The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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    A Kerouac-ack-ack Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

    By MrSmith1 on Fri, 08/21/2015 - 2:02pm |

     

     

     

     

    Here's this week's heap of haikus:

     

     

     

     

    Jack Kerouac - American Haiku

    I found this other day on YouTube.   It is beat poet and novelist Jack Kerouac reading his own haiku with little bits of Jazz music in between each one.  His haikus are mostly free form; they don't, for the most part, stick to the 5-7-5 format.   Sooo ... I went and picked out lines from his haikus that were either 5 or 7 syllables long and played the haiku game with them.  Here's the results: 

     

     

     

     


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    "Hi", cooed Kerouac,
    "come and take a ride with me,
    on the road again."

     

     

     

     

    Behind my razor
    in my medicine cab'net,
    lies an old toothbrush.

     

     

     

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    Drunk and bewildered ...
    Well, here I am, 2 PM.
    Heck, what day is it?

     

     


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    Carefully place your
    beads on the Holy Book and
    pray God intervenes.

     

     

     

     


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    In the morning frost,
    The cats step slowly,
    anticipating .    ..

     

     

     


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    A long Saturday,
    raking the leaves in the yard,
    Only more leaves fell.

     

     

     


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    Water seeping in
    the bottoms of my shoes
    walking through puddles.

     

     


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    meeting new neighbors,
    holding up my purring cat
    to show it's friendly.

     

     


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    Telegram today
    Urgent news from overseas
    Will he? Won't she? Stop.

     

     

     

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    Barking at heaven
    at dawn on a Sunday morn,
    is hell on the nerves

     

     

     


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    Uncle Jack sat, as
    Drunk as a hoot owl, and tried
    to count his fingers.

     

     

     

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    Working in the field
    all day long wearing a hat
    my hair gets matted.

     

     

     


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    the piazza is
    full of aging young couples
    flirting with hope.


     

     

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    Coming home from work,
    passing the football field, I
    think of homecoming.

     

     


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    Slowly, the worker
    lowers himself from the roof,
    and packs up his gear.

     

     

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    I seldom recall
    the drunkards of Mexico
    and neither they, me.


     

     

     

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    Sun shines through the trees
    a boy smashing dandelions
    dogs chasing rabbits.

     

     

     

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    In my camp tent, I
    write letters by thunderstorm ...
    eat peanut butter.


     

     

     

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    Useless, useless rain.
    Already watered the lawn.
    Now it's redundant.

     

     

     


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    Clothes hang on the line
    a bird thrashing in the bath,
    two squirrels climbing trees.

     

     

     

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    Man with a remote.
    Children playing with their toys.
    Woman with a cat.

     

    (Fernand Léger - 1921 - Woman with a cat.)

     

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    When falling into
    a burning ring of fire, the
    fault's in your desire.

     

     

     

     

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    Amidst the cattails,
    and languorous in repose,
    a fairy lingers ...

     

    ( by Alphonse Mucha approx. 1920)

     

     

     


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    Tiny hummingbirds
    hover near passion flowers
    to pass on passion.

     

    Martin Johnson Heade (1819–1904) |  Hummingbird and Passion flowers | ca. 1875–85

     

     

     


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    before-and-after-ku:

     

     

    A triangle of
    tranquility sails the sea
    'neath darkening skies.

    -

    Shafts of golden light,
    signaled we'd weathered the storm,
    so, we headed home.

     

    (Photograph courtesy Kristina Rebelo)

     

     

     

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


    (Photograph courtesy Kristina Rebelo)


     

     

     

     

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    A glorious day
    shines through my window shades,and
    all my fears grow weak.

     

     

     

     

     

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    Written in margins
    of forgotten manuscripts,
    lies many a truth.

     

     

     

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    Some flowering quince
    brighten up my room, while they
    tease my sinuses.

     


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    Like a garden rose,
    the nurse showed up one morning
    and pricked my finger.
     

     

     

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    His leather briefcase
    was left in a Greek diner
    on Twenty-third Street.
     

     

     

     

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    Pancakes for dinner ...
    because I'm an adult and
    I'll do what I want.

     

     


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    The ice machine's broke!
    Damn cheap motel in Flagstaff​ ...
    I'm drinkin' warm beer.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    ****

     

     

     

     

    Comments

    Hey, Smith. What a great creative exercise and so well done. Excellent.

     

    I slept in my car

    A pizza box the pillow

    Weekends never end.


    by Oxy Mora on Fri, 08/21/2015 - 11:33pm

    Thanks, Oxy!     Good one!

    Weekends never end,
    The beer's free and sex sublime ...
    I know, in my dreams. 


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 1:56am

    Pancakes are always good for dinner.  

    I enjoyed it.  


    by trkingmomoe on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 1:39am

    I got caught in a rain storm today, for the first time in I can't remember how long. It was marvelous! On my daily walkabout, I noticed the dark clouds but didn't much care since they had been teasing all day and had yet to produce anything. Besides, there was no lightning or rolling thunder to cause particular concern - and rain isn't dangerous to those who don't melt.

    I'd barely broken a good sweat in the 86 degree, 83% humidity oven when the first drops fell ... about a half mile from home. Just ahead was my usual turn to continue on my path, and I wondered whether to go on or head straight to my door when the clouds popped. All at once, all of a sudden, all the way. BOOM! I swear I was soaked to the bone in under 10 seconds.

