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

    more haikus for another Friday afternoon plus ...

    By MrSmith1 on Fri, 01/27/2012 - 1:01pm |
     
    This week's batch + an announcement:
     
    tanka haiku: Laughter assuages;
    it ameliorates all
    of Life's distresses.

    (To put it another way,
    Laughter's the best medicine.)
     
    We pause now for a brief promotional announcement: 
     
    I am producing a Night of Comedy fundraiser for the Spondylitis Association of America, which was recently named one of the TOP TEN charities in the entire U.S., (and probably the smallest non-profit organization to make the list.)  The fundraiser is being held on Feb. 23rd at one of Manhattan's premier comedy clubs, The Comic Strip and will be featuring some of New York City's finest stand-up comedians raising money for a bunch of stiffs. cheeky  Dinner, drinks, tips and entertainment are included in the price of each ticket.

     

     
    For more information: 
     

    http://www.spondyville.com/Page130BestMedicine.html

    -----------
     
     
    And now, back to the haikus:

     

    --------
     
     
    In her mind were thoughts
    that she kept all to herself;
    Roses in cement.
     
    ----------------
    rain-soaked city streets,
    the glare of blinking neon
    blinds the private eye.
     
    ---------------
    When we learn, we grow.
    if our thoughts atrophy, we
    might as well be bricks.
    ---------------
     
    haiku: hasty conclusions
    may still bring satisfaction ...
    (Think of the time saved!)
    ---------------
     
    In a quiet rain,
    my thoughts ricochet about,
    dampening my mood.
    -------------
     
    A muse in a mews;
    amused by what an awl weighs,
    in all ways, always.
    ------------
     
    his tortured soul found
    small measures of contentment
    just beyond its reach.
    -------------
     
    Clinging too much to
    the Past, guarantees you'll be
    bull-dozed by the Future.
    -------------
     
    He was effusive
    in praising her, but stingy
    in his affections.
    --------------
     
    Sweet and succulent,
    and an artistic tableau;
    what a bowl of fruit!
    --------------
     
    Two homeless men sit
    in the park and discuss the
    State of the Union.
    --------------
     
    A winter's sunrise
    slices through the cold, urging
    us; 'Get out of bed!'
    --------------
     
    At the High School dance,
    he held his date so close, it
    crushed his boutonniere.
    --------------
     
    His girlfriend left him,
    his car was totaled. He's not
    having a good day.
    --------------
     
    The Summer sun raised
    beads of sweat on my forehead,
    which ran down my face.
    ---------------
     
    warmed over coffee
    fills my mug like an old friend
    that slept on the couch.
    ----------------
     
    Local Politics
    is not for the faint of heart?
    Yeah, it ain't bean-bag.
    ---------------
     
    tanka haiku: She shied away from
    ev'ry opportunity ...
    even the right ones.

    For while she worshiped others,
    she still lacked faith in herself.
    --------------
     
    He's considered dull,
    just muddling through Life, yet
    his heart slays dragons.
    ----------------
     
    Beneath earth and snow
    the flowers of my garden
    keep planning for Spring.
    ---------------
     
    double haiku:  pursed lips pushed parsnips
    past perfectly parched peas, plus
    partly parsed peace pacts.
    Assonance ascribes,
    alas, alliteration.
    All allowed, alright?
    --------------
     
    double haiku: A question, my friend;
    If I wish you, 'all the best',
    there's none left for me?

    Why should I be left
    with only second rate 'good',
    you lousy b*st*rd?!
    ---------------
     
    double haiku: We struggle, at times,
    remembering our loved ones,
    but vow, they won't fade.

    So, the old stories, though
    familiar, are re-told, to
    refresh our spirits.
    --------------
     
    Blearily, he gazed
    out his bedroom window, but
    he saw only snow.
    -----------------

     

    Comments

    How can Ray be dead?

    In my mind we are still young,

    With lifetimes ahead.

     

    My friend Tommy posted here a few times. Our moms were childhood friends. Tommy and Ray and their family were like cousins to my family growing up on the island. Even after we moved to the country, they'd come for summer visits. But a lifetime of smoking led to stage four lung cancer. Tommy tried to wade through the paperwork and get chemo or radiation for his younger brother, but it was too late. Ray died this week.


    by Donal on Fri, 01/27/2012 - 4:12pm

    Beautiful, Donal.


    by Oxy Mora on Fri, 01/27/2012 - 7:17pm

     

    Beautiful haiku, Donal.

    My condolences on the loss of your friend.


    by MrSmith1 on Fri, 01/27/2012 - 9:15pm

    My condolences also Donal.

     


    by Richard Day on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 12:12am

    Rain falls into streams,

    Tracing the lowest places

    Where memory lives.

     

    Kept awake by fire,

    We noticed an odd rhythm:

    Flame clinging to wood.

     

    The Earth is patient,

    In no rush for our return.

    But not slow either.

     

    Air reflects you best;

    Rushing forward so quickly,

    I am left behind.

     

     

     


    by moat on Fri, 01/27/2012 - 11:44pm

    Water, Fire, Earth and wind. Very elementary.  Nicely done, moat!


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 4:26am

    World class, Moat. Imagery in first two stanzas is astounding.

    As a born meddler, I keep wanting to rearrange the last two stanzas. I so love the second line in the third stanza, I would like to make it the end:

    ! ! ! ! ! , in no

    rush for our return.

