Day at the Beach
sand martins, low tide
mom’s new perm all blown to hell
a holiday wind
transistor blaring
Bobby Kennedy is dead
dad’s head turns slowly
Day at the Beach (double haiku)..
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Tag Archives: haiku
Haiku written while painting a room…..
Haiku written while painting a room…
haiku written while painting a room
searching for a transcendent metaphor
thinking someday maybe I could write
inspirational poetry like rupi kaur
you are
what you
are meant
to be
that kind of thing
do a book signing at Indigo
start a line of greeting cards
anything’s possible, really,
if once, just once I could resist
the impulse to be a smartass
……the haiku:
classic grey, cloud white
super eggshell for the walls
flat for the ceiling.
Bike Ride (haiku)
Bike Ride
a faint whiff of weed
that old Vancouver perfume
cherry blossoms bloom
Easter Monday Haiku.
Easter Monday Haiku
blue sky, scattered clouds
slow day at the pearly gates
not a soul in sight.
Angel on the Move (haiku)
Angel on the Move.
always, yes, always
take your pedestal with you
with you when you go
Brendan’s challenge over at earthweal is to write an ekphrastic poem inspired by the images he provides or one of your own. This is one of my own but check out Brendan’s images, you will be inspired!
Also taking part in Open Link over at dverse.
The Road to New Year
Just Before Christmas……
an Arctic cold front
Amazon trucks stuck
down snow-packed side roads.
Christmas
Between Christmas and New Year
You review your blog stats, as one does, and you wonder why you you are using phrases like “as one does”, have you been watching too much Britbox?
Back to the blog stats, number of views is down from last year which was down from the year before. Your viewing numbers appear to have peaked in 2019. Why? In 2019 you had the pandemic of course and a perfect storm of subject matter – the pandemic, the Trump presidency, and climate change. Now you have said pretty much all you have to say about these subjects for the moment. But isn’t that the way of some blogs, they fade because they need a fresh angle. Also, you have gone back to letting poems marinate for a while to see where they are going, giving them some quiet time.
In the meantime you have been reading, and your top read for 2022 was “Our Country Friends” by Gary Shteyngart. You read the novel one chapter at a time, each chapter accompanied by a can of Yellow Dog Play Dead IPA. Why, because Gary’s prose is too good to rush. You also enjoyed “The Nineties” by Chuck Closterman and “April in Spain” by John Banville.
You listened to “Stolen Car” by Beth Orton, because of the lyric and the guitar figure that slithers through the song like a poisonous snake. You listened to El Camino by Elizabeth Cook because who else would rhyme “annull it” with “mullet”. You listened to “Under The Milky Way” by Church because of the expanse it conjures. You listened to “Jesus etc” by Puss N’Boots because it’s Norah Jones doing a Jeff Tweedy song.
You thought “Licorice Pizza” was the best movie of the year because of Bradley Cooper and everyone else in the movie.
And now as 2022 draws to a close, you are wondering why the hell you are writing in the second person singular.
Happy New Year everyone!
JIM
Aw! Thumb Nail Sketch (haiku)
Autumnal Sketch (haiku)
trees leaking colour
like a paint store catalogue
et tu, chlorophyll!
The Tide (haiku)
The Tide
tide way out, sand packed,
the kids, impressionist smears
at the water’s edge.
The Evening News (haiku)
The Evening News
a cheery fanfare
death, mayhem and disaster
dog befriends squirrel.
Trip Home (a tanka for the memory)
Trip Home
a Donnybrook walk
the Dodder’s brackish gargle
that long red brick dusk
ghosts, tall tales and memories
the walking and the wounded.
Taking part in earthweal open link weekend.
Verse Form Freeway
Verse Form Freeway
a derelict lai
an abandoned sestina
a rusting rubai
the iambic sun beats down
tarted-up tankas roll by
articulated sonnets
pantoums, tricked-out villanelles
a herd of haikai
a herd of haikai
Kitsilano Take-out Tanka
Kitsilano Take-out Tanka
a late May evening
a take-out from Akbar’s Own
lamb vindaloo, mild
low muslin- filtered sunlight
couples stroll home from the beach
Why I have difficulty writing haiku (again)
Why I have difficulty writing haiku
problem with haiku
definite article is
first casualty
next casualty
indefinite article
makes me sound little
like Japanese guard
in prison camp in movie
world war two movie
who for some reason
is speaking English (how? why?)
with staccato voice
or perhaps I am
po-faced guru on mountain
dispensing bromides:
crow flies at midnight
in front of luminous moon
affair ends badly
all because I am
in service to, at mercy
of, syllable count.
