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

    Good Grief, it's Friday afternoon again, so this must be the haikulodeon

    By MrSmith1 on Fri, 05/18/2012 - 12:40pm |

     

    This week's heap of haikus: 

     

     

    It is a small world ...
    connected to oxygen ...
    don't get around much.

     
     - When I spoke to my nearly 94 year old mom the other night, she told me that she had tried to write a haiku. (I had sent her a large folder of my haikus for Mother's Day.) But she said that all she had was the first line and then the word 'oxygen'. She wanted to say something about how small her world has become now. And how frustrated and sad that makes her feel. So, this was what she and I came up with to finish the haiku. -
     
     
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    The occluded front,
    of her backless dress, kept her
    from feeling naked.
     
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     Now is not the time?!
    Now is ALWAYS the time!!  It's
    the tense we're stuck in.
     
     
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    Why are you so bored?
    There's a million things to do.
    Just pick one and start.
     
     
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    I yell, "Bon voyage!",
    as the ship glides from the pier.
    Port Out, Starboard Home.
     
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    Translating is tough,
    when you do it on the fly;
    words can zip past you.
     
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    tanka haiku: Things I saw today;
    a woman cursing in French
    on her pink cell phone.

    A dog, refusing to walk,
    who just sat on the sidewalk.
     
     
    (note: All ’things’ mentioned in the ‘Things I saw today’ series of haikus,were really seen by me on the day the haiku was written during my ride to or from work.)
     
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    If I can not stay
    here, I won't feather my nest,
    for I'll need to fly.
     
     
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    Waltzing through life is
    not as easy as it sounds ...
    There's all that counting!
     
     
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    double haiku: He sees kids at play
    and represses sadness at
    not having children.

    Sitting in the park,
    he looks at ducks and swallows,
    wishing he could fly.
     
     
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     Impulsive actions
    are often triggered by the
    echoes of our hearts.
     
     
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     A quiet morning.
    Lazily, I stay in bed,
    'stead of getting up.
     
     
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    Darkness overwhelms,
    but then, the morning sunrise
    peeks through my window.
     
     
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    The sound of footsteps,
    A shadow in a doorway ...
    Then, a match is struck.
     
     
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    We seldom notice
    the slow erosion of Life.
    we prefer dreaming.
     
     
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    tanka haiku: What's more annoying
    than getting a lollipop,
    with a broken stick?

    I know. It's a lollipop
    That tastes just like beef bouillon.
     
     
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     The world keeps spinning
    as I lay in a meadow
    watching clouds drift by.
     
     
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