    Also if you want the classic 4, substitute "wind" for "air".

    Apologies in  advance for screwing with such a work of art. 


    by Oxy Mora on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 9:50am

    No apologies needed. The third stanza is clunky. I am disinclined to use your alternative, however, because I try to avoid splitting phrases for the sake of making the syllables fit a line. I will mull it over a bit and maybe come up with a better stanza.

    The last stanza is not balanced either but I don't agree that using air is less "classical" than wind. The Greek word is ἀήρ (aer) and if the line "air reflects you best" was translated into Greek, all one would need is the proper declension of  ἀερίζω. But your observation does point out to me that the verbs used in the last stanza are not closely knit.

    Thank you for the encouraging words.


    by moat on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 11:12am

    The line, "Rain falls into streams", combined with my back and forth with Mr. Day about 'Now', reminded me of this poem I wrote about ten years ago. The back story is ...

    I was lying in a hospital bed and the television had not been hooked up yet, so I was listening to The Raymond Scott Quintet on my iPod ... one of the songs was titled, "Yesterday's Ice-cubes are water today."  So I start making up this poem,  using the title of the song as the first line of the poem, but not having pen and paper handy, I had to keep repeating it over and over in my head until the next morning when I was able to write it down ...  
     
    ---------------------------
     
    Yesterday's ice-cubes are water today,
    What once was cool has melted away,
    Evaporation must come to us all,
    Back up to the clouds so the rain can then fall,
    Fall to the stream, flow to the river,
    from faucet to freezer we soon start to shiver,
    We're back being ice-cubes,
    don't know where or when,
    we just know the process starts over again,
    Our minds try to tell us there is only the Now,
    As if Life after Now is a fiction somehow,
    But the soul goes on being,
    though each time here is fleeting,
    To glimpse the eternal,
    well ... that would be cheating,
    For we are just ice-cubes,
    at being cool, we're the best,
    We can understand melting,
    but have to trust all the rest.

     


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 11:34am

    I like it. The thought approaches the Tao. In that tradition, there is the phrase, sung shin, which is often translated as: "dissolve into your being."


    by moat on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 2:19pm

     

    Dissolve into your being... I like that.

    How's this:

    He meditates, then
    dissolves into his being.
    (Don't wake him from naps.)

     

     


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 3:54pm

    Great poem and I just focused on your lead-in to the poem. I simply cannot imagine composing something this good in my head and memorizing it. That is amazing. 


    by Oxy Mora on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 11:31pm

    Very nice work.


    by Donal on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 3:15pm

    Thank you. It is a response to your haiku mixed together with an appreciation for Mr Smith keeping an eye on snow.


    by moat on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 9:06pm

    Well done.

    I am caught between 'Old Friends' and 'Thick as a Brick'!


    by Richard Day on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 12:10am

    From your comment last week, DD,  I wrote a multi-haiku piece, but didn't feel it was good enough to post.   I'm going to keep working on it though and see if I can make it work.  Here's what I've got so far: 

     

     
    If there's only Now,
    how can there be 'hereafter?'
    Only 'heaven knows.'
     
    Can I take a guess?
    Could the 'Now' of which you speak
    be conditional?

    Perhaps 'Now' exists
    like us, in space and time, just
    parallels our lives.

    So past and future
    don't exist until we die,
    then 'Eternal' starts.

    Experiential 
    universe; where context rules
    (It's all about YOU.) ;-)

       


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 4:42am

    I wasted time today looking at time as a universal. Mostly because I am a cultural diffusionist--without any alien input and with no single cultural mother.

    There are too many 'coincidences' across six of the seven continents.

    Did you know the Chinese as well as the Egyptians had 24 hour days? And 60 minute hours?

    How the hell did that happen? Would not we be happy with 12 long hours a day? I have ten fingers and ten toes; where the hell did 12 come from and why is it universal--I am still seeking an answer for this in the ancient Americas.

    Of course everyone figured out a year somewhere around 360 days five thousand years ago. Which tells me we were working with that idea at least 40,000 years.

    Anyway, at some link it appears that some Greek Philosophers 2500 years ago figured that time was a myth; ethereal in nature and did not exist because now cannot be defined.

    Great take cause your haiku was exactly what I am feeling about all this.


    by Richard Day on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 5:17am

    All of our lives are spent on a spaceship traveling through time and Now rides with us on that spaceship. We look out the window to see the past and present as we travel through them, but when we finally get to our destination, (i.e., we die), we leave the spaceship and it continues on without us, leaving us for the first time in a fixed point in time, thus allowing for the past and future to become 'real' ... oh Christ, I haven't even had my morning coffee yet.   

     
    We're on a spaceship
    traveling through time. Can we
    stop to buy ice cream?

     

    Thanks for the comment, DD.  Now I'm going to be thinking all day.  HA!

     


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 9:19am

    Nicely done, and thanks as always for your inspiration and leadership in poetry. I wish I could be in NYC to attend your event. Best of luck on it.   


    by Oxy Mora on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 2:53pm

    This is quite a shock

    Breathing seemed so simple once

    Then came these Haikus.

     

    Peace to all.


    by erica20 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 12:22am

    Well done, Erica!  


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 4:28am

    I second that!

     


    by Oxy Mora on Sat, 01/28/2012 - 9:41am