Date:         Mon, 18 Jul 2011 17:28:42 -0600
Reply-To:     Tom Buese <tombuese@COMCAST.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Tom Buese <tombuese@COMCAST.NET>
Subject:      Re: New Vanagon haiku
Comments: To: Jim Felder <jim.felder@GMAIL.COM>
In-Reply-To:  <CAFnDXk1kzi1+1Fe-g5s4VwHJY3LdGf5ZanfVYrvackrM6xXsrA@mail.gmail.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii

Now we are talking!

YMMV,

Mr. BZ-I stand before you humbled again


On Jul 18, 2011, at 4:57 PM, Jim Felder wrote:

> Uh, oh. Now you've done it. There may be a few on the list who have not seen
> the following before.
> 
> Jim
> 
> On Mon, Jul 18, 2011 at 12:40 PM, David Beierl <dbeierl@attglobal.net>wrote:
> 
>> At 01:24 PM 7/18/2011, Tom Buese wrote:
>> 
>>> Seems to moi, this is vanagon related everyday?
>>> 
>> 
>> Indeed...
>> 
>> Yours,
>> d mod
>> 
> 
> Vanagon haikus
> 
> 
> 
> By Jim Felder
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> A mosquito hums.
> 
> A dog barks. A mockingbird
> 
> trills. A starter clicks.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Rarer than a meal
> 
> of hummingbird tongues, I search
> 
> for diesel hoses.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> A split fuel line.
> 
> Deep shame overcomes me now.
> 
> Smoke fills the valley.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
> 
> I pump my Dometic,
> 
> feel only sad warmth.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> In time I will know
> 
> more ground points to scrape
> 
> than I know today.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> A new journey dawns,
> 
> miles I go before Oh, No!
> 
> A clunk from behind.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Shock. The summer moon
> 
> reflects in a liquid pool,
> 
> quiet beneath my van.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> The catalog comes.
> 
> News from Germany is not
> 
> good. Prices rise, tears.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Happiness glows now
> 
> on every face. I walk
> 
> into the dealership.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> Deep in the night I
> 
> drive alone in my travels.
> 
> The coolant light blinks.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> No one knows who wrote
> 
> The Bentley. No human did.
> 
> It came from the gods.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Old, frail, crumbling pod
> 
> of instruments. I remove them
> 
> perhaps for the last time.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Armies clash, children
> 
> lose their homes, villages burn
> 
> when tires are discussed.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Infinite lever
> 
> positions. Where can I find
> 
> cool air flowing out?
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> A trail of tears leads
> 
> away from my Vanagon.
> 
> It mingles with oil.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Mist clouds my rear hatch.
> 
> The night is cold, dare I stop?
> 
> My heart says drive on.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Like a cruel ghost
> 
> who I stab but will not die,
> 
> my coolant light blinks.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> I ask the list how
> 
> to choose the right motor oil
> 
> and they flame my ass.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Only poor people
> 
> own old Vanagons, only
> 
> rich people drive them.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Many sounds and smells.
> 
> Not an alley in Cairo,
> 
> I started my diesel.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> In firefly light, the
> 
> alternator suddenly
> 
> goes out. Please, a Ford.
> 
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> 
> 
> Dometic question:
> 
> Does your fridge stay lit while you
> 
> drive down the highway?