Two Bros at the Art Gallery
v- necked, buffed, burnished
pumped, pectoral, and puzzled,
aerobatic hair.
Two Bros at the Art Gallery
v- necked, buffed, burnished
pumped, pectoral, and puzzled,
aerobatic hair.
The Oscar of being George ( a hesitant haiku)
pride comes before a…….
without pride….one would never…
get up……off one’s arse.
Slim’s Third Dream
Slim retires again
to do battle with the night
his mother appears
they share complicated jokes
in his sleep, he laughs out loud.
Over at earthweal, the challenge is:
For this challenge, explore the art and acts of entanglement in a poem. How does one life entangle another? How do the dead remain entangled with the living? Become the thing you see. Reflect on how that seeing changes the world (at least, your view of it). Then (or separately) ask yourself what existence would mean without that entanglement: how much less light and air and beauty. Flip the switch both ways to see how it works. Entangle yourself in the world. Let your witness be our testament.
A lot of questions, I think I may have addressed one!
The Poet Steps Out with Uncharacteristic Resolve
No free verse today
I’m taking my doggerel
for a long, long walk.
This haiku, by my good friend, Slim Volume, was short-listed in the non-starter category at the Mountmellick Haiku festival. Well done, Slim!
stunned in the meadow
channelling Ansel Adams
lens like a cannon.
Photos by Marie Feeney
In response to Sherry Marr’s prompt over at earthweal
Stepping Out
and inside the mask
a faint whiff of grease
from this morning’s eggs
stepping out, he finds
the outdoors secure,
still, in its greatness
the sea still open
the sky limitless
the sky, the limit
the sky, off limits.
Brendan’s post over at earthweal (https://earthweal.com/2020/06/22/earthweal-weekly-challenge-culture-and-nature/ ) asks us to write about “the intersection of culture and nature”. He asks:
” How do you see yourself as a poet of culture and nature?”
Well, I have never considered myself a poet of nature. I have to come at it sideways. Here is a poem about the intersection of pop culture and nature.
Jerry Seinfeld takes a walk in the park and writes a haiku
Why, when dogs chase birds,
do we see optimism
not futility.
Brendan asks:
“If your life’s work were assembled in one silo, who would it feed?”
Well, I think my life’s work so far, could probably be served as a light snack and I’m happy with that. I am not particularly ambitious. Stephen Hawkins wrote “The Theory of Everything”. I would be happy writing “The Theory of a Few Things”. I read an interview with Leonard Cohen in which he spoke of tending to his garden. He implied modestly that his garden was small but that he took good care of it. He was talking of course of his particular talent and, I think, of how one should take care of what one is good at, know your talent (big or small, major or minor) and cultivate it.
Brendan asks “What is a well-made thing?”
(You really should read Brendan’s post, he poses a lot of questions, and is, as always informative and erudite)
When I first started writing poetry, I wrote mostly free verse. Then when I started blogging, I became more aware of short verse forms, in particular, the haiku and the tanka. I see poetry as being similar to sculpture or wood carving, whereas novel writing is more like architecture. The poet takes a large slab of words or a tree stump of words and whittles it down to a small well-made thing. When writing short poems I find a form is useful. I can’t really write traditional haiku. I can’t summon the required ineffability and the results end up po-faced, self-conscious, weighed down by solemnity. But I do like the arbitrary restriction or the discipline, for example, all the lines in the first poem above contain 5 syllables. I read a book of poems recently by Paula Meehan, the Irish Poet, in which every poem contains nine lines and every line contains nine syllables and amazingly she does this without making it obvious (the name of the book is “Geomantic”). Anyway, here is one more attempt at a well-made thing, and yes, nature is involved.
One Swallow
one swallow does not
one tries to swallow one’s pride
one swallow does not
when it comes to (what else?) Spring
one swallow does not do it.
Raccoons in the Road
caught in the headlights:
too much eye shadow, fellas,
too much eye shadow.
Crow Ops
crows chasing eagle
across the evening sky
solidarity
crows chasing eagle
across the evening sky
there’s strength in numbers
crows chasing eagle
across the evening sky
half-moon, scattered cloud.
Today the challenge from Frank over at Dverse is to “write three-line poems or poems having mainly three-line stanzas.”
Check out Frank’s post here. https://dversepoets.com/2020/06/04/tercets/
haiku tortured night
surplus syllable flop sweat
cherry blossom hell.
Ironic Distancing
The mind wanders
I think of a word that rhymes with ‘banker’
and marvel at how
in the middle of a global crisis
my brain still tilts
towards the trivial, the juvenile.
I try a sound poem
panic, pandemic, pandemonium
but it’s missing something,
panache, perhaps.
I make up a joke involving Peter Pan
but decide now is not the time to share it.
I detect the late onset of maturity
and feel depressed.
I text some friends,
we try to out-snide each other
but after a while
we are all chewing on the same bone.
I’m besieged by an idiocy of idioms –
the whole nine yards
the whole kit and caboodle
and that’s only the tip of the iceberg.
I re-assess my relationship with surfaces
I can no longer count on
that counter to lean on,
and as someone inclined
to whistle past the graveyard
walk past the writing on the wall
I have to admit
that the object in the mirror
was a lot closer
than it first appeared.
I write a haiku
four in the morning
moon shining on toilet bowl
porcelain pathway.
Watch your back! Basho!
Taking part in open link weekend over at earthweal.
Poster
poster on the wall
Lennon at a piano
deconstructing Paul.
Perspective
imagine,
you, a frog
down a well,
above you
only sky.
Taking part in open link over at earthweal. This is obviously a re-post, I have not been inside a pub in Kitsilano or anywhere else for a few weeks. I was working on a few pandemic-related poems but it’s hard to keep pace with events.
Bike Ride in the Time of Corona
a faint whiff of weed
that old Vancouver perfume
cherry blossoms bloom
there’s an up for every down.
The prompt over at earthweal is “Silver Linings”
Because it’s St. Patrick’s Day (week)….some excerpts from my last trip home.
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
an easterly wind
clouds move in convoy ‘cross the blue dome of the sky.
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.
Participating in Open Link Night over at dverse
Greta Thunberg at Davos
Pharisees, temples
the young lecturing the old
wilderness, a voice.
Taking part in open link weekend over at earthweal.
the sheriff is dead
failure to shoot deputies
is not a defence.
no more séances
these days, it’s hard to find a
happy medium
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
Slim Dickens
David Copperfield
now there’s a name
to conjure with.
Let’s read Oliver Twist again
like we did last summer
let’s read Oliver Twist again
like we did last year.
Great Expectorations –
the plague novel
he never wrote.
Raccoons in the Road
caught in the headlights:
too much eye shadow, fellas,
too much eye shadow.
When Poets Fall Out
I know something’s up
you’re sending mixed metaphors
your rhythm’s way off.
Autumn Nail Sketch (haiku)
trees leaking colour
like a paint store catalogue
et tu, chlorophyll?
Taking part in Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #103 The Quest For A New Masterpiece Continues … Start Of Autumn.
Self-consciously Poetic Haiku referencing Greek Mythology
twixt deck and deck post
Arachne’s tremulous web
shimmers with wet pearls
Two Bros at the Art Gallery
v- necked, buffed, burnished
pumped, pectoral, and puzzled,
aerobatic hair.
hard men, old hatred,
prod, papist, patriot games
I thought you were done.
**********
haiku prompted by
the pratfall that is Brexit
and the re-entry
to my consciousness
of the DUP, Sinn Fein
and Gerry Adams.
Redwood Haiku
new shoots from old roots
deep in the cedar forest
I’m birthing clichés