One Year, 52 Haikus (With Photos)

I've posted an original haiku with an original photo every Monday for the past 52 weeks. I post these on my Instagram account - and you can view the past year below:

Gone Fishin': 3 Poems Until September

August is the month I take a break from posting on social media... much to the relief of my family 🙂

I'll spend time taking photos, writing poems, and rooting for the Mets -- and, most importantly, creating memories with family and friends. I'll get back to other projects and social media posts after Labor Day.

Until then, I'm posting three poems here because so far in 2025 I've been inspired by writing friends, new and old. I love what they've shared, so in return let me share what I love... beginning with a poem written today, based on a "hotter than a matchhead" prompt from the Gotham Writers Workshop, a New York-based group you should check out, offering free Zoom write-ins every Friday.

Here's a snapshot of "Why Devils in Jersey Are So Overfed":

Here's a second poem I recently revised after a photo from five years ago at an immersive VanGogh exhibit randomly popped up on my iPhone's home screen:

Finally, here's an experiment in ekphrastic poetry -- that is, a poem inspired by a work of art in another medium. I recently applied for... and won... a "residency" at the Madison NJ Community Arts Center. (Check out their events calendar!) The center chose 12 poets to participate in The Writing LAB Fall Residency, which this year will focus on writing new work inspired by music.

The length of the residency? A single Sunday afternoon in September. I'm excited about the opportunity, but I'll be sure to pack light!

During a recent open mic at the Puffin Cultural Forum (another group you should check out) in Teaneck NJ, I was captivated by an exhibit of photos and poems presented by ALTE: Getting Old Together. I took a photo of a print on display by Judith Sokoloff, who captured someone in a King Kong suit in Times Square, circa 2023. The leader of the forum's open mic that night, the great Toney Jackson, suggested I write a poem about it.

So I did. And, funny thing, the poem's theme is about getting older too.

King Gone

Once upon a time

I brushed airplanes from my eyes.

I terrorized ordinary men,

protected fair-haired women,

captured the imagination of the young,

while framed in Technicolor:

like the Northern Lights,

the harbor of Rio de Janeiro,

the Grand Canyon,

Mount Everest,

the Great Barrier Reef,

volcanic Paricutin in Mexico,

Victoria Falls.

I was the 8th wonder of the world.

Beyond male,

beyond female,

the link between man and beast,

adult and child,

good and bad,

primitive and civilized,

black and white.

Am I not immortal?

Or is it my fate

day-by-day, year-after-year

to recede into the crowd,

to roam Times Square

as an Instagram curiosity.

A diminishing freak.

Hear my defiant roar.

New York City may try

to swallow me whole,

a miniature version

of my former self.

Yet I refuse to disappear.

Let this poem be a warning:

These words are my transcendence.

I am still to be feared.

Why I Haven't Broken Up With New York

This week, I had two moments with The New Yorker magazine.

First, I received a rejection email from their poetry department for something I had submitted, I kid you not, 27 months ago -- which, admittedly, is only less than 4 months in dog years.

Second, I read a thought-provoking essay published by those same bastard hounds. Titled "Why I Have Broken Up With New York," Lina Dunham writes, "Most people accept the city’s chaos as a toll for an expansive life. It took me several decades to realize that I could go my own way."

It's wonderfully written, and Lina speaks from much more experience with New York than I have had. Also, I understand her love of London, by comparison.

But I haven't broken up with New York. I'm still in love.

On visits this past week to the city, I've had the pleasure of people-watching the Manhattan streets from the M50 crosstown bus in the rain, watching an enjoyable film -- "The Penguin Lessons," complete with its homage to a favorite poem, "A Quoi Bon Dire" by Charlotte Mew -- at the Angelika; listening to a friendly and diverse circle of amateur Irish fiddlers and other musicians at the Slainte pub in the Bowery; listening to a nearly private performance of folk covers by Mae & Henry at the new Jameson's on 50th (if you ever see them, ask Henry to play "St. Augustine at Night"); fist bumping Mr. and Mrs. Met in Union Square and meeting Strat-O-Matic founder Hal Richmond at the Mets House; strolling on the new East Side Walkway under the 59th Street Bridge and the trams to Roosevelt Island; and mixing with the crowd huddled around my favorite painting, Van Gogh's "Starry Night," at the MOMA.

