tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19453835490402597802024-03-12T19:12:19.067-07:00HaikummunicationLIFE. SEVENTEEN SYLLABLES AT A TIME.L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-29023005461775574102011-01-03T07:37:00.000-08:002011-01-03T07:41:18.200-08:001/3/11<div><b>311.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>New year, new haikus.</div><div>Rededicating myself</div><div>to this sweet pursuit.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>310.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Lonely like a cloud,</div><div>and dressed in grey like the fog,</div><div>I embrace this day.</div><div><br /></div><b>309.</b><div><br /></div><div>Returning after</div><div>an absence is bittersweet,</div><div>as is leaving home.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-28989310397204488442010-09-06T21:21:00.000-07:002010-09-06T21:25:51.483-07:009/7/10<div><b>308.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>September feels off</div><div>without the crisp tang of fall.</div><div>I miss New England.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>307.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Attempting new things</div><div>is vital, brilliant, and oft</div><div>very difficult.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>306.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Had a wonderful</div><div>and relaxing Labor Day</div><div>weekend. Now? Tuesday.</div><div><br /></div><b>305.</b><div><br /></div><div>The bitter end of</div><div>the bittersweet month is at</div><div>long last behind me.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-11620103640614519242010-08-26T17:15:00.000-07:002010-08-26T17:19:05.489-07:008/26/10<div><b>304.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Why must Thursdays be</div><div>so very difficult and</div><div>atrociously long?</div><div><br /></div><b>303.</b><div><br /></div><div>Totally forgot</div><div>the original haiku</div><div>I wrote for today.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-86991562821446999972010-08-23T13:35:00.000-07:002010-08-23T13:37:13.244-07:008/23/10<div><b>302.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Overcast all day,</div><div>the sky is steel and slate.</div><div>Not the true 'Sota.</div><div><br /></div><b>301.</b><div><br /></div><div>Today is about</div><div>crisis-management, it seems.</div><div>Work is never dull!!</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-80978327959044568042010-08-16T21:20:00.000-07:002010-08-17T08:20:31.932-07:00A child said, What is the grass?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Fifteen </span></span>years ago in August, I was about to become a high school senior. I had gotten my driver's license within the previous year. I had turned seventeen a couple of months earlier, and I was trying to figure out where to go to college. In a <b><i>few </i></b>respects, things haven't changed since - I still have the same haircut, I'm still single, and I still look too young for my age. But in far more numerous ways my life has changed over the past fifteen years. I graduated from high school, college (the second one, after transferring from the first), and grad school. I went to Russia once, Canada three times, and moved to Florida (for now). And I've successfully held six different jobs, the most recent two in my specialized field of study. Birthdays (including my 30th) and holidays have been celebrated, vacations taken, and time spent with family and friends.<div><br /></div><div>It's been a wonderful fifteen years, even when I was struggling with making decisions or my funds were tight or schoolwork loomed in a seemingly never-ending parade of papers and exams or when I was far away from home. But wonderful though these years have been, they haven't lessened how very much I've missed you, Pop. I'll find a green place to read this aloud at some point today, as I have for the previous fourteen Augusts, but I thought that this blog being devoted to poetry, albeit normally a different kind, it was only fitting to post it here as well:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;font-size:x-small;"><table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="100%"><tbody><tr><td valign="top" width="80%" style=" ;font-family:verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;font-size:x-small;"><span class="TITLE" style=" font-weight: bold; font-family:verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;font-size:medium;">A child said, What is the grass?</span></td><td colspan="2" valign="top" align="right" nowrap="" style="font-size: x-small; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; "> </td></tr><tr><td colspan="3" style="font-size: x-small; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; ">by <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/126" style="text-decoration: none; font-size: x-small; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">Walt Whitman</span></a></td></tr><tr><td colspan="3" style="font-size: x-small; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; "><br /></td></tr><tr><td colspan="2" valign="top" style=" ;font-family:verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;font-size:x-small;"><pre style=" ;font-family:verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: normal; font-family:verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;font-size:x-small;"><pre style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full<br />hands;<br />How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it<br />is any more than he.<br /><br />I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful<br />green stuff woven.<br /><br />Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,<br />A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,<br />Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we<br />may see and remark, and say Whose?<br /><br />Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe<br />of the vegetation.