Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #4

Micropoetry MonthElaine Patricia Morris who writes at Watermelonseeds introduced me a couple of days ago to a form called ‘Naani’. This is a four line poem containing 20-25 syllables invented by an Indian poet, Dr. N. Gopi, who writes in the Telugu language. I did some hunting and found parts of an English translation of the book he wrote called Naneelu (The Little Ones).

So with a hat tip to Elaine and Celestine Nudanu, here’s my first shot at this new form!
Share your micropoem (of any size, shape or form) through the comments section or Mister Linky!


Nothing is random,
not even thoughts.
Last night I imagined we were talking,
now this.


Aren’t we little gods
with our little universes,
our secrets imploding
like stars within us.


The smell of new rain
on old parched earth,
stirring all that we
forgot to remember.


Everything we don’t know
fills the sky above,
I feel your fingers
tighten around mine.


It’s a race to the finish
between climate and war,
who will tell the girl
poised on the hopscotch square?


37 thoughts on “Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #4

  1. Such a lovely form and your post is so moving and yet, flows so beautifully, I enjoyed reading a few times. I find this form really fun…reminds me a bit of a tanka (relationships) with less rules. I must try this in French too. Love the naani!


    1. Yes the only rule appears to be that there is separation of sorts between the first two lines and the next two. The second half providing the twist ! Thanks for sharing Cheryl Lynn!


  2. Congratulations, again. Each day I come here and read what you have written, all these forms, and patterns. How gracefully you move through them. And I feel like a bit of a cheat for doing my own thing. But, it’s gotten me writing again, and thanks to the internet, I can always come back later and try all of them. There is a fragility in each of your pieces today, that reaches out and touches me. Thank you,



    1. My little poem took you all the way back to the big potato famine?!!! It’s incredible how that works!! Reminds me of a poem called The Hungry Grass by Donagh MacDonagh that was put up in the Strokestown Potato Famine museum…

      Liked by 1 person

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