The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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    A Shady Friday Afternoon at the Haiku-lodeon ...

    By MrSmith1 on Fri, 06/22/2012 - 1:51pm |

     

     

    "Come,-let-us-wander
    through-the-haiku-lodeon-…
    and be transported."

     

    Here's this week's heap of haikus:

     

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    Flirting with danger,
    he courted disaster, but
    married words and deeds.

     

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    Our problem? Old men
    who pay to make the world fit
    into their small minds.
     


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    double haiku:

    A question, my friend;
    If I wish you, 'all the best',
    what does that leave me?

    Why should I be left
    with just some second-rate 'good',
    you lousy bastard?!

     

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    tanka haiku: She was pampered, but
    without love, hampered, so she's
    no happy camper.

    Which I'm sure puts a damper
    on her heart, (which was tampered.)
     

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    Through a tortured night,
    he tossed and turned in bed, while
    dreaming of ex-wives.

     

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    tanka haiku: Charlie and his friend
    rode in a first-class berth from
    London to Dover.

        (They pretended they were spies
        on a mission to Marseilles.)
     
     
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    Don't be confused when
    he speaks of his late girlfriend ...
    she's never on time.
     
     
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    The train 'clacks' along.
    I stare out the window as
    cleared meadows rush by.
     
     
     
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    There is always hope;
    even admitting the worst,
    you could still be wrong.
     
     
     
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    Juneteenth; In the past,
    news was slow to arrive. This
    news should have had wings.
     
     
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    Tending your garden,
    know that zinnias will thrive
    where fuschias wither.
     
     
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     An eager puppy,
    tail wagging, strains at his leash.
    So many new friends!
     
     
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    Are you feeling Blue?
    I am feeling Violet ...
    (behind the woodshed.)
     
     
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    She’s tilting forward
    'cuz she's wearing 6 inch heels.
    Precarious Chic.
     
     
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    Memorized poems
    dwell in our heads, waiting to
    re-inspire us.
     
     
     
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    There, rooting for me,
    as proud as he could be, was
    of course, my father.

    (A remembrance for Father's Day of a Cross-Country race long, long ago ...)
     
     
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    Crank the Victrola,
    clear away the rugs and give
    the maid the night off!
     
     
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    Comments

    Lifting up the skirt,

    to clear the flowers below;

    Her steps are like rain.

     

     


    by moat on Sun, 06/24/2012 - 4:21pm

    Lovely. 

     

    Her steps are like rain,
    her leaps, like an avalanche,
    Don't ask her to sit.

    :-)


    by MrSmith1 on Sun, 06/24/2012 - 6:42pm