A nose knows
.
Where the red rose grows
The nose knows when the wind blows
Love blooms, then it goes
.
Fractured Haiku
by Eddie the Blue Heeler.🌹🐾
A nose knows
.
Where the red rose grows
The nose knows when the wind blows
Love blooms, then it goes
.
Fractured Haiku
by Eddie the Blue Heeler.🌹🐾
March 2026
Longboat Key, Sarasota
Mostly six syllable haiku.
A morning walk along the beach on Longboat Key in Sarasota, Florida, a gentle breeze, what it means to be all alone in a city 56,000 people.
Through the portal,
On the Beach
— Nevil Shute

Alice’s Looking Glass
“If I had a world
of my own,
everything
would be nonsense.
Nothing would be
what it is,
because everything
would be what it isn’t.
And contrary wise,
what is,
it wouldn’t be.
And what it wouldn’t be,
it would.
You see?”

Pretty shells.
The shore.
For free
.
If the ocean and the shore had a political theory, would it be Dao Dejing?
More political theory:
Gather, collect, conform.
We are prisoners, confined to the structures we create. Michel Foucault
Broken shelves,
Broken hearts,
Broken dreams.
.
What is a rebel, but a man who says no-Albert Camu. We shall return to this thought
All politics is local, says tip O’Neill. Federalism takes into account, the large in the small, the rural in the urban. This helps to avoid the tyranny of the majority.
The waves,
The foam,
Repeat.
.
In terms of texture, clam shells come in three varieties: spiky, ribbed, and smooth The color is very from white to black my favorite is the silvery iridescent shell that looks like pearl. Because these are so fragile, they are all almost always broken. Does part of their beauty lie in the fact that they uncommon? 
The birds,
Flapping,
Their wings
.
Seagulls,
Sandpiper,
And fools
.
How to describe a sand pepper:
Long beaks,
Long legs,
Small heads
.
Blue ocean,
so vast,
No wind
.
 me,
On the beach,
Alone 
Back through the portal.
“What is a rebel? A man who says no.” Camus
Or a man on the beach with no shoes 
Late in December at the gym, jogging around the track, trying to remember that one I was young.
I have outlived Matsuo Basho now for quite a few years. Eating well, lifting weights, writing poetry is my secret to success.
One is lifting weights
Grunting, barely holding on
Sadly, getting older
.
Those who are younger
Daily are getting stronger
And looking better
.
The weight of the world
Grows and grows all the time
Troubling one’s mind
.
Like Sisyphus one keeps at it. Like Basho one wanders from time to time.
Variations on a fart by a smart feller. things not said in polite company.
Somebody farted,
Was it wind or a whisper?
Friends soon departed
.
Somebody farted
Hearing a sigh feeling a breeze ,
The room held its breath
.
Somebody farted
A cloud of mystery lingered
As I departed
.
Matsuo Basho ate radishes both because they were plentiful and because he had stomach problems for most of his life. No doubt he passed gas in polite company, but it was never mentioned.
From the fractured haiku collection.
On the anniversary of Matsuo Bashō’s death,
November 28, 2025
partially puzzled,
and warily wondering
what Bashō would think…
The last line could be changed to say, “Would Bashō approve…” But sadly, he’s not here to say.
RIP: Matsuo Bashō, master of the haiku, who died surrounded by friends, November 28, 1694 (age 50 years), Osaka, Japan
Rocky Mountain High. From the fractured haiku collection.
I did,
I do every damn day.
Do you?
At St Mary’s Glacier, off I-70, past Idaho Springs, five miles or so up Fall River Road, at 10.000 feet and climbing. The doing is going somewhere new.
October 2025