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 seventh installment.

Wolfkus 601 - 700

— 601 —

Rising

I aim to un-mind mind
  with mind—
a self-devouring
  ego-cide


— 602 —

Peeing

Yesterday, while
  peeing
I just had to
  sneeze
This was not
  a success


— 603 —

Getting Dressed

Each morning I don
  this construct
  this mind
  this body
  this universe


— 604 —

Body

Each day I don
  this flesh and bone
this too tightly
  fitting overcoat


— 605 —

Greed

It is interesting
  that most election
  promises
cater to greed


— 606 —

Scratching Maverick

That dog—I’m not sure
  I’m making his day
but he sure is
  making mine


— 607 —

Infinity

The difference
  between
near infinite
and infinite
  is infinite


— 608 —

Languages

The mind is
  an excellent
  translator
It speaks
  both Brain
  and Spirit


— 609 —

Feet

Can non-existent
  feet
tread a non-existent
  past
I don’t think so

Can non-existent
  feet
walk a non-existent
  future
I doubt it

Do non-existent
  feet
dance a non-existent
  present
yeah, they might


— 610 —

Truth

Every
  philosophical
  edifice lies
Only silence
  does not

Every physical
  edifice lies
Only emptiness
  tells the truth


— 611 —

Little Egos

A covey of selves
Layers and layers
  of selves
Ever filtering


— 612 —

Theology

In a bottomless pit
  they sit arguing
the color of the sky


— 613 —

Doré

Sort of a Doré sky
  this morning
Expecting God
  any minute


— 614 —

Tentacles

I am a Portuguese
  man-of-war—
tentacles a million
  years long


— 615 —

Anapanasati

I sit with ease
I breathe with ease
My body and I
in blissful peace


— 616 —

Reach

The Earth reaches
  into air as tree
I reach
  into air as body


— 617—

Breathing

As for our
  expanding
  universe
One day God
  will inhale
  again


— 618—

Songs

That life is not
  worth living
that does not
  leave songs
  behind
when it leaves

Bach—the livingest
  life ever lived
for no one left more
  songs behind


— 619—

Lies

The liest lie
  of them all
is the past—
  all those
lost-forever
  nows


— 620—

Information

When did
  information
  metamorphose
into this
  putrid cesspool?


— 621—

Raccoon

I saw a dead
  raccoon
this morning
  smiling
as if in a
  nice dream


— 622—

Eleven

Mahayana to
  Theravada:
Yeah, but ours
goes to eleven


— 623—

Weapons

Of all the weapons
  our jailors wield
our amnesia
  is the vilest


— 624—

Meditation

I sit and quietly
  extract non-me
from the mire of
  me, mine


— 625—

Language

On my path
  toward Nirvana
Language
  is always
  struggling
to catch up


— 626—

Mischief

The more the mind
  attends to the breath
The less it attends
  to mischief

Corollary:

The less the mind
  attends to the breath
The more it attends
  to mischief


— 627—

Seal Mating

The seals
  vying for
  she-hearts
sound like a
  cacophonous
party line


— 628—

Shared Goal

The spirit
  and the sperm
have this in common
—They wish to
  exit and soar


— 629—

The Self

The self is
  nothing more
than an amazing
  composite
  memory


— 630—

Translator

Mind senses and
  interprets
then translates
  Body-ese to
  Spirit-ese

—and vice versa


— 631—

Awareness

Breath-Aware
  sings body and mind
Awareness-Aware
  sings pure spirit


— 632—

Poetry

The highest purpose
  of poetry
  is to say
the unsayable


— 633—

Kindness

Truth sang me
  the kindest words:
—Your survival is not
  mandatory


— 634—

Peace

Peace is freedom
  from all internal
  and external
lures and daemons


— 635—

Survival

If time is a lie
  (and it is)
then survival
  is a lie
  as well


— 636—

Disease

We want, we crave
  we cling, we pray
All this wanting is
  but a disease


— 637—

Poem

The words of
  a poem
are but the frame
  the reader
sings
  the painting


— 638—

Stillness

I think all things
  from atom to star
  if truly still
will cease to be


— 639—

Karma

Deep meditation
  is not unlike
reverse-engineering
  karma


— 640—

Ears

Either my ears
  are slowing down
or people speak
  faster and faster


— 641—

Ratio

A Bad Idea:

Cutting off your legs
  to improve your
  spirit-to-body
ratio


— 642—

Truth

While kindness
  may ease
  suffering
only the Truth
  can cease
  suffering

Thus, the Truth
  is the kindest
  kindness

And while beauty
  may ease
  suffering
only Truth
  will cease
  suffering

Truth, therefore
  is the purest
  beauty


— 643—

Awareness

Aware of the Earth
  is earthly
Aware of Aware
  is heavenly


— 644—

Flora vs. Fauna

While Flora
  lives her lives
  in sun and peace
Fauna is a
  slaughterhouse


— 645—

Either/Or

Free will
  is like infinity
you cannot have
  a little of it


— 646—

Hiding

God hides behind
  an amazingly complex
micro-macro curtain


— 647—

News

Bulletin from the
  Unnecessary
  Information
Department:

“News Flash:
 This year
the 4th of July
will fall on
the 4th of July”


— 648—

Enforcers

Survival employs
  two enforcer goons:
One named Hunger
One named Sex


— 649—

Desires

Far better than
  a desire fulfilled
is no desire
  at all


— 650—

Orgasm

Sunlight—
  well, that’s just
  the Sun
having the Mother
  of all orgasms


— 651—

Probably Admonished

Out walking
  I saw mother
  and child
I waved
  only the child
  waved back


— 652—

Being, Definition

A being is
  any one life
  to whom
the law of
  Karma applies


— 653—

The Pacific

For once
  the Pacific
  lives up to her name—
a silvery expanse


— 654—

Vanished

When I vanished
  myself
I heard God say,
  “And all that work
  for nothing.”


