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 fifth installment.

Wolfkus 401 - 500

— 401 —

Ice

I can feel
  another icy piece
  of me break free
and float away


— 402 —

Spirit

Remove the spirit
and we’re nothing but
bone, flesh, and blood
wrapped in skin


— 403 —

Equanimity

I may not choose
  what happens
But I choose
  whether it matters
  to me


— 404 —

Anapanasati

My breath, like gentle
  brushstrokes
breath by breath
  by breath
it paints me happy


— 405 —

Stealing

Kleptomania:
If it is not
  nailed down
It is yours
  for the taking


— 406 —

Drowning

I know I survived
—reliving the memory
I fear I did not


— 407 —

Carnivores

All carnivores
  are predators
though some let
  others do their
  killing


— 408 —

Aging

You know you’re
  over the hill
when men you
  consider old
call you Sir


— 409 —

Words

I find wordplay like
“a surprising uprising”
rather enticing


— 410 —

Silence

You cannot know what
  ceasing all thoughts means
Until you have
  ceased all thoughts


— 411 —

Faith

True Faith, as in Trust
is sensing the love
in the teaching
  of others


— 412 —

Blind Faith

Blind Faith, simply put
is “You had better
believe all of this
  …or else”


— 413 —

On Faith

E=MC squared
taking Einstein’s word
  for it
aka Faith


— 414 —

Mindfulness

Awareness—
  knowing experience
Mindfulness—
  knowing awareness

Put in other words:
Mindfulness is
  knowing
  knowing
  experience


— 415 —

Blueprint

The same angers, griefs,
jealousies, boredoms,
  lives
Did we blueprint all this?


— 416 —

Vegan

If you view cows
  as grass-to-meat
  converters
You are not a vegan


— 417 —

Integrity

There is no higher virtue
than honoring your own
resolutions

aka

This above all:
to thine own self
be true


— 418 —

Pain

Too bad that we
  don’t like pain
Since we are addicted
  to its causes


— 419 —

Painting

The Universe is
  an intricate painting
with many
  moving parts


— 420 —

Theft

I am afraid to
  let go of my body
in case someone
  steals it


— 421 —

Selves

By what brilliant
  sleight of hand
does a self
  limit itself
to one self?


— 422 —

Choreography

My days are not
  so much well-planned
as well and truly
  choreographed


— 423 —

Anapanasati

As thought-free air
  finds my lungs
and as thought-free
  leaves them
I rejoice


— 424 —

Nirvana

One single
  unenlightened being
renders Nirvana
  less than true


— 425 —

It’s Freezing

Somebody up here
  (Northern California)
left the backdoor open
  and let Alaska in


— 426 —

Just Right

The sun’s just right
The moisture’s just right
The asphalt sparkles
  and glitters


— 427 —

Allergies

Liver spots and
  grim little pains
I must be allergic
  to ageing


— 428 —

Many Paths

There is but one
  Truth Peak
Our different religions
  scale it differently


— 429 —

My Day

The day crawls
across the floor
on bent and aching
  knees
Still I live on


— 430 —

Awareness

Awareness:
  to know experience
Mindfulness:
  to know awareness


— 431 —

Perseverance

All is well as long as
our getting-back-ups
equal our falling-downs


— 432 —

Looking

Indescribable is a
  euphemism
for I don’t want to
  look


— 433 —

Ephemeral Hell

Hell, with only
  one foot
  in the infinite,
cannot be
  eternal


— 434 —

Guide

Before you can
  lead others out
  of this dark maze
You must know
  the way


— 435 —

Sex

Sex, that beautiful
  agony
so often mistaken
for pleasure


— 436 —

Truth

We have ventured
  as far into Truth
  as words and logic
can take us

Still, we have
  a long way to go


— 437 —

Samsara

We walk a light
  smothered
  and obscured
  by layers
  and layers
  and layers
of Samsara


— 438 —

Meditation

She’s my
  hard-to-find
and oftentimes
  arduous
way out of
  this place


— 439 —

Romance

Two words on
a billboard:
  “Pure Romance”
What a bloody
  oxymoron


— 440 —

Karmometer

Karmometer—
  a handy tool
to measure
  the state of
  your Karma


— 441 —

Celibacy

Amazing:
  the better to
see Truth
most saints
  prescribe
sex-transcendence


— 442 —

Death

That holy fear of
Death—vastly overrated
That blink of an eye


— 443 —

Breath

The first thing we do:
  we grasp the air
The last thing we do:
  we let it go


— 444 —

Surviving

We’re so busy
  keeping our bodies
    alive—
it’s all a big
  smokescreen


— 445 —

Death

The death of the body
  is gruesome
  to the degree
it is precious


— 446 —

Fool

I see, I taste
I hear, I feel
Therefore, I am
thinks a foolish mind


— 447 —

Infatuation

Two hearts caught
  in Mara’s vice
  helplessly in love
Passionate puppets


— 448 —

Mara

Mara: the undisputed
  King of fake news
  and other delusions


— 449 —

Gutters

Seems to me
  a favorite 18th century
  composers’ pastime
was dying in gutters.


