The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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    A Pre-Sprung Spring Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

    By MrSmith1 on Fri, 03/22/2013 - 1:56pm |

     

     
     
    Here's this week's heap of haikus:
     
     
     
    Triptych Access-a-Ride #1 - Brooklyn Bridge
     

    The world passes by.
    I look out my window and
    imagine stories.
     
     
    --------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    Triptych Access-a-Ride #2 - Lower West Side Manhattan

    I so look forward
    to viewing the sunset from
    the West Side Highway
     
     
     
    --------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
    Winter's final gasp
    tries in vain to hold off Spring;
    But blooms triumphant!
     
     
    ------------------------------------------------
     
     
    If you struggle to
    build ships in bottles, why not
    get bigger bottles?
     
     
    ------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    Scampering puppies,
    all excited and barking;
    salve for our sadness.
     
     
     
    ------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    It can not be Spring.
    The flowers aren't blooming, and
    my egg fell over.
     
     
    -----------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    Tucked in his wallet
    was a photo from his youth
    of his secret love.
     
     
    My friend David's response:
     
    Should she reappear
    there's an unexpired condom
    next to her photo.
     
     
    My response:
     
    He carries a torch,
    but he never lets condoms
    reach expiration.
     
     
    ------------------------------------------------
     

    tanka haiku:

     

    Our thoughts are blended,
    into philosophical
    smoothies. We're zombies.

    How do brand new thoughts arise
    when old thoughts refuse to die?

     
     
    -------------------------------------------------------
     
     

    tanka haiku: I still stop and pause
    at ev'ry intersection
    to look left and right.

    You ask, "why is this funny?"
    Hint: Can't turn head and half-blind.

     

    -------------------------------------------------------

     
     
    Can haikus be writ,
    without, to wit, a single
    snit? I guess they can.
     
     
     
    ---------------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    Weather will happen,
    the earth will keep turning, in
    spite of our tantrums.
     
     
    -----------------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    Cars that have not moved
    since last night, tell me it snowed.
    Taxis say nothing.
     
     
    --------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
     
     We're not defined by
    what we have lost, but by what
    we do with what's left.
     
     
    --------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
    What remains must not
    be slighted by our great grief
    o'er what's been taken.
     
     
     
    ---------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
    Old TV-ku #1:

    Route 66 to
    The Streets of San Francisco;
    My Mother, The Car.

    Old TV-ku#2 (Dobie Gillis edition):

    Maynard had two joys;
    Dizzy and knockin' down the
    Endicott Building.
     
     
     
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
    St. Paddy's Day-ku:
     
     
    In fields of shamrocks
    lies my past, who looks at clouds
    and dreams of my life.
     
     
     
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------
     
     
    Part of ev'ry plan
    is collateral chaos ...
    What if ... that is us?
     
     
    My friend David's response:
     
    You mean that perhaps
    we're collateral chaos
    in someone else's plan?

    Are you suggesting
    that we're the background talent
    in another's dream?
     
     
    My response #1:
     
    What if the "stars" of
    this whole earthly spectacle
    are the butterflys?
     
     
    My response #2:
     
    What if we are not
    the focus of all life, but
    merely random results?

    The moon above brings the tides,
    Honey Bee's cross-pollinate.
     
     
    David's response:
     
    What if the "stars" of
    the butterflies' dreams are us,
    the human beings?
     
     
    My response #1:
     
    Though we may believe
    we're the center of all things.
    Ask Copernicus.
     
     
    My response # 2:
     
    To be the stars of
    a butterfly's dream would mean
    a downgrade in pay.
     
     
    David's response:
     
    Funny idea:
    Have Copernicus appear
    to the brand-new Pope.
     
     
    ---------------------------------------------------
     
     
     
     
     

    Comments

    I am digging your transit theme. I thought of this on the subway ride:

     

    Train car full of souls,

    Each one as sharp as a knife,

    Going home again.


    by moat on Fri, 03/22/2013 - 7:18pm

     

    Thanks moat.   I had the idea the other night, and I like the first result, so this may become an occasionally recurring theme.

     

    btw, nice haiku.  

     

    Train cars full of souls

    riding through the underworld

    Charon would approve.

     

     

     


    by MrSmith1 on Fri, 03/22/2013 - 9:29pm

    We are all just passing through something.

    But I tell ya, attempting to pass through this winter was tough.

    Maybe it hits me because the winters over the previous two years were rather 'light'.

    But this year we had wind and much more below zero temps and a lot more snow.

    12.5 hours of sunlight and a few days ago it got well below zero and we had a blizzard!

    I appreciate the train ride though! 


    by Richard Day on Sat, 03/23/2013 - 2:41am

    The photos were quite a treat, Mr. Smith. Now I know what my daughter saw that made her cry.

    Of course, this means I have a story but not a haiku. If only I could tell it in three lines, I would.

    Like her maw, she was born in a big, bad ass city (Flint, MI). But, unlike her maw, she was raised in a very rural area. Cows and horses for neighbors and what not. She longed for more exciting digs so when she grew up and opportunity knocked, she moved to New York State, Finger Lakes area. Soon she was taking her first trip to the Big Apple by train.

    She called to tell me about it.

    "I cried when I saw the city," she said.

    Thinking oh-my-god, this poor little country girl must just be overwhelmed by that big, tall, stinky place. I mean, it must be so foreign to her and scary enough to make her cry.

    "Was it that bad?" I asked.

    And she said, "No, Ma. It was that beautiful."

    Heh. What do mothers know?


    by wabby on Sat, 03/23/2013 - 8:05am

    Mothers know a lot, Flowerchild, but children will always retain the ability to surprise their parents.  That's a wonderful story.  I can actually visualize the whole thing.  

     

    Manhattan's skyline;

    a powerful reminder

    of what's possible.

     

     

     


    by MrSmith1 on Sat, 03/23/2013 - 11:35am