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

Free Lemonade Friday Afternoons at the Haikulodeon

 

 

Here's this week's heap of haikus:
 
 
 
A nuanced answer's
often misunderstood ... or
picked apart by friends.
 
 
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Of a sanguine mind,
he always disagreed with 
the cynical blokes ...
 
 
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tanka haiku: "What a lovely toy,"
she thought. (That was long ago.)
It no longer shines.

Ignoring missing buttons,
she still combs its thinning hair.
 
 
 
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 Have you ever seen
a sunrise that does not hold
a promise of re-birth?
 
 
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tanka haiku:  Why do you suppose
we have physical limits ...
To teach us patience.

(Also, to give us something
that we can complain about.)
 
 
 
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Formerly treasured
knick-knacks in the garbage bin,
show his shifting taste.
 
 
 
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 Temps in the 90's,
the humidity as well ...
Summer sucks sometimes.
 
 
 
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 Vacant apartment
Dust has settled everywhere.
Her spirit lingers.
 
 
 
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tanka haiku:  John Fluegel  played fife,
Tobias Giltner  fought in
the Revolution.
 
Here's to ALL my ancestors
that fought for Independence.
 
 
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Try imagining
that strangers you encounter,
are friends from past lives.
 
 
Respond-ku from a friend:  
 
What if these strangers
recognized as past-life friends,
still owe me money?
 
 
Respond-ku2 from me:
 
You're a lucky man
to get a second chance with
those stinking deadbeats.
 
 
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 What is on your mind,
the weight of the world ... or the
lightness of being?
 
 
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She no longer cares
if she impresses others,
she just likes to sing.
 
 
 
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A slice of apple,
a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese,
and you by my side.
 
 
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When the beagle barked,
squirrels would stop and look his way
and see he was tied up.
 
 
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 While I sit and read;
a pitcher of lemonade
quickly disappears.
 
 
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Coffee on the porch,
watching kids on bicycles
chased by barking dogs.
 
 
 
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As the clouds disperse,
stars twinkle in the sky and
my heart leads me home.
 
 
 
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Shady Summer's dusk;
he whistled as he strolled down those
quiet streets near home.
 
 
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The calla lilies
sported purple freckles, which
made me think of you.
 
 
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 I sometimes wonder
what my dad would think of all this ...
Forty years, things change.
 
 
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 I am for you and
hope you are for me. So here; 
break some bread with me.
 
 
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The epitome
of a most humble man; his
silence is profound.
 
 
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Near shallow shoals,
sallow souls in hollow holes
scream at scheming scum.
 
 
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 You've fought long enough,
my friend, put your sword down now
and rest, simply rest.
 
 
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