— 450 —

Clarity

Truth—
  In the seen
  see only the seen
In the heard
  hear only the heard


— 451 —

Layers

There is so much self
  Layers
  Layers
  Layers
of self
Labored breathing


— 452 —

Sex Engineering

Sex is a remarkable
  feat of blinding
  binding
engineering


— 453 —

Infinity

Thinking of the infinite
in terms of the finite:
  such clumsy thoughts


— 454 —

Addiction

We love this life like
an addict his heroin
Parched and fierce we cling


— 455 —

Beauty

Lasting beauty rests
not in the loud and gaudy
Relish the simple


— 456 —

Expanding

Today, I spilled over
  into trees and
  sun and
  sky and
  gulls and
crows


— 457 —

Plunder

Capitalist theory:
  Justification
  for outright
Plunder


— 458 —

Words

 “Just words,” he said
  Sometimes, though
  they live, they breathe
they sing the Truth
  beneath


— 459 —

Words

“Just words,” he said
  Though now and here
  upon this tongue
They are the Truth
  sung


— 460 —

Words

 “Just words,” he said
  Though aglow
  on open wing
They are the Truth
  they sing


— 461 —

Chemistry

We live a
  chemical ocean
Awash with
  molecular
  feelings


— 462 —

Twitter

These vicious
  Twitter days
Our sense of outrage
  has grown
  sadly calloused


— 463 —

Meditation

Surely, Life would not
  devise a prison
without a secret
  escape


— 464 —

Obscenity

True obscenity:
  Having to
  advertise food
to scare up takers


— 465 —

Fulcrum

Are humans
the fulcrum
  between the
  Oh, so small
and the
  Oh, so big?


— 466 —

Samsara

My balancing act
  high on a wire
  strung between
star and atom


— 467 —

Sex

Ultimately
  sex is neither
  good nor bad
it’s distracting, is all


— 468 —

Marx

Lenin, Stalin, and
  Mao notwithstanding
Karl was not far
  off the Marx


— 469 —

Words

There is a deep
  living connection
between the word
  and the spirit


— 470 —

Air

Air, as food
  is not empty
it’s a breathable
  healthy chemical


— 471 —

Please, Please

The yellow flower
  to the bee:
“Please, please
  please
Pick me, pick me
  pick me”


— 472 —

Palette

The poet’s true palette
  is the reader’s
  soaring
  imagination


— 473 —

Samsara

Samsara is a
  chemical ocean
All molecules
  and feelings


— 474 —

Size

The spirit is
larger than
  the Universe
smaller than
  the Atom


— 475 —

Emptiness

A thousand trillion
  fragments
healed today
  into one
  into nothing


— 476 —

Karma

Karmameter:
  a handy tool
to measure
  your bad
  and good
Karma


— 477 —

Oxygen

About brain food:
  There is no
  brain food
  brain-foodier
than Oxygen


— 478 —

Size

What if everything
  in a blink
doubled in size
  would we
  notice that?


— 479 —

Greed

What joy drives
  the dragonfish
  other than
  gulping
  gulping
gulping down


— 480 —

Gluttony

What is the
  inevitable
  outcome
of protracted
  gluttony?


— 481 —

Emptiness

The clear light
  of Emptiness
is never more
  than a breath
  away


— 482 —

Death

A good friend
  of mine died
Then I thought:
  If he can do it
  so can I
(can’t be that hard)


— 483 —

Fog

This morning
  the fog was so thick
  that my path seemed
one long Milky Way


— 484 —

Let Go

So many words
  so many words
when all you
  have to say
(and do) is:
  Let go

So many dreams
  so many dreams
when all you
  have to dream
(and do) is:
  Let go

So many hopes
  so many hopes
when all you
  have to hope
(and do) is:
  Let go

So many songs
  so many songs
when all you
  have to sing
(and do) is:
  Let go

So many things
  so many things
when all you
  have to thing
(and do) is:
  Let go

So many paths
  so many paths
when all you
  have to path
(and do) is:
  Let go

So many thens
  so many nows
when all you
  have to then
(and now) is:
  Let go


— 485 —

Containers

It seems my
  culinary universe
revolves around
  Rubbermaid


— 486 —

Pacific

Today, by a still
  and Trump-less
Pacific, I so enjoyed
  my life


— 487 —

Songs

The human soul
  fettered by
  language
must sing its way
  out of prison


— 488 —

The Sea

Brahman is the sea
Atman is the wave
  We rise
  We crest
  We let go


— 489 —

Now

The amazing thing
  about life
is that there
  is a now
  to be in


— 490 —

Smoke

The sunlight
  mellowed by smoke
casts a golden sheen
  upon the water


— 491 —

Counting

Twenty-Seventeen?
When everybody
  knows it’s called
Thirty-Seven


— 492 —

Fascination

Few things in this life
  can match the glory
of a child’s fascination


— 493 —

Heart

I think I found
  my heart today
hiding ‘hind the
  guarded gates
  of self


— 494 —

Shadows

The shadow cast
  by a leaf
is just as dark
  as that
  cast by a stone


— 495 —

Dust

Just like I am
  made of/from stardust
So, too, the stars
  are made of/from
  medust/wolfdust


— 496 —

Samsara

1968:

High on hashish
  listening to
  the Water Song
Samsara’s worth it


— 497 —

Silence

If my words do not
  improve upon
  the silence
I should* honor it

*but all too often do not


— 498 —

Haiku

When it comes to
  short poems
I have a seventeen
  syllable mind


— 499 —

Escape

My candle-flame
  softly tethered
  to the wick
is trying to escape


— 500 —

Sati

Mindfulness—
  your mind
  and your body
at the same place
at the same time


— End —