jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

haiku truths/crocus and frogs after rain/…secrets…non-stop/oh, poet for you, no rest (where did it come from? or how a NaHaiWriMo idea became this tanka)

haiku truths–
crocus and frogs after rain
ketrels and hyacinths
telling you secrets non-stop
oh, poet for you, no rest

Where did that come from?

If you read the comments between Wrick Daddario (19 Planets Art blog) and me on my #24 & #25 NaHaiWriMo post here, you would have read that tanka. He started with what he liked about the haiku and as always when the interaction takes over, he wrote his own haiku on the comment thread. He later mentioned that perhaps he did write enough to pass off as a-haiku-a-day for the month, adding he didn’t want to make a commit ment but did fulfill it anyway. That’s when this thought that has overtaken me was unleashed…and I wrote on:

Commitment? That’s always a big scare, isn’t it? It is, in matters of personal and true-to-life matters, especially, but even more so in ART. Because it asks or demands of one’s whole being, the thrill with which we throw ourselves into it soon falters and we slouch off along the way. But something else could also happen like what’s happening to me. (These last two sentences added just now.)

I have had brief bouts of it–this ‘being on a roll’, but not like now that I feel totally consumed by it–though still unaware of commitment to giving in or have given in to–the POWER OF HAIKU and TANKA. I feel I’m changing especially with my personality; I think I’m turning into a monk who prowls the city looking hollow or with burning eyes on details that turn into or churn haiku in my mind.

I used to be mindful of my interactions; I used to be prompt with my replies to ideas–I used to be present in most if not all meetings about social issues and plain social events and stay and follow-up on ideas I throw in. But now? Haiku/tanka flowing into my other poetic forms have gripped me like a vise and all else float or flit about like wings of nymphs. (I’ve added the last phrase just now, again.)

I seem to carry a head that’s brewing a stew of images restlessly swirling as words non-stop! Never mind if none or all that comes out of it is bad or good haiku or poetic lines–the ‘power’ wields its whip anyway and I must let it ride, put down on the screen what I’m not even aware whether or not it’s my composition or simply of this power most of the time.

If this hasn’t happened to you yet, totally, I’m sure you’ve felt it some time–beware! Commitment (to haiku)? I don’t know if you can choose to thwart it or shoo it away!”

And the tanka flowed in.

February 28, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, reflection, tanka | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

To write a poem (wordplay on an old typewriter for One Shoot Sunday)

image prompt by Jack AZ part2

is not to catch
the words unlatched:

it is to meet
a current against the sweep

against the words
the patterns on the board

the words imprint
that later fade so like river silt.

To catch a poem
you can’t, unless eyes firm

eyes glued to the vaulted
deep from where had bolted

these words you unleash
on lines that leap

your fingers balancing
thought on words that slink.

To catch the thought
that storms into desert draught

you choose the speed
or letters scrambling in the deep

delude the eyes
escape the mind on ice

old keys do creak when cranked
to catch the lines unlatched.

To catch a storm wreaking
havoc on a heart sinking

in a slew of silted dreams
rusting on dredged streams

where winds howl threats
of maddened sand and dust like breaths

the finger tips must kiss
the letters naming muses hissing.

To catch the muses
soothe their caricatured faces

bare your soul salvaged
from old thoughts once baggage

tear out the paper
spewing lies of hereafter

catch the words that spell
the truth about their names true to their spell

on you to write a poem.

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry where a community of poets and artists share their love for their art and continue to sustain each other. Check us out!

February 27, 2011 Posted by | poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

squabbling crows/sunny day at Zoo/the drum beat of rain NaHaiWriMo prompts turned tanka!

1. Prompt #24 flower
squabbling crows
scream into my thoughts–
at dawn how you left
hollow imprints of sleep
scented dreams of jasmine blooms

2. prompt #25–zoo
sunny day at Zoo
lioness searches for my eyes
behind my black shades–
the way we hold our hearts
as we speak of fears and wants

3. prompt #26–drum
the drum beat of rain
on window pane imprints tears
a flood breaking hearts
in loneliness gray rain sneaks
into wells to fill the dryness

Tanka drafts I should call these because I’m certain that when I read them tomorrow, they will sound bad. These came as spontaneously as the haiku I’ve been posting on the NaHaiWriMo wall. There’s an energy that takes over at the site like a hand that holds my wrist as I pause or pose to let the first word dance on the screen. It’s the presence of so many other haiku writers– whose names I recognize from the Shiki kukai and haiku journals even some haijin–that I think itself serves as the prompt and the word, a prop. The experience, though I hopped in only on Day 19, has been exhilarating.

February 26, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

in the mist/frosted dawn (#24b & #25 for NaHaiWriMo with brief self-critique)

#24b for NaHaiWriMo (#24 posted at facebook site)
in the mist
waiting to meet you–
budding crocus

A double kigo for spring. I don’t know if it works. But I also see in it two meanings: ‘mist’ for uncertainty, ‘budding crocus’ for hope, reassurance.