<br /><br />Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,<br />And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow<br />zones,<br />Growing among black folks as among white,<br />Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the<br />same, I receive them the same.<br /><br />And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.<br /><br /></span></span></span></pre><pre style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tenderly will I use you curling grass,<br />It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,<br />It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;<br />It may be you are from old people and from women, and<br />from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,<br />And here you are the mother's laps.<br /><br />This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old<br />mothers,<br />Darker than the colorless beards of old men,<br />Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.<br /><br />O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!<br />And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths<br />for nothing.<br /><br />I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men<br />and women,<br />And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring<br />taken soon out of their laps.<br /><br />What do you think has become of the young and old men?<br />What do you think has become of the women and<br />children?<br /><br />They are alive and well somewhere;<br />The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,<br />And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait<br />at the end to arrest it,<br />And ceased the moment life appeared.<br /><br />All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,<br />And to die is different from what any one supposed, and<br />luckier. </span></span></span></pre></span></span></pre><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></pre></span></pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Love you Pop, always.<br /></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Laurence J. Sasso, Sr.<br />(March 14, 1920 - August 17, 1995)</span></b></span><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b></b></span></pre></td></tr><tr></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-10742118044624415882010-08-16T21:17:00.000-07:002010-08-16T21:19:29.008-07:008/16/10<b>300.</b><div><br /></div><div>The tang of August</div><div>is bittersweet on my tongue.</div><div>It's a reminder.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-10085057130426678892010-08-09T08:57:00.000-07:002010-08-09T08:59:51.362-07:008/9/10<b>299.</b><div><br /></div><div>The sky at dusk is</div><div>electric blue, rose pink, and</div><div>swirled with gilded clouds.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-68026142029533071342010-07-30T23:00:00.000-07:002010-07-30T23:02:14.483-07:007/31/10<b>298.</b><div><br /></div><div>Critiquing a thing</div><div>is so <b><i>so </i></b>different than</div><div>creating a thing.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-3538154984955280052010-07-30T07:50:00.000-07:002010-07-30T07:51:38.147-07:007/30/10<b>297.</b><div><br /></div><div>Friday's here at last.</div><div>Hoping for a productive</div><div>and yet still fun day.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-62678239241963980432010-07-29T14:23:00.000-07:002010-07-29T14:28:21.294-07:007/29/10<div><b>296.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>New <b><i>Project Runway</i></b></div><div>tonight!! Maybe that will lift</div><div>my spirits. Hope so.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>295.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Thunder rolling in.</div><div>How very apropos for</div><div>my black mood today.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>294.</b></div><div>You start me aching,</div><div>and <i><b>not </b></i>in a good way. <i><b>Why</b></i></div><div>must you be like this?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>293.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>What are you <b><i>thinking</i></b>?!</div><div><i><b>How </b></i>can you behave this way?</div><div>You make me tired.</div><div><br /></div><b>292.</b><div><br /></div><div>Thanks a <i><b>lot </b></i>for the</div><div>headache, the arguments, and</div><div>the lack of respect.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-22255927115574912642010-07-28T10:15:00.000-07:002010-07-28T12:12:36.011-07:007/28/10<div><b>291.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>I don't understand</div><div>what is <b><i>wrong </i></b>with you!! You lack</div><div>all sense and reason.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>290.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>My apartment is</div><div>halfway to being clean. I</div><div>just must persevere!!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>289.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The weather has been</div><div>oddly serene of late. I</div><div>hope it continues.</div><div><br /></div><b>288.</b><div><br /></div><div>Days slip by so fast...</div><div>July is almost gone and</div><div>August's beckoning.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-58557263305027795062010-07-27T19:26:00.000-07:002010-07-27T19:28:04.092-07:007/27/10<b>287.</b><div><br /></div><div>Tied in knots today.</div><div>Everyone was just <i><b>so</b></i>...arrrgh!!</div><div>Thanks a <b><i>lot</i></b>, Tuesday.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-42178505839918944422010-07-26T12:02:00.000-07:002010-07-26T12:05:18.875-07:007/26/10<div><b>286.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I love Eleven,</div><div>but I just might love Rory</div><div>Williams even more.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>285.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>If Monday didn't</div><div>exist, would Tuesday be the</div><div>new difficult day?</div><div><br /></div><b>284.