, memory like a sieve these days.

Before not so long, many of these Wolfkus arrived more as aphorisms than true haikus, as little containers of distilled perhaps philosophical reflection. Well, since many of them struck me (the creator, or recipient might be a better word) as both unique and insightful, who was I to call a halt to this quite enjoyable, if curious, phenomenon.

A phenomenon that still flourishes and seems to have no intention to do otherwise, for I rarely return from an hour’s walk without some seventeen-syllable epigram or other.

Seeing, though, that the earth from which these Wolfkus sprung (and still spring) was replete with impressions and sometimes micro-epiphanies, I thought that perhaps it was time to revisit these Wolfkus and examine this fertile soil for what else it might hold. What, indeed, I wondered, gave birth to them, what carried them from darkness to light? And where did they, in turn, carry me? This is what gave birth to the idea of Wolfku Musings—a collection of Wolfkus and the soil that sprung them.

I have published Wolfku Musings, Book One, and will soon publish Book Two, to be followed by Three… Four… et cetera.

Meanwhile, I realized that I really should assemble a sort of archive of those Wolfkus that I have posted online, by now running into the several hundred, and also publish future Wolfkus Archives as I write and post them.

Lately, say over the last many months, I’ve begun to give my Wolfkus titles as well, just for, well, I don’t know why really, just felt right. As I now compile these Wolfkus from oldest to newest, I’ve also added titled to those who never had one.

All this said, here then, the second installment.

Wolfkus 101 - 200

— 101 —

Stars

Scattered long ago
by Darkness
Many little lights
yearn for itself


— 102 —

Seventeen

My mind is dancing
the five seven five seven
teen syllable jig


— 103 —

Confused

October butterfly
looking for May
in every wilted flower


— 104 —

Pride

My indignation
blossomed like an evil flower
Pride everywhere


— 105 —

Autumn

The misty, musty
fragrances of fall
That death can be so alive


— 106 —

Hiding

A true closet intellectual
knows how to spell
Friedrich Nietzsche


— 107 —

Crows

Timid crow vs. brave
A-wing vs. black eyes
and priestly strutting


— 108 —

Moonlight

Full moon on water
glitters
the perfect song


— 109 —

After the Rain

That sky-deep hole
  in the ground
proved to be nothing
but a still puddle


— 110 —

Ocean

Darkness
Unanchored
Leaving on the tide


— 111 —

Gull

In air, right at me
A seagull in a hurry
What news? I wonder


— 112 —

Meditation

These days
my mind is less
  populated—
elbow room, fresh air
  stillness


— 113 —

Music

The prison of melody
The lovely shackles
of affirmation


— 114 —

Kick

Pebble
  Toe
    Flick
      Ditch


— 115 —

Wife

I am long married
I call my lovely wife
by one name:
Solitude


— 116 —

Confirmation

Convictions:
They certain us
They blind us


— 117 —

Confirmation

We see, we hear
We stance, we love, we hate
We ponder, we judge
We self


— 118 —

Pride

The crow within arm’s length
who does not flee me
gifts me a sense of pride


— 119 —

Revolutions

Sunlight to starlight
  to sunlight again
as Life to Death
  and then Life


— 120 —

Embrace

Blanket of wide cloud—
That gray could be so lovely
Embracing that tree


— 121 —

Autumn

The softest footfall
upon wilting leaves
red, brown, and golden


— 122 —

Said Gotama

The one advice
more precious
than any other:
Come, see for yourself


— 123 —

Infinity

In an infinite universe
everywhere is
perfectly centered


— 124 —

Weather

The tide is high
The wind is high
The ocean wild
  and rearing


— 125 —

Diaphanous

So light—
a poem is a country
written on the air


— 126 —

Pelicans

On the water
In silent prayer
a congregation of pelicans


— 127 —

Contract

My contract to cling
  to this body
is binding?
And no escape clause?


— 128 —

Refusal

Paws slide on concrete
Leash brown and taut
One reluctant dog


— 129 —

Whispers

Trees in the mist
whispering among themselves
There he goes, the human


— 130 —

Waste

We eat, sleep, sing, pray
dream, tell—
  Sometimes we seek
Mostly we squander time


— 131 —

Fog

The seagull through fog
Silent, airy, wing—wing steps
Fainter, fainter, gone


— 132 —

Rain

Sun falling on emerald leaves
still dripping from
the overnight rain


— 133 —

Spring

Here and there
in the fields
Islets of April snow


— 134 —

Geese

In the cool, V-less air
two geese winging
  desperately
to catch up


— 135 —

Death

When I was little
only animals
  and strangers
passed away


— 136 —

Food

An obscenely rich culture
must advertise food
to be rid of it


— 137 —

Sun

Does the sun
ever think:
What’s in it for me?