#25
frosted dawn–
his words hang
over coffee

I’m not sure about the juxtapostion of image, kigo and meaning here. But I like it.

February 25, 2011 Posted by | critique/self-critique, haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

sunshine in the snow #23b NaHaiWriMo

sunshine in the snow–
your shaded eyes does not say
what you mean

My #23 haiku from NaHaiWriMo is posted on the facebook site.

About this haiku–doesn’t it bother you, too? As soon as the sun bursts stark white, all eyes disappear under dark shades and goggles. And shades these days come opaque in what looks like midnight blue, muddy brown, deep ocean black-green. We face each other like we’re blind when we’re talking to each other. And that bothers me, that’s where this haiku came from.

February 24, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, senryu | , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

plea for a poem (for One Shot Wednesday)

write me a poem
words to breathe in
even if only whispers
as shouts have turned
the air into a
hail storm

write me some rain–
my heart crackles
in the draught longing
for words drenched in
thought to sip
in the dark

i yearn for verses
snipped from flame tips
words that dance
the fire of fallen angels
saved from their march
on dying coals

write me a song
cadenced in sunsets
tympanis of words
rising off the hum
of meanings
drums have flattened

give me back poems
shredded spirits birth
in caves midnights cleanse–
poems howling wolves
hankering for stars
divine

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry as my share in a lively exchange of art and poetry among a loving community of poets and artists who nurture each other. Follow us at the site. Click on OSP on my blogroll.

February 22, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

left out in the rain #22b NaHaiWriMo (haibun?)

left out in the rain
her old haiku
on cherry blossoms

I know the emotion of this haiku is sad but honestly, the transition days from winter to spring bring this on in me. Days rise white as freshly ironed sheets, the smell of dawn, with tiny marble-tweets from spring birds invisible in the conifer hedges. And then, as if a green-eyed nymph has waved her wand, clouds would shroud the sun and only the snowdrops tell it’s still day. I walk on Osler St. trodding on damp fragile weeds, barely breathing it seems toward spring, unmindful of the crisp stubble around roots of gnarled oaks. Overhead, twigs of nude cherry trees retain a pose too painful to glance at. Once, it seems so long ago, these caricatured branches had burst into layers of textured pink, inscribing ‘glory in the moment’, that I have written as haiku, which haunt me like old spirits now. And the soft rain, as if taking on my thoughts, turns into an outpouring of tears.

late winter walk–
soft rain on bare cherry trees
harder on my thoughts

Oooops, edit from an hour ago, should be–My haiku #22a is posted in the NaHaiWriMo facebook site. Check it out and join in!

February 22, 2011 Posted by | haibun, haiku, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

secrets #2 for day 21 of NaHaiWriMo

secrets—
burrowing in sand dunes
a pale sunlight

My haiku for days 19,20 and #1 for 21 are posted in the NaHaiWriMo facebook site.

February 21, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

enraged (for One Shoot Sunday)

Darth Vader by Jack AZ

we go on, wagging
forefingers at skies,
resenting seasons
that fall on us in clumps
of such rhythmic
regularity we just can’t
play our black violins
raging against or else

against the grind
we feel a heartless hand
its fingers like iron
claws so tight in grip we find
our waggling a senseless
attempt at being freed—if
but one beat one note

one breath that does not
fall in rhythmic rhyme
skids from fingers that slide
from point to point to
point, interminable
points, infinitesimal bits,
that had so imprisoned us
raging—

one breath that stops and
we can’t, we won’t find out
we haven’t moved away
from seasons we resented,
music we played, beats
we raged against

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry from a photo prompt titled, “Darth Vader” by Jack AZ. Join us, a community of poets and artists who share the art they so love and nurture reach other.

February 20, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Song (my first lyric poem for OSP Saturday)

In dreams as in wakefulness,
bands of air swirl between us–
thoughts spinning in flight,
words but dust in the eye.

In dreams as in waking
I trail the wind, your thoughts
lost in longing, your moaning
a storm tearing at my heart.

I float hidden in dreams
as when awake like a wisp
I hover but a shadow
light sweeps with but a wave.

Once, awake as in a dream,
I painted my eyes like Circe–
the wind my voice for your eyes
knowing the magic lies there.

But in the dream as in waking,
the wind but died, failing–
the song I played my heart the lyre
for you, but a hiss among shadows.

first published in 2007 at PoetsHaven.com

For One Stop Poetry Saturday “Share a Past”, the community of poets and artists I belong to. We share and nurture each other. Check us out, pr better yet, join us. How? Easy steps are in the website. Click on it on my blogroll (Sorry, I have yet to learn how to make a link work.)

February 20, 2011 Posted by | lyric poetry, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments