MURDER, POLITICS, AND THE END OF THE JAZZ AGE
by Michael Wolraich
Order today at Barnes & Noble / Amazon / Books-A-Million / Bookshop
MURDER, POLITICS, AND THE END OF THE JAZZ AGE by Michael Wolraich Order today at Barnes & Noble / Amazon / Books-A-Million / Bookshop |
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)
---
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.)
---
Ev'ry day will end
subtly surrendering
as the sun retreats.
(photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)
---
Beach balls patiently
wait, as the low-rider chevy
heads for the levy.
(photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)
---
The sea gulls gathered
to watch the little girl teach
them how to find fish.
(photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)
---
At Disneyland, there's
a room you can visit when
you're not "tall enough"
---
I spent lots of time
when I first went to college,
working on my scowl.
( Me in 1970. )
---
His fancy footwork
often gets him out of binds,
but his ankles hurt.
---
Sitting 'midst the white
bougainvilleas, Emily
read a Chekhov play.
Delicious solitude" 1909 by Frank Bramley (1857-1915)
---
the-world-goes-round-ku:
What lies beyond the
blue horizon? Isn't it
more blue horizon?
---
Let us elevate,
our dialogue and our lives ...
eschew the mundane
---
After lunch we took
a leisurely nap, before
getting back to work.
John Singer Sargent (1856–1925) | Group with Parasols - 1904
---
Flower break ... I couldn't think of a haiku for this flower ... Any suggestions?
---
Puddles ripple at
the edge of a lonely street.
Intermittent rain.
---
A tangle of trees
may clutter the morning sky
but happily so.
(Photo courtesy of Me.)
---
If you only stand
facing West, than nothing will
ever dawn on you.
---
The green glow of night,
a downtown drenched in fog, an
escape by subway
( NYC City Hall - 1907 )
---
Over a basin
a woman washes away
evidence l'amour.
(Painting by Mary Cassatt)
---
Today's needs demand
tomorrow's actions, minus
yesterday's complaints.
---
A couple cuddles
outside of the Guggenheim,
then he hails a cab.
---
His morals could sway
like willows in the breeze, yet
his heart stayed grounded.
---
Though she wished to be
the love of his life, her heart
could yearn no longer.
---
We did not hear the
cop walk up behind us while
we were making out.
---
wise advice-ku:
When asking for a
knuckle sandwich, do not add, " ...
and hold the mayo."
---
Please friend, hold my hand.
I'm a stranger here, and don't
know my way around.
---
Twilight emerges
putting this long day to bed,
releasing our dreams.
---
Though heart's desires
are not always met, they greet
our souls at sundown.
---
Martini's shaken
and not stirred, makes olives bounce
and Bond, James Bond, drunk.
---
The room was darkened,
The drapes were all tightly shut
as his spirit ebbed.
---
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.)
---
We wince, we shudder,
we bite our lip. We endure.
Mere pain won't stop us.
---
The Surf patrol stood
ready ... waiting ... and waiting
but the sea was calm
(photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)
---
Good composition
sometimes will require that
you chop down a tree.
Caspar David Friedrich (1774–1840) - Two Men Contemplating the Moon
---
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.
****
Comments
Moistened, red petals
softly lifted toward the sun ...
asking for its kiss.
by barefooted on Fri, 09/25/2015 - 2:31pm
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.
by MrSmith1 on Fri, 09/25/2015 - 2:58pm
Great idea!
by barefooted on Fri, 09/25/2015 - 3:56pm
I like the bargello design behind you in the picture. You were a handsome fellow.
Nat King Cole Autumn Leaves. Enjoy!
by trkingmomoe on Fri, 09/25/2015 - 7:41pm
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.
by moat on Mon, 09/28/2015 - 8:40pm
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.
by MrSmith1 on Tue, 09/29/2015 - 12:29am
Heat is compounded
by the confusion of flame,
and it burns itself.
Seek a measure of moisture
chilled by the secure snowbank.
by barefooted on Tue, 09/29/2015 - 3:32am
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.
by barefooted on Tue, 09/29/2015 - 2:38am
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.
by MrSmith1 on Tue, 09/29/2015 - 3:20am
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.
by moat on Wed, 09/30/2015 - 4:18pm
LOL. Thank you, moat. I love this one. LOL
by MrSmith1 on Wed, 09/30/2015 - 4:53pm
Perfect! ;-)
by barefooted on Wed, 09/30/2015 - 5:26pm
Good one, Missy!!
Conflagration is
the conflation of flame with
oxygen compounds.
Except. of course, hydrogen,.
which will rain on your parade.
by MrSmith1 on Tue, 09/29/2015 - 7:28am