part moon-part cloud
all the things
I should have forgotten
part moon-part cloud
all the things
I should have forgotten
the more you arrive at the end,
the more you remain
at the beginning –
see the koel, with monk-like eyes,
watching the black crow’s