The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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An August Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

Here's this week's heap of haikus:
 
 
 
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Looking down from Space,
all the clouds are upside down ...
making earth, heaven.
 
 
 
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Scribbled reminders
that I can not decipher
simply make me laugh.
 
 
 
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Do you still explore?
Search for meaning in all things?
Are you still a child?
 
 
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He asked, "How are you?"
She shouted, "Tin roof rusted!"
Oh Baby, indeed.
 
 
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 My street gets speed bumps
installed tomorrow. Fun times
for Access-a-Rides.
 
 
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When you're old, no one
recalls your childhood 'cept
your older sibling.
 
 
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As Life slowly ebbed,
he grabbed his wife's sleeve ... "Please Dear,
sing me one more song."
 
 
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Winter-time haiku: The boy ate his toast,
lying on the heating vent
in the cold hallway.
 
 
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haiku-time-machine: Heathens roam the streets!
Danger lurking ev'rywhere!
Protesting hippies!
 
 
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Yesterday's roses,
in fullness of bloom ... recall
our halcyon days.
 
 
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50's moms complained,
their rags smelled of Carbona,
even after washing.
 
 
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Into the street, the
texting pedestrian steps ...
days later, she wakes.
 
 
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 A moonlit whisper,
two lovers in silhouette,
embrace with passion.
 
 
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 Waiting in the wings,
and listening for his cue,
He can't find his props.
 
 
 
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In his father's desk,
lived a letter never sent,
urging forgiveness.
 
 
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tanka haiku:

The house lights dimmed, the
orchestra began to play,
a brash Broadway score.

Musicals can fill our hearts
with an overwhelming joy!
 
 
 
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In her mind were thoughts
that she kept all to herself;
Roses in concrete.
 
 
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In a quiet rain,
my thoughts ricochet about,
dampening my mood.
 
 
 
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His tortured soul found
small measures of contentment
just beyond its reach.
 
 
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Emerging shadows,
late on Friday afternoon,
make me fear nightfall.
 
 
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At last, there's closure.
The next chapter will begin ...
in 3, 2, 1 ... Go.
 
 
 
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 He's not nearly 'in',
nor even fairl
y close, but
close enough for jazz.
 
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