</b><div><br /></div><div>Monday, why must you</div><div>come around so soon? Can't you</div><div>wait a bit longer?</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-2670718460197343592010-07-24T14:17:00.000-07:002010-07-24T14:20:12.045-07:007/24/10<div><b>283.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>These last two haiku</div><div>do present a paradox,</div><div>but also a truth.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>282.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I have a habit</div><div>of being a know-it-all.</div><div>Sometimes, it shames me.</div><div><br /></div><b>281.</b><div><br /></div><div>I have a habit</div><div>of being a know-it-all.</div><div>I am proud of it.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-72986250661329318852010-07-23T08:06:00.000-07:002010-07-23T08:11:20.498-07:007/23/10<div><b>280.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Finishing projects</div><div>in time for the weekend; how</div><div>shall I spend my time?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>279.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>My haikus today</div><div>seem a bit gloomy. Sorry.</div><div>'Twas unintended.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>278.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Feeling the heat of</div><div>a Sarasota summer,</div><div>and dreaming of home.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>277.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Tying up loose ends</div><div>is satisfying but new</div><div>threads always appear.</div><div><br /></div><b>276.</b><div><br /></div><div>I'm an alien</div><div>to romantic love, I fear.</div><div>Will it always be?</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-19500426461807733452010-07-20T07:18:00.000-07:002010-07-20T07:19:45.637-07:007/20/10<b>275.</b><div><br /></div><div>Talk about being</div><div>blindsided. I never saw</div><div>this coming at all.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-31151068803010860092010-07-13T13:50:00.001-07:002010-07-13T13:53:02.960-07:007/13/10<div><b>274.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>All I seem to do</div><div>is clean, at home or office.</div><div>But still, so <i><b>much </b></i>junk.</div><div><br /></div><b>273.</b><div><br /></div><div>Monday's come and gone,</div><div>now Tuesday stole away fast.</div><div>Where's this week going?!</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-14014058229498213292010-07-12T08:13:00.000-07:002010-07-12T08:15:41.880-07:007/12/10<div><b>272.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't want to deal</div><div>with your snotty 'tude or angst.</div><div>Grow <b><i>up </i></b>will you please?</div><div><br /></div><b>271.</b><div><br /></div><div>Monday came around</div><div>far too soon for my taste. That's</div><div>always the way, yeah?</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-75059974359276452822010-07-09T10:18:00.000-07:002010-07-09T10:19:26.877-07:007/9/10<b>270.</b><div><br /></div><div>How can a short week</div><div>feel so <i>blastedly </i>long? I</div><div>want the weekend <i><b>now</b></i>.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-70221126339759525132010-07-08T18:58:00.001-07:002010-07-08T18:58:57.258-07:007/8/10<b>269.</b><div><br /></div><div>Oh parking garage,</div><div>why must you smell like pizza</div><div>when I hit the gym?</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-91949093500948208652010-07-07T21:31:00.000-07:002010-07-07T22:10:35.274-07:007/7/10 (Posted 7/8/10)<div><b>268.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://spiritheels.blogspot.com/">Portside</a>, did you know</div><div>D.C. will soon host your fave</div><div>fluff-camp TV show?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>267.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Swaying towers and</div><div>tenuous balance make for</div><div>unease on Gulfstream.</div><div><br /></div><b>266.</b><div><br /></div><div>The first sunlit day</div><div>after a week of rain. 'Twas</div><div>gloriously warm.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-8603171523249948702010-07-04T22:56:00.000-07:002010-07-04T23:17:13.363-07:007/4/10 (posted 7/5/10)<div><b>265.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>A Declaration:</div><div>Independence is a gift,</div><div>hard-won and priceless.</div><div><br /></div><b>264.</b><div><br /></div><div>History is lit,</div><div>illuminated by the</div><div>radiant falling sparks.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-74431776075333824752010-07-02T07:20:00.000-07:002010-07-02T07:22:19.026-07:007/2/10<div><b>263.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>A gray and blah day.</div><div>But at least the heat is gone.</div><div>Ahh, 'Sota summer.</div><div><br /></div><b>262.</b><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes it's hard to</div><div>find the right words and stick to</div><div>doing what you must.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-85626717934202865202010-07-01T12:50:00.000-07:002010-07-01T12:52:10.413-07:007/1/10<div><b>261.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>That last haiku was,</div><div>perhaps not the prettiest</div><div>one I've ever done.</div><div><br /></div><b>260.</b><div><br /></div><div>Variations on</div><div>a theme of procrastina-</div><div>tion. Ugh. My life. Ugh.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1945383549040259780.post-4675166215225271212010-06-29T12:54:00.000-07:002010-06-29T12:56:16.626-07:006/29/10<div><b>259.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Reconfiguring.</div><div>Shifting tasks and perceptions.</div><div>Hard, but <i>so </i>worth it.</div><div><br /></div><b>258.</b><div><br /></div><div>My street has flooded</div><div>five times in the past five days.</div><div>Hi, rainy season.</div>L. Sassohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01682284643605542053noreply@blogger.com0