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

    Still more Friday afternoons at the Haiku-lodeon!

     

    This week's heap of haikus:
     
     
     
     
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    No wishful thinking
    can turn apples into plums.
    Apple sauce? Perhaps
     
     
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    Clearly embarrassed,
    The teen excuses herself
    and runs from the room.
     
     
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    Strolling through the park,
    I can feel my focus shift.
    Nature affects me.
     
     
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    One day too many,
    in a month already stuffed,
    with hilarity.
     
     
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    Take a chance, today.
    Put your fears aside and LEAP
    into the unknown.
     
     
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    I search behind doors
    and under beds and sofas ...
    where are you hiding?
     

     

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    When you have a lot
    that's on your mind, let your day
    begin quietly.
     
     
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    Walking through meadows
    just before sunrise, is worth
    some wet trouser cuffs.
     
     
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    I met a rabbit
    this morn, in a dew-y glen,
    I nodded, he hopped.
     
     
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    Pies on windowsills
    send aromas wafting through
    a nearby schoolyard.
     
     
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    Inside of your mind
    are vast landscapes to explore.
    discover yourself.
     
     
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    Can we ever let
    Love truly know our hearts? Must
    shadows' hints suffice?
     
     
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    His mind still wanders
    but knows not to stray too far
    from the neighborhood.
     
     
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    Why not happiness?
    Each day it IS an option.
    Let yourself choose it.
     
     
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    Sometimes I forget
    my youth has abandoned me ...
    and I walk alone.
     
     
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    Its been a long day
    and we've both said way too much ...
    we should go to bed.
     
     
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    Ten, Jack, Queen, King ... Four.
    (sigh) It's time to leave the game
    and settle my debts.
     
     
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    Under the table,
    she rubbed her foot 'gainst his leg,
    hoping' he'd poker.
     
     
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    A humid morning,
    across the street, some workers
    sip coffee and smoke.
     
     
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    Her winter sweaters
    neatly folded, placed with care
    in a cedar chest.
     
     
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    Anguished and in pain,
    she never thought that her life
    would end up like this.
     
     
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    Coral begonias
    offer a quiet contrast
    to those yellow mums.
     
     
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    Dilapidated,
    that grist mill at river's edge,
    once fed a small town.
     
     
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    She has such a smile,
    it can send him to the moon.
    So, he makes her laugh.
     
     
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