Closed For Some Time Now (tanka)
Closed For Some Time Now (tanka)
on Spy Wednesday
passing the mildewed awning
of Dunbar Produce
I sense an apple vacuum
a vegetable absence.
Sun Damage (tanka)
Sun Damage (tanka)
and who would have thought
that elusive Irish sun
could do such damage
but look now, I have more moles
than a le Carré novel
When Poets Fall Out (haiku)2
When Poets Fall Out
I know something’s up
you’re sending mixed metaphors
your rhythm’s way off.
Couple rushing from a Parked Car carrying Yellow Yoga Mats…..haiku
Couple rushing from a Parked Car carrying Yellow Yoga Mats
late for yoga class
I’m like, how stressful is that?
stop panting, breathe, breathe.
The Light Ekphrastic (tanka)
The Light Ekphrastic
pierless, a king tide,
a log boom loses its grip
erasure, dim wit
a slow walk in the March sun
tripping the light ekphrastic
Taking part in open link over at earthweal.
The Poet’s Circle Holds a Haiku Evening (Edit)
The Poet’s Circle Holds a Haiku Evening
an evening of
syllable counts, cured meats, cheese,
wine – haikuterie.
(photo taken at Vancouver Folk Festival in the time before the time)
Tankas for Nothing, Haiku for Free
That Smell from the Fridge
that smell from the fridge
yes, it was the Camembert
noisome, and then some
wet dog, feet sweat, camel’s breath
a washroom door opening.
Two Bros at the Art Gallery
v- necked, buffed, burnished
pumped, pectoral, and puzzled,
aerobatic hair.
Two Tankas Involving Coffee
Americano Misto
the girl in Starbucks
fails to praise my awesome choice
nor does she inquire
’bout the progress of my day
I feel oddly unaffirmed.
The Evangelista
my local Starbucks
has an evangelista
she quotes the bible
while serving cappuccino
the old testament, mostly.
Fragments From a Long Weekend
1 (conversation overheard in a downtown bar)
he wants to retire
back where all the spires conspire
to show him the way.
2 (too much of a good thing)
summer evening
the red sunset bleeds regret
maturity lost.
3 (Why can’t I write like Rupi Kaur?)
my quinoa* quota
was far from quotidian
thanks! sunflower seeds!
*’keen-wah
4 (Climate Change is Opening Windows)
rumours dropping from the eaves
neighbours thick as thieves
singing off key at three
o’clock in the morning.
The challenge from Laura over at dverse is to write a poem consisting of fragments:
“Either:
a poem of several numbered stanzas. Each being complete in itself and having only a passing relationship to each other, if at all
OR
a poem of disjointed images (like listening to conversation in passing, repetitively switching between radio/tv station, random images across a screen, or paintings/photos seen in a gallery)
Rules:
Your poem should NOT conform to any rhyme scheme
Your poem MUST include Fragment(s) somewhere in the title”
Mother’s Day in Ollantaytambo/ Station Road (2 haiku’s) Redux
A post from the time before the time.
We got off the train from Machu Picchu at the Ollantaytambo station, walked up the station road to the town square and came upon this: Mother’s Day in Ollantaytambo. It went on all day – entertainment, raffles, prizes, politicians’ speeches. The ladies seemed to enjoy themselves, although they never clapped once.
Later that evening, we had dinner in the restaurant down at the station and walking home we witnessed this haiku-worthy scene.
Station Road
I
Two black dogs humping
a puzzled white terrier
on the station road.
II
Puzzled about what?
about the expectations
of the dog in front.
photo by Marie Feeney
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.
The Eve Of Hallow’s Eve (3)
The Eve Of Hallow’s Eve
no more séances
these days it’s hard to find a
happy medium
….because of the week it is…..
Taking part in open link over at dverse.
Spiders, Vacuums and Mike Pence’s Head.
Domestic Terror
allergens loiter
on the vacuum’s humid breath
spiders abandon
web based solutions
seek cover in crevices
domestic terror.
Sarah over at dverse asks us to write about things that creep and crawl, so I thought I would resurrect these two poems. (The one below was inspired by a fly that appeared on Mike Pence’s head during a vice presidential debate back in the glory days of demagoguery.)
The Fly on Top of Mike Pence’s Head Speaks
It’s so white up here.
What’s that fragrance?
Is it Rogaine?
Is it piety?
Is it Rogaine and piety?
You seem a little nervous
around the women folk, Mike.
Can I recommend a good conditioner?
Stopdraggingthepanda 