The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
    MrSmith1's picture

    A Friday Afternoon in Bloom at the Haikulodeon


    Here's this week's heap of haikus:

     

     

    When you have a lot
    that's on your mind, let your day
    begin quietly.

     


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    A humid morning,
    across the street, some workers
    drink coffee and smoke.

     

     
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    More than what's needed
    is the downfall of most things,
    ( and why balloons burst.)

     


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    Mortally wounded,
    he nevertheless tried to
    remain positive.

     

     


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    He buried his fear
    in the pleats of his mom's skirt.
    ( ... and wiped his nose too.)

     

     

     


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    Double haiku: 

    Late one night at a
    lonely crossroads, a deal
    made with the devil ...

    Robert Johnson played,
    and the delta blues was born ...
    Give Satan his due.

     

    Happy would-have-been 104th birthday to Blues legend, Robert Johnson.


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    The nun flashed a grin
    when I said it must have been
    Jesus's lunchbox

     

     


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    Saturday morning,
    jack-hammering in the street.
    may they rot in hell.


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    Harry Lime hides in
    shadowy doorways ... won't give
    Joseph Cotton briefs.


    Happy would-have-been 100th birthday this week to Orson Welles

     

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    Tis no surprise that
    loveliness knows loneliness;
    looks intimidate.

     
     

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    Leaves swirled around her,
    tumbling in her wake like
    fawning sycophants.


     

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    I hear distant trains
    and think of riding boxcars ...
    whistles on the wind.

     

     

     


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    With this bowl, you can
    keep all of your nuts in a
    maelstrom ... so to speak.


    ---

     

    What a difference
    a week can make to the trees
    that bloomed on my block.

     

     

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    Vows freely given
    reaffirm a world of hope
    with promises kept.

     


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    Rhapsodic Romance;
    our souls dance joyfully to
    our heart's cantatas.

     

     
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    When  two hearts in love
    decide to pledge their troth, all
    heaven's doors open.

     
     

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    The beauty of vows
     forsaking all others; parts
    love and devotion.

     

     

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    Whispering your name,
    in my darkest moments, gives
    me soothing solace.

     


    ---

     


    I am not alone
    whenever I read Dagblog;
    friends behind the words,

     

     
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    Strolling through the park,
    I can feel my focus shift.
    Nature nurtures me.

     

     

    ---

     

     

    tanka haiku:

     

    Leafy canopies
    Riding up Riverside Drive
    Sunset through the trees.

       The world looks like a painting,
       without either cares or fears.

     

    ---

     

     

     

    Red slats point skyward,
    winds wrap the flag 'round its pole,
    an attic window.

     

    (Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

     

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    Roofs that point in all
    directions will, hopefully,
    confuse the raindrops.

     

    (Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)


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    Computer-ku:

    If I tell you my
    password, then I will have to
    kill you ... with kindness.

     


    ---

     


    Pretending we'll meet,
    each time I turn a corner
    makes me walk faster.

     


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    He's close enough to
    stare, and old enough to know
    what's worth staring at.

     
     

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    To be committed
    is to fly through each sunset
    in search of the dawn.

     

     

    ---

     

    tanka haiku:

    Rope unwinds from post,
    tethered dog gets closer to
    catching quick red fox.

       But the fox discovers the
       dog's reach has limitations.


    ---


    tanka haiku:

    Two ropes unwinding,
    One freeing, one restricting ...
    neither without fear.

       Tethered lives from day to day;
       Freedom, moment to moment.

     

    ---


    Sans typography?
    typeface iconography;
    Word chains without doors.


    ---


    Though words may bind you
    Writing makes you regular;
    Do it ev'ry day.


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    A gypsy, cowgirl,
    (and hula dancer), and yet,
    we just call her 'mom'.

    The above collage was made about 15 years ago by an artist friend of mine from Seattle named Gretchen, and incorporates three photos of my mom. (Who, for the record, denied these are photos of her, claiming that they are actually of her mother.   Looking at them more closely, I think she might be right, but now we'll never know for sure ... I have the originals in one of my boxes of photos somewhere.  I've been looking for them to make better scans of the originals, but came across this scan of the collage and it made me laugh, so I'm sharing it for Mother's Day along with this one of my mother and her mother from about 1927:


    My mom and her mom
    almost 90 years ago.
    Happy Mothers' Day!


    ****

     

     

    Comments

    Your mom and grandmother were pretty. I just love the cloths from that era. 

    Now for some more jazz. Johnny Dodd's Hot Six 

     


    Thanks trking!  I love old Jazz!   Johnny Dodds was a clarinet player on Louis Armstrong's original Hot Five and Hot Seven recordings,  I never knew there was a Hot Six!  LOL

     


    A trumpeter I only discovered a few years ago.  Henry "Red" Allen.  Remarkable.


     

    And this ...


     

    Happy Mother's Day weekend 


    If the memories

    are all you have left to hold,

    hold them lovingly.

    If remembering

    her smile makes you shed a tear,

    shed it gratefully.

    But if another

    memory can still be made,

    make it joyously.

    Happy Mother's Day!


    2 a.m. in the

    big chair by the bay window

    where she held me tight

     

    Head full of fever,

    delirious but consoled,

    I let myself be.

     

    So much water spilt

    over the dam, but her I

    remember that night.


    Wonderful, Peracles!!   


    Beautiful, Missy!!