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.
Raccoons
raccoons on the deck
humping in the porch light glow
procyonid love
Crosswalks
January morn
the low slouch of high school kids
cross sullen crosswalks
Following the Rhyme (haiku)
sacred and profane
irrelevant and germane
J. Cale and Cocaine
(I know, real haiku’s don’t rhyme)
Poster
poster on the wall
Lennon at a piano
deconstructing Paul.
Perspective
imagine,
you, a frog
down a well,
above you
only sky.
Why can’t I write like Rupi Kaur?
my quinoa* quota
was far from quotidian
thanks! sunflower seeds!
*’keen-wah
Late Fall haiku
fall guy on the lawn
turning over an old leaf
they are all old now
…taking part in the Carpe Diem fall haiku challenge
Toadstool
I see a toadstool
and wonder: what in toad hall
has that toad eaten?
Early Bird Special
unlike the midnight special
there are no songs
to celebrate the early bird special
no IHOPian bard,
no poet laureate of the blue plate
no bargain basement Dylan
no cut price Cohen
to extol the digestive
and economic benefits
of getting an early start.
Inspired by the dVerse prompt to write a quadrille using the word “early”. Thanks to Kim for the prompt.
Bonus Haiku
dawn breaks, early shift
at the haiku factory
counting syllables.
Photo: Sunrise on Planet Cistern 2
Conversation (hibernoku)
a low Dublin sky
a sentence hangs suspended
cut off in its prime
interrupt or die.
‘Hibernia’ is the classical Latin name for Ireland. A hibernoku is a haiku (seventeen syllables, 5-7-5) with an additional 5 or 7 syllable line, because for the Irish, seventeen syllables is a cruel limitation. The poem must contain an Irish reference and must allude to the weather in some way. In most parts of Ireland, ‘hibernoku’ is pronounced ‘hi-bern-o-koo’, except in West Cork where it is pronounced ‘hiber-nok-oo’.
Photo: Statue of the eternally quotable Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square, Dublin.
Weather (abandoned haiku)
an easterly wind
clouds move in convoy ‘cross the blue dome of the sky.
This started off as a haiku, but I felt like letting the second line run.
Photo: A sunny mid September day in Sandy Cove, Dublin.
Family (haiku)
yep, had a few drinks
with my brother, my sisters
sibling ribaldry.
Photo: View looking south along the coast, from Vico Road. Dalkey, Co. Dublin. Bono owns a house nearby ……where all the streets have names….I checked.
Butcher
7: 30 in the morning, at the corner of Main and King Edward, a butcher in a white coat stands looking out from behind the empty meat trays in the window of the Windsor Packing Company. Back in the fridge, somnolent sausages, blood red sirloin, and thick pink pork chops (each with a trim icing of fat) wait patiently for their return to the public eye…
January wind
Order your Christmas turkey!
Now! The sign urges.
…in response to the dVerse prompt to write a morning-related halibun.
End of Summer double septo
like a wasp in late August
circling a bin of regrets.
This poem is a double septo also known as a quatorze, it consists of two seven syllable lines. Sometimes, I find that the five syllable lines in a haiku create a flatness, a po-faced solemnity…wasp in late August…too much oracle not enough bounce. A seven syllable line allows room for rhythm.
Obviously, I made up the double septo bit. Recently I wrote a quadrille as part of a dVerse prompt and it got me thinking about arbitrary verse forms. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, it doesn’t get more arbitrary than that.
This haiku is in response to the RonovanWrites weekly haiku challenge. The prompt words are rebel, change.
You don’t have to Yell
are you a rebel?
are you in need of a change?
call Rebel Help now!
Day at the Beach
sand martins, packed sand
mom’s new perm all blown to hell
a holiday wind
transistor blaring
Bobby Kennedy is dead
dad’s head turns slowly
Haiku (conversation overheard in a downtown bar)
he wants to retire
back where all the spires conspire
to show him the way.
Too much of a good thing
summer evening
the red sunset bleeds regret
maturity lost.
Why can’t I write like Rupi Kaur? (1)
my quinoa* quota
was far from quotidian
thanks! sunflower seeds!
*’keen-wah
Climate Change is Opening Windows
rumours dropping from the eaves
neighbours thick as thieves
singing off key at three
o’clock in the morning.
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.
Death of a Scofflaw
he was popular
with the police force, they will
miss his demeanour.
inspired by The Daily Jolt.
…and the day is Friday!
…and your Daily Jolt is…….
Scofflaw
…which is an actual word meaning : “a person who flouts the law, who literally scoffs at the law”
Scofflaw (the haiku)
call yourself a cop
well, who the hell arrested
your development?
If today’s jolt word inspires you to write a post, let me know by linking your post to this blog, or post a comment.
Daily Jolt Update:
So far, the most frequent contributor to The Daily Jolt has been the witty, the inimitable, the one and only Steve Simpson, in fact he has been the one and only contributor.
If you are not reading Steve’s blog you are missing a treat; Steve is one of the most original poets out there. He writes fantasies underpinned by the everyday! Check him out here !
Rooster
still dark, the rooster
starts his moronic complaint
damn pre-emptive cock
Children held in camps at the US border…
the sultan of spin
in all his orange glory
can’t polish this one.
The Daily Prompt is dead, long live…..
Suddenly at the end of May, the Daily Prompt disappeared from the blogosphere just when I was getting to know it. Frankly, I miss it. I didn’t respond on a daily basis but every now and then, a prompt would fire my imagination (I can’t get no..) and I would write a poem that I would never have written without that prompt. So here is a haiku to lament the passing of the Daily Prompt.
In Memoriam: the Daily Prompt
left bereft, promptless
stalled and stumped and paralysed
how can we go on?
But all is not lost, I have noticed a few bloggers out there are trying to fill the gap, and I would like to throw my hat into that ring. The difference is I will be offering prompts that are not actual words, but words that I have made up. Today’s word is “brattitude”. As in…..
“The dress has that swaggering catwalk brattitude we have come to expect from a Karl Aufderfelt design.”
Since I do not want to sully the memory of the Daily Prompt, I have struggled to come up with an alternative name. I thought maybe, the Daily Prod, but some of my friends in Belfast might mistake it for a sectarian bulletin. I toyed with the Daily Prick but abandoned it for obvious reasons. I finally settled on the Daily Jolt, like a shot of caffeine, a creative laxative. (This post is like a bowling ball that keeps veering towards the gutter.)
So give it a go, hit me with your best shot, post something inspired by the jolt word “brattitude”, link back to this blog and I will list a link to your post here. Or simply post a comment here.
By the way, it’s very unlikely that I will have the imagination or application to do this on a daily basis, so the Daily Jolt will probably be occasional.
(in the England-Tunisia World Cup game which England won 2-1, the Tunisians had one shot on the English goal, 4 attempts.)
The English Goal Keeper Reflects…..
It’s lonely back here
hoping nothing will happen
that fear when it does
(how does my hair look?
are these gloves too big?)
The Story So Far
Messi’s misery
the agony of Neymar
Christiano’s joy.
Why, when dogs chase birds,
do we see optimism
not futility.
***********
(By the way, if you haven’t already, check out “Comedians in Cars getting Coffee” where comedy, coffee and cars are the only constants.)
The Poet’s Circle Holds a Haiku Evening
an evening of
syllable counts and cured meats
sheer haikuterie.
(photo taken at Vancouver Folk Festival)
on Magazine Street
a sharp uptick in tweeness
a whiff of normal.