Today, I also finally toured the sculpture garden outside the U.N. building. Years ago, it was open to the public, but now there's heavy security everywhere. This season's first guided-tour ticket to view the gardens was at 10:30 this morning, led by a French woman with flaming red hair and oversized sunglasses who apologized profusely that the Rose Garden was not yet in bloom.

I took the photos scattered throughout this post, including the ironic shot of Irish immigrants setting foot in America with the Trump World Tower looming in the background.

On the brief walk from my daughter's apartment building to the U.N., I had passed a giant inflatable rat on the sidewalk outside the German Consulate, as construction workers blowing air horns protested Eurostruct Inc.'s wages and work rules. A block further south, a disheveled man carried a large wooden cross, then held it up in front of the Trump building and started to pray.

I could go at least 27 months in suburban New Jersey without hearing all the languages I heard from 10 a.m. to noon today, without seeing all the art I saw, without seeing anyone -- no matter how loud or disheveled -- on the sidewalks in protest or in prayer.

To me, time in this city moves like dog years in reverse. So many things are possible in so short a time.

Here in New York, despite all its flaws... and in the words of another favorite poem... the world still sometimes seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new.

A Baker's Dozen of Haikus

Back in November, I decided to pair an original image with a caption in haiku, and post these on social media every Monday morning. So far, that gives me 13 image/haikus, which you can view on Instagram by searching on the hashtag "#mondaymorninghaiku📝" -- OR...

Just look below 🙂 (and follow me at @bvarphotos... I'll follow you back there).

Wizards are sleeping
Emerald City at dawn
There’s no place like home

Eleven roses.
Incomplete, without meaning. 
One rose, just now. Home.

I drink beer alone.
I only drink wine with you.
I like wine better.

This haiku, for you.
A memory at Christmas.
Music in the air.

You attract full moons
My center of gravity
You cause the sunrise

Fifth Avenue lights
A cathedral in shadows
Invisible prayers

Another year gone
But I offer hope: this poem
Creates a new world

Animal robots
picturesque and colorful,
their zoo in shadows

Crossing Abbey Road,
making all my nowhere plans.
Worlds at my command.

Bottle an angel. 
Drink it dry. Savor its taste.
Hang it from a star.

The reflecting pool
Holds a penny for his thoughts,
A dollar for hers.

Boardwalk ghosts possess
the Jersey Shore in winter,
chill the ocean air.

Falls starting to freeze,
Waters churning underneath.
Me, from a distance.

My 2024 Year in Review (According to LinkedIn)

Above is my "2024 LinkedIn Rewind," and following is the accompanying text written/produced by Coauthor (a new AI tool... although, honestly, I'm pretty sure I posted there more than 20 times 🙂):

In 2024, I discovered that storytelling happens in many languages - through corporate communications, community service, poetry, and increasingly, through the lens of my camera.

This year brought opportunities to share stories across different mediums. My church photography series found a home at the Middletown Arts Center, while my written work appeared in the New Jersey Bards Poetry Review. Behind the lens at the Al Smith Dinner, I witnessed how photography can capture moments of community service that words alone cannot express.

Three posts that captured this journey of integrated storytelling:

"Four of my NJ church photos are on display this month at Middletown Arts Center"
On how visual storytelling through community spaces creates lasting connections
https://lnkd.in/etidDGwr

"Three highlights from a memorable March..."
Where corporate expertise and creative expression meet to serve communities
https://lnkd.in/eDC7Z3GC

"Our announcement today about the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation's support"
How institutional support transforms communities across New York State
https://lnkd.in/e3KVRyCT

Looking ahead to 2025: I'm focused on deepening the connection between professional communications and creative storytelling, particularly through visual media and community narratives. Because sometimes the most powerful stories are told without words.

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Get your own 2024 "LinkedIn Rewind" by going to coauthor.studio in your browser... and, PS, the "Jim" referenced in the graphic is the one-and-only Jim Gerace (who always encouraged me to explore new tech).

Images and Haikus

Recently, every Monday, I've begun posting my photos, using original haikus as captions. Here are a few examples.

If you want to follow along, check out my Instagram or Bluesky (new) feeds. I'll follow you back there.

You attract full moons
My center of gravity
You cause the sunrise

This haiku, for you.
A memory at Christmas.
Music in the air.

(In front of Irving Berlin's former residence in NYC)

Wizards are sleeping
Emerald City at dawn
There’s no place like home

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PS... An Abecedarian Haiku (first letter of each line in alphabetical order), with an image from London, posted at year-end.

Another year gone

But I offer hope: this poem

Creates a new world