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

    A Wholly Papal Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon.

     

     

    Here's this week's heap of haikus: 

     

     

    It is a new day,
    and fresh possibilities
    spread across the sky.

     

    (Photo courtesy of my neighbor, David Thompson)

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    double Papal-ku:

    A scene seldom seen:
    Boehner and Biden crying
    about the same thing.

    (The short life-span of
    a joke ... wrote it yesterday
    Boenher quits today.)

     

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    Ev'ry day will end
    subtly surrendering
    as the sun retreats.


     

    (photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo) 

     

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    Beach balls patiently
    wait, as the low-rider chevy
    heads for the levy.

     

     

    (photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo) 

     

     

     

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    The sea gulls gathered
    to watch the little girl teach
    them how to find fish.

     

     

    (photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo) 


     

     

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    At Disneyland, there's
    a room you can visit when
    you're not "tall enough"

     

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    I spent lots of time
    when I first went to college,
    working on my scowl.


    ( Me in 1970. )

     

     

     

     

     

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    His fancy footwork
    often gets him out of binds,
    but his ankles hurt.
     

     

     

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    Sitting 'midst the white
    bougainvilleas, Emily
    read a Chekhov play.

     
    Delicious solitude" 1909 by Frank Bramley (1857-1915)

     

     

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    the-world-goes-round-ku:

    What lies beyond the
    blue horizon? Isn't it
    more blue horizon?

     

     

     

     

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    Let us elevate,
    our dialogue and our lives ...
    eschew the mundane

     

     

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    After lunch we took
    a leisurely nap, before
    getting back to work.


    John Singer Sargent (1856–1925) | Group with Parasols - 1904

     

     

     

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    Flower break ... I couldn't think of a haiku for this flower ... Any suggestions?

     

     

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    Puddles ripple at
    the edge of a lonely street.
    Intermittent rain.

     

     

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    A tangle of trees
    may clutter the morning sky
    but happily so.

     

    (Photo courtesy of Me.)

     


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    If you only stand
    facing West, than nothing will
    ever dawn on you.

     

     


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    The green glow of night,
    a downtown drenched in fog, an
    escape by subway

     

    ( NYC City Hall - 1907 )

     


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    Over a basin
    a woman washes away
    evidence l'amour.

     

     

    (Painting by Mary Cassatt)


     

     

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    Today's needs demand
    tomorrow's actions, minus
    yesterday's complaints.

     


     
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     A couple cuddles
    outside of the Guggenheim,
    then he hails a cab.

     

     


     
     

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    His morals could sway
    like willows in the breeze, yet
    his heart stayed grounded.

     
     

     

     

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    Though she wished to be
    the love of his life, her heart
    could yearn no longer.
     
     

     

     

     

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    We did not hear the
    cop walk up behind us while
    we were making out.


     

     

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    wise advice-ku:

    When asking for a
    knuckle sandwich, do not add, " ...
    and hold the mayo."

     

     

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    Please friend, hold my hand.
    I'm a stranger here, and don't
    know my way around.

     

     

     

     
     
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    Twilight emerges
    putting this long day to bed,
    releasing our dreams.

     

     

     

     

     
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    Though heart's desires
    are not always met, they greet
    our souls at sundown.

     
     

     

     

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    Martini's shaken
    and not stirred, makes olives bounce
    and Bond, James Bond, drunk.

     

     

     

     


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    The room was darkened,
    The drapes were all tightly shut  
    as his spirit ebbed.

     

     

     

     

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    tanka haiku:

    Frantically, she searched
    through every drawer and cabinet,
    for her missing blouse.

    (It's in the dirty laundry;
    worn on that awful blind date.)
     

     

     


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    We wince, we shudder,
    we bite our lip. We endure.
    Mere pain won't stop us.

     

     

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    The Surf patrol stood
    ready ... waiting ... and waiting
    but the sea was calm

     

    (photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo) 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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    Good composition
    sometimes will require that
    you chop down a tree.

     

    Caspar David Friedrich (1774–1840) - Two Men Contemplating the Moon

     

     

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    My Aunt and my mom,
    on the shore of Lake Erie ...
    enjoy the warm sun.

    The photo is from the Summer of 1958 and is of my mom, Betty (on the right) and my father's older sister, Marion.  The photo was taken at Marion and her husband's vacation house on the shore of Lake Erie. That was the same vacation trip during which 7 1/2 year old me, found a large Mussel in the shallow water of Lake Erie and decided to take it home in a jar of water.  Although I poked holes in the top of the jar, the mussel survived only about a day of the car ride back from Ohio to Long Island and then began to smell up the backseat of the car where Vicki and I were sitting. It didn't take much convincing by my sister of the silliness of my idea to keep the mussel as a pet ... So, we unceremoniously threw away the mussel, (still in the jar) , at the next rest stop on the Turnpike.  I used to wonder what the person cleaning the rest stop thought when they found a dead mussel in a jar of water ... but I imagine that's a whole other story.

     

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    Comments

    Moistened, red petals

    softly lifted toward the sun ...

    asking for its kiss.


    Wonderful, Missy.   I was thinking of making this "photo / you write the haiku" a regular feature each week to encourage responses. Thanks for taking up the challenge so quickly.


    Great idea!


    I like the bargello design behind you in the picture. You were a handsome fellow. 

    Nat King Cole   Autumn Leaves.  Enjoy!

     

    The fire is on fire
    until the fuel runs out
    and it burns itself.

    Bank the coals like a jail bird
    evading the search party.


    Nice, moat!!

    tanka haiku:

    When you decide to
    give a flame a hot-foot, you're
    fighting fire with fire.

    but 'til the fuel runs out, you'll
    not remember which ember.


    Heat is compounded

    by the confusion of flame,

    and it burns itself.

    Seek a measure of moisture

    chilled by the secure snowbank.


    How much does regional dialect play into haikus? Take the written words (in the above cases) "fire", or "fuel": is it one syllable or two? I consider that often when composing, because my Southern drawl doesn't often seem to fit the count. Because of that, I change words I feel best describe my point into ones that fit the structure. Honestly, that bothers me.


    Yes, I saw that you did that.   I think both fuel and fire are categorized as diphthongs,  and therefore are one syllable words ... But here's my thought on the subject:    if you're going to write with a Southern dialect, and make them two syllable words, then I think you need to make it apparent to a reader that might otherwise not be aware of your background.  The easiest thing to do is spell the word in that fake phonetic way publishers used to use with lyrics to songs written in 'negro' dialect. ("Ole Man River, he jes' keep rollin' along.") Just as writers sometimes make words fit by using o'er for over, or ev-ry for every,  I think you need to make it clear how many syllables the reader should use in pronouncing the word if you are expecting them to pronounce it differently than the way it is pronounced in Standard English.


    I have wrestled with this question a lot and Mr. Smith let me play me through with a mulligan by not calling me on my use of "fuel." In honor of my speech origins, I should have said "mesquite" instead. 

    I was in trouble.
    When she removed her diphthong,
    mah face cawt fie-yer.
     

     


    LOL.  Thank you, moat.    I love this one.  LOL


    Perfect! ;-)


    Good one, Missy!!

    Conflagration is
    the conflation of flame with
    oxygen compounds.
       Except. of course, hydrogen,.
       which will rain on your parade.