a single storm raged
on a planet far from here
for a year! engaged?
.
haiku
.
why are we so ‘engaged’ in ‘news’ ?
in things far from our everyday lives
in things we have no control over or effect on
gossip, speculation and fear are a virus
.
where focus goes, energy flows
we choose
Ps
the information contained in the haiku is a fact . look it up on the net….
engaged?
for thou art (more ish)
more lovely, hon, more stormy
than ever i thought
.
haiku
pray for rain, for darkest sun
say the word storm til it hums, honey
in the base of your tummy
hurry-flurry from home
wear the yellow wellies, silly
the spotted overalls, the lightning gnomes
everyone forgets to
. . . . .
pack only a ring of bells
one ( or two ) cracks of shells
a smack of berg-a-mots and cloves
three ( or four ) knocks and shoves
for good luck
smatter in some syllables
shuck some pebble-marbles
for kicks and giggles
then
. . . . .
leave them out on the porch
bring a torch
go insid
where you hid
as a kid
flash-splash beam-scream mutter-whisper
call to all your jammy jars of sea foam whiskers
tickles
you kept for later
watch
cock your ear
the path is clear
corkscrew your self to where you are young
find the poem – ( fully-fledged )
bouncing on your tongue – right at the edge
left right where you left it
catch its skin in your pearly teeth
like light from the storm beneath
bubble up, laughing
in your teacup, paddling
.
not a haiku
.
.
NaPoWriMo day 4: write a poem . . . in the form of a poetry prompt. If that sounds silly, well, maybe it is! But it’s not without precedent. The poet Mathias Svalina has been writing surrealist prompt-poems for quite a while, posting them to Instagram. You can find examples here, and here, and here.
this manuscript calms
storm – ripped pieces of my heart
tarnished by absence
.
haiku
shadow on my bare
shoulder unfurls unfailing
storms grazes to bone
.
haiku
delirious love
standing whirling in snowstorm
faded to white silences
after hot copulation
at least we begin children
.
tanka
.
5-7-5-7-7 syllables
no storm in this cup
this tea is tranquility
every morning poured
.
haiku
small gentle breeze kept
me asleep then storm of
‘god’ woke my life up
.
haiku
we keep the storm warm
in our mouths above our tongues
the storm keeps us warm
.
haiku
NaPoWriMo day 5
.
Hammered! Into copper-tongued clarity nothing
______matters, does it? Stuffed! Into cotton mouth
answers bluest call, shatters juices more from apple cored.
_____I wince. Panting quietly, my idiotic grin incised.
I can’t remember a taste as metallic as this
_____wishbone ( aptly gnawed) between teeth and trees and faith, passing
flowers have some honey, so does sun, and
_____isn’t that enough? Listen! This is just what
the bees whisper to breezy Spring’s
_____hips, thighs drunk, heavy, rippling, fizzing on
estrogenic tides. Sniffles caught on hazel twigs, drained and skinned.
_____Sorry! I lift my head and toes from this mess, taking intricate
steps. I lift kettle and cauldron down
_____gently, without much clack, fire quietly electricity, lightning cracks,
dying for some scalding liquid sympathy. Sun comes in
____at my waist, pouring pats on porcelain vase on table centre
My mind wanders out the window and teacup
_____strikes formica, gruffly asks a spoon to dance.
When has a morning been dressed as flayed as
_____this? Smashed passion for mama’s cooking, damp dents
in pillows, twisted patterned sheets…….dissipates……
_____The storm inside abates, beaten in syrupy circles
washed out in sea flakes and oat cakes
____a string of fresh laundry strung outside.
.
not a haiku
April 5, 2021
This prompt challenges you to find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original, and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem. If I used Roethke’s poem as my model, for example, the first line would start with “I,” the second line with “W,” and the third line with “A.” And I would try to make all my lines neither super-short nor overlong, but have about ten syllables. I would also have my poem take the form of four, seven-line stanzas. I have found this prompt particularly inspiring when I use a base poem that mixes long and short lines, or stanzas of different lengths. Any poem will do as a jumping-off point, but if you’re having trouble finding one, perhaps you might consider Mary Szybist’s “We Think We Do Not Have Medieval Eyes” or for something shorter, Natalie Shapero’s “Pennsylvania.”
.
Here is the poem that chose me…
Here Are Some Thorns, Splinters, Fishbones
BY SU CHO
Home for a pan-fried mackerel dinner,
my mother watches my chopsticks stumble
around the 가시. Full after a few bites,
I remember a story. When I was a baby
I choked on a fishbone at my grandparents’ house. My dad
wasn’t there. They yelled at my mother
for not inspecting each flaky bit of fish I put
in my clumsy mouth, not teaching me
the maneuvering of spiky slivers with my tongue,
how to place the needles next to my plate,
extract white meat clean. Ever since, she peels and holds
skeletons above our meal—fossils before me.
Still, I am bad at pulling bone from fish, cutting
skin from pears, which means I’ll never
get married. But what about the nights where my mouth
drips with SunGold kiwi, looking over
at my love, my lips smacking unabashedly.
Me cupping the furry layer in my palm, and you
standing over the sink eating it whole.
What would our mothers say? We laugh while I tell you
the story of how once, a splinter burrowed
into the meat of my thumb, and I kept it there for weeks.
Told my parents the splinter came out on its own
while I hoped my body would absorb the slender spear
and disappear the 가시 painlessly.
barbaraturneywielandpoetess 