— 655—

The Universe

So many atoms
though quantity
  is not the riddle
isness is

Truly understand
  one single atom
and you have
  understood All


— 656—

Breath

The more mind
  unified on the breath
The less mind
  off doing mischief


— 657—

Peace

Peace is
  freedom from
Desire
Aversion
Inertia
Worry
Doubt


— 658—

Equanimity

True equanimity
  is not loveless
It is the stillness
  of Love


— 659—

Poems

A poem is
  truly a novel
with acres of
  space
between words


— 660—

Awareness

Aware of the breath
  is the moon
Aware of Awareness
  is the sun


— 661—

Auspicious Birthday

Seventy soon—
  Entering the
Raises-no-eyebrows-
  if-you-die zone


— 662—

Ambitious Poet

“The map is not
  the territory,” *
I try and try
  to prove this
  wrong

*Alfred Korzybski


— 663—

Scream

The bright scream
  of the truck
slices the silence
  like a jealous
  chainsaw


— 664—

Hope

Still the surface
  of mind’s ocean
and its darkness
  will rise
  into light


— 665—

Nows

Each blink of an eye
  sees three thousand
  brand new
  freshly minted
Ulf Wolfs


— 666—

Cleaning Crew

A thousand trillion
  ants roam the Earth
Each with a face
  a broom
  a name


— 667—

Peace

Breath by breath by breath
Settling like sleepy dogs
Mara and his goons


— 668—

Logic

The mind is logical
  while the heart
  is more
cardiological


— 669—

Tsongkhapa et al.

They all tried
  to scale
the unthinkable
  by means of
the thinkable


— 670—

Words

The beautiful
  apropos of
  language:
calm is a very
  calm word


— 671—

Father and Son

—Sorry, I’ve been
  so self-absorbed
—I was too
  self-absorbed
  to notice


— 672—

Modern Empathy

Over lunch:
  Well, enough
  about me
Here’s what
  I think
  about you


— 673—

Secret

Life’s highest
  priority is
keeping death
  an absolute
  secret


— 674—

Peace at Last

The mind runs
  a trillion subtle
  races
For profound peace:
  End them all


— 675—

Agreement

I wish the
  many gurus
  of the world
would see eye
  to guru eye


— 676—

Earlids

Foam earplugs—
  not only would
the Buddha approve
  he would
endorse them


— 677—

Black Dog Attack

It growled
  then lunged
Teeth bare
  unfriendly
Yellow eyes
  that screamed:
I hate you


— 678—

Truth

The highest Truth
  is that which
  all things prove—
whether of earth
  or spirit


— 679—

Wife

My loyal, loving
  trusting and
  forever wife—
my true Solitude


— 680—

Syllables

You can say
  just about
  anything
well
  in seventeen
syllables


— 681—

The Earth

A micro-dot in space
  ant food
that’s the Earth
  viewed from Pluto—
Reflect


— 682—

Poetry

Good poetry
  is language
doing its best
  to get out of
the way


— 683—

Finds

I don’t know when
  I found here
or where
  I found now
or which
  I found first


— 684—

Experiment

I think the Earth
  is a Galactic
  experiment
gone very wrong


— 685—

Puberty

Spirit enters puberty:
  “Gosh, I didn’t know
this gun was loaded.”


— 686—

Language

The spirit has grown
  very deep roots
  into the soil of
pure language

Each word but
  the lid
  to a chest
brimming with
  subtleties
of meaning


— 687—

California

Each morning
  I tread
the westernmost
  rim of my
crazy continent


— 688—

Alien Observation

Alien report home:
  “They talk to
themselves—into
  metal rectangles.”


— 689—

Strange Stereo

Midway between
  the dog pound
and Castle Rock—
  canine barks
  and seal barks

(seal barks win)


— 690—

Enzymes

Our little egos are
  God’s enzymes
all digesting
  His world


— 691—

Prisons

Of all our prisons—
  the most devious
  the most effective:
The Self
  for Him


— 692—

Sneeze

Before the beginning
  only Emptiness—
and then
  Emptiness sneezed


— 693—

Wolfkus

Some of my Wolfkus
are just seventeen-
  syllable cleverisms


— 694—

Identity

My identity is simply
a many-dimensional
  painting


— 695—

Sex and Hornets

Sex is a nest
  of sleeping hornets
Stir one and they
  all rouse
  and sting


— 696—

Creation

The first atom
  was the miracle
The rest—
  simply
  replication


— 697—

Writing

Sometimes I wrestle
  these feelings
  into words
Sometimes they
  dress themselves


— 698—

Language

The spirit has grown
  deep roots into
  the soil of
the meanings of
  words


— 699—

Words

Words, ord, mots
  woorden, Wörter
  yrc, geiriau
  palabras, parole
  verbis, kata-kata
  faclan, logia, slova
and so on and on
  and on and on
  and on…


— 700—

Little Earth

Viewing Earth from
  far, far away—
  say, Pluto
How does life
  even fit?


— End —