    They were big, fat, sloppy drops that fell so hard and fast they bounced off the ground. Straight down; no wind to carry them or delay their intensity, nothing to stop the instantaneous flooding when they landed. Collectively the drops became a roaring torrent of sound - powerfully beating and pulsing in a symphony of rain. Mother Nature giving back.

    I didn't change my easy-going pace, I walked as though the sun was still baking my shoulders. Tossed off my flip-flops and casually splashed barefooted through the storm, thoroughly engaged in the experience. It was absolutely the best therapy I can imagine ... nothing else, in those minutes, mattered.


    by barefooted on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 2:42am

    Wonderful, Missy!  What a lovely experience. (A nice bit of writing, too.) 

    45 years ago this Summer, I was in South Korea on a USO tour.  When we first got there, the Captain who was our guide told us about the Monsoon ... We laughed and thought not much of it ... until the next day when, suddenly, almost to the minute the Captain predicted, the rain began. An intense, serious downpour.   My troupe was in our barracks and we all came out and stood in the pouring rain, laughing and splashing about.  Then, just as  suddenly, the rain stopped.  The sun came back out and it was as if nothing had happened, except we were all thoroughly soaked.   From then on, we all waited for the daily downpour before making plans.

     


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 5:48am

    On the Road, So I'm toad, Is a wonder 2 b hoed. East of Eden Took a beatin' And the respites were quite fleetin' Dharma bums, dharma thumbs, Cowgirls beating injun drums Say the West is the best Til you're under arrest Some are willing 2 b chillin, Others dealin 18 wheeling When the flurries match your worries, There's a exit to be 'spected. You gotta move, some's gotta groove Hear dem wimmin all down the line To play bottleneck you needs a bottle Play da blues you be doing time Milagro beanfield, more than a hill, Less than a mountain, a passing thrill When the farmers all get together Find their fountain is even better EZ Rider, uneasy rider, The art of travelin' ain't too assured When the Road trip's a Zen of bike grips The psycho cycle flip is too absurd I hit the coast & found it wanting, hitched a plane across the sea Am I moving or just removing? When I'm in motion, I feel free The bus goes furthur Hang to that girder Neal checked out Counting rails Give me a wheel Some tires to steal A fifth of whiskey And I'll hit that trail The Man in Black Flipped back his hat Listened to that whistle blow 500 miles just makes me smile Gimme a spaceship I'll do a million more On the Road you don't get bored If'n keeps the pedal to the floor A thousand stories to be told If I ever do the time I stole (can't u sea? Say can u see? What dát dangblog she been doing 2 me)

    by PeraclesPlease on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 10:59am

    HA!  Peracles, you're a natural-born beat poet.  We need to get you into that DeLorean so you can go back and fulfill your beatnik destiny. 


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 11:21am

    More like Fireside Theater - "wanna hear me rap? I saw the best minds of my generation..."

    by PeraclesPlease on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 11:55am

    Yeah, but you make Nick Danger, Ralph  Spoilsport and George Tirebiter proud.


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 12:12pm

    You mean...(suspense) Betty Jo Bialosky? Rocky Rococo at your cervix.

    by PeraclesPlease on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 2:30pm

    Betty Jo? That girl's got a balcony you could do Shakespeare from ... Shoes for Industry!


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 4:40pm

    I can smell the weed in North Beach. Good one, Peracles.

     


    by Oxy Mora on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 11:55am

    Just garlic, ocifer - scouts honor. (20 years since by Ferlinghetti's place - howdie time doo flie)

    by PeraclesPlease on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 2:37pm

    T'was monsoon season,

    and innocent tourists were

    in for a surprise.

    Strolling in the sun

    became a dash for shelter

    when the skies opened.

    But those who were caught

    beneath the torrents of rain

    found themselves laughing.

    When others questioned,

    the happily drenched answered,

    "It's Monsoon Madness!"


    by barefooted on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 7:53pm

    Ha!  Excellent, Missy!!

     

     


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 9:57pm

    Just great writing, barefooted. More, please.


    by Oxy Mora on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 11:46am

    Thanks, Oxy. Sometimes it's nice just to write about a normal experience we've all likely had, and not worry whether it's too insignificant. Slices of life, as they say, that bind us in the little ways that serve to remind us that we're not always in conflict. After all ... there's really nothing like getting caught in the rain to wash away self importance! Whether you're wearing designer clothes or hand-me-downs, you're still wet.

    And I'm always happy to have Mr. Smith's spot in which to plant my meandering thoughts. A priceless thing indeed.


    by barefooted on Sat, 08/22/2015 - 8:17pm

    I didn't know where else to post this ... An old friend sent me this ... A song about Donald Trump's hair:

     


     

    by MrSmith1 on Mon, 08/24/2015 - 3:55pm

    Once upon a time

    a father had a son, then

    documented love.


    by barefooted on Thu, 08/27/2015 - 12:30am

    Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a haiku coming down along the road and this hicow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby haikoo... Oh shit, Joyce just ran over his meter again, didn't he? Bad, James, bad - you keep up like this and you'll one day fill an Encyclopedia-sized book with this rubbish...


    by PeraclesPlease on Thu, 08/27/2015 - 8:11am

    James Joyce had no choice,
    baby wanders Nighttown and
    cries, "Haiku-chee-ku."


    by MrSmith1 on Thu, 08/27/2015 - 12:12pm

    Sweet.  Thanks for this, Missy!


    by MrSmith1 on Thu, 08/27/2015 - 12:04pm