— 138 —

Wind

The cold wet wind in my face
The soul—knowing, knowing
still warm and dry


— 139 —

Seals

Distant seals
bark their
hundred-part harmonies


— 140 —

Pelicans

Clouds and clouds
of pelicans rise in
God’s generous
supply of them


— 141 —

Exhibition

A sunrise cloud exhibition:
Some of them Turner
others Monet


— 142 —

Hearts

The hearter you do
The hearter you be


— 143 —

Crows

Black, airborne wings
two in flight
  two in hot pursuit
A crow argument


— 144 —

Seals

Slick, shiny heads
breaking the sunlit
  surface
—teenage seals


— 145 —

Rage

Odd thing this:
The whiter the ocean
—the angrier


— 146 —

Crows

A crow glides by beautifully
A young black
gull-wannabe


— 147 —

Ocean

An angry sea today
The waves
  not so much cresting
as erupting


— 148 —

Pigeons

Small birds on four wires
like a score
—when suddenly
the song takes off


— 149 —

Takeoff

All along the wet
  foggy beach
pre-flight pelicans
checking them twice    


— 150 —

Wind

The leafless thicket
creaks and squeaks
—the winter wind


— 151 —

Samsara

Samsara is a sick joke
that Emptiness
is playing on itself


— 152 —

Rain

Hard rain on asphalt
—I walk on
boiling water


— 153 —

Growth

Given earth
water and air
the seed must obey
the fire within


— 154 —

Ratio

Sawing off a leg
will not improve
the flesh to spirit ratio


— 155 —

Pelicans

These pelicans
fly so near
—I hear
feathers sing


— 156 —

Happy Water

The ocean today
rising, waving, singing
so happy to see me


— 157 —

Dreaming

A bottomless lake
Forest water dark and still
A young boy sleeping


— 158 —

Love

He said to me
—It’s all about love
I said
—There’s less to it than that


— 159 —

Winter

Into the chill, moist air
Wood smoke rising
Winter settling in


— 160 —

Awake

Dawn doors thrown open
My mind free to roam again
Out into green fields


— 161 —

Paragraphs

After a thousand haiku:
Thirsting for a real, full
Long paragraph


— 162 —

Gray

Remnants of a storm
The sky and sea sing
Fifty true shades of gray


— 163 —

Dabbler

By Hakuin’s side
I am nothing but
  a weak
Spiritual dabbler


— 164 —

Infinity

An infinite universe
Would mean
Infinite, identical
  Earths


— 165 —

Big Bang

At birth
The Universe expanded
Far faster than
The speed of light


— 166 —

Glider

Irreverent crow in flight
No wonder they call him
Dances with Gulls


— 167 —

Infinity

Tinkering with the Infinite
—dull finite tools
my clumsy fingers


— 168 —

Crane

Like a glider
  circling
A crane comes in
  for a landing


— 169 —

Dance

My days are not so much
well planned
as choreographed


— 170 —

Starlings

Starling wings
flutter the morning sunlight
—all over me


— 171 —

Starling

What about that one
  starling
who does not take off
  with the rest of them


— 172 —

Indifference

The rainy sky
Gray, blue and fleecy white
Majestically indifferent


— 173 —

Indifference

The ocean in the rain
Gray and frothy white
Supremely indifferent


— 174 —

Thrushes

Thrushes flap
  the sunlight
like happy
  winged snow


— 175 —

Puzzle

Life is an intricate puzzle
For the amusement
of Emptiness


— 176 —

Evening

Blue and pink
  a little gray
Night is heading
  thataway


— 177 —

Starlings

Wired starlings
sit in boring
but rapid staccato
—quit shoving


— 178 —

Geese

A V of mystic geese
winging north
for January snow


— 179 —

Hinges

The hinges of my heart
  rusted open
It is cold in here


— 180 —

Crows

Two crows
  on a wire
Inkblots


— 181 —

Mystery

Our universe:
Our star spangled
  Gordian knot


— 182 —

Dad

Forest in the rain
the smell of
  Dad alive


— 183 —

Glue

Regret glues you
to the past—
Not a good place
  to be


— 184 —

Deer

Deer in rain
  Silver bells


— 185 —

Self-Help

Buddhism is
  the original
  the ultimate
self-help system


— 186 —

Ego

It alone against
the world, the ego
—its illusory life


— 187 —

Fences

Fences—
Keeping in
or keeping out?


— 188 —

Life

One fundamental problem
is that Life
is addicted to Living


— 189 —

Air

The color and taste
of our mental space
  is the air
the spirit breathes


— 190 —

Images

My coat of images
I wrap it tightly
around me
for comfort


— 191 —

Books

I buy more books
that I may live
  longer


— 192 —

Cellular View

We are walking
  skyscrapers
With a trillion
  tenants


— 193 —

Addicts

The Earth to life
as heroin to
  the junkie


— 194 —

Skin

As I age—
  my skin outgrows me
  by a size or two


— 195 —

Weight-Loss

Billions of innocent cells
pay with their lives
for every pound we lose


— 196 —

Food

The need to kill
  to survive
complicates
  the kindness-game


— 197 —

Sea Horses

This morning, the ocean:
  a frothy, white
  thundering herd


— 198 —

Perceptions

See only the seen
Uncolored by memory
So the Buddha taught


— 199 —

Shadows

A shadow cast by stone
is no darker than that
cast by a feather


— 200 —

View

The self is a lens
  distorting
  what we see


— End —