I’ve gotten this several times now, and you probably have, too. But can we risk that you have not?
Here they are, 17 syllables apiece, 5 – 7 – 5. I have taken the liberty of highlighting a couple of the most important ones:
Hey! Get back indoors!
Whatever you were doing
could put an eye out.
Testing the warm milk
on her wrist, she beams — nice, but
her son is forty.
Lovely nose ring —
excuse me while I put my
head in the oven.
After the warm rain,
the sweet scent of camellias.
Did you wipe your feet?
Wet moss on the old
stone path — flat on my back, I
ponder whom to sue.
- Today I am a
- man. On Monday I return
- to the seventh grade.
Left the door open
for the Prophet Elijah.
Now our cat is gone.
In the ice sculpture
reflected bar-mitzvah guests
nosh on chopped liver.
Beyond Valium,
the peace of knowing one’s child
is an internist.
The same kimono
the top geishas are wearing —
got it at Loehmann’s.
Jewish triathlon —
gin rummy, then contract bridge,
followed by a nap.
Would-be convert lost —
thawed Lender’s Bagels made a
bad first impression.
Today, mild shvitzing.
Tomorrow, so hot you’ll plotz.
Five-day forecast — feh.
- Yom Kippur — forgive
- me, God, for the Mercedes
- and all the lobsters.
As always, if anyone knows who actually wrote these, I’d love to give credit where credit is due. Here are three financial haikus:
Winter of the bear.
What fun is there in bonds? None.
Boy needs some action.
Priceline – ice cold ego.
Bezos could have a shot, though
No more big discounts.
Stock market deep freeze,
Taxes kept me from selling.
I’m an idiot.
