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

    A Satisfyingly Seductive Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

     

     
     
    Here's this week's heap of haikus:
     
     
     
     
    A sincere heart is,
    more likely to change the world,
    than organized plans.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    I can not help you
    to be stronger, but I can
    share with you my strength.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     
    Their schemes fail, but vamp
    and no-good-nik agree; "Must
    keel moose an' squirrel."
     
     
     
    ---
     
     
    What could be worse than
    your doc saying, "Wow, never
    saw that sh*t before."
     
     
    ---
     
     
     
    She has a great smile,
    which can send him to the moon.
    So, he makes her laugh.
     
     
     
    ---
     
     
     
    Dilapidated,
    the grist mill at river's edge,
    once fed a small town.
     
     
    My friend David's response:
     
    With just seventeen
    syllables, the haiku is
    poetry's gist-mill.
     
     
    My response:
     
    Whether gist or jest
    there is but one test; what's the
    frame of reference?
     
     
    ---
     
     
    A humid morning,
    'cross the street, workers loiter,
    sip coffee and smoke.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Walking through meadows
    just before sunrise, is worth
    some wet trouser cuffs.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Shadows thrown upon
    a brick wall by passing cars,
    flee into doorways.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Double haiku: Her heart wept when she
    found some old love letters and
    forgot who wrote them.

    The letters revealed
    the seeds of her broken heart
    and now, the harvest.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    What's clearly defined,
    leave alone. What's blurry at
    the edges, let be.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    musical comedy-ku:
     
    With music vamping,
    Harold Hill desperately
    grasped at rhymes for "T"
     
     
    ---
     
     
     At the sky's edges,
    mountaintops still pierce the clouds,
    to peek at heaven.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     A crumpled fender,
    wrapped around a barber pole,
    could mean a close shave.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Deep in the forest,
    Patches of stippled sunlight,
    Warm a leaf-strewn trail.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Fog floats on the fields,
    dew forms on the split rail fence.
    Cows still seem boring.
     
    ---
     
     
    Scars are reminders,
    That Life can be risky, but
    we can, and will, heal.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    I don't know her name,
    I'll never see her again ...
    Her fragrance lingers.
     
     
     
    ---
     
     
     Lazy sunlight drifts,
    through the parted lace curtains,
    of the drawing room.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    His girlfriend's bedroom,
    seemed like such a private place;
    dainty and perfumed.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     In Nantucket pubs,
    Zithers and dulcimers play,
    to enraptured drunks.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     A wind-swept plateau,
    where the sky looms large, as in
    a John Ford western.
     
     
     
    ---
     
     
     Behind the brick wall
    was a secret garden which
    still nurtures his soul.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     My life is a mess,
    but my imagination
    is immaculate.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     
     I am lost today.
    Without you to guide me, I
    can't make sense of things.
     
     
    ---
     
     
     Ev'rything explained;
    Parallel universes ...
    Are you kidding me?!
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Most Ala-Kazam,
    Abra-Cadabra spells seem
    to lack real magic.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    Perched on a tree branch,
    an observant owl, sees all,
    knows all, eats Kosher.
     
     
    ---
     
     
    In a strange world, where
    the unlikely is likely,
    who's to say what's 'News'?
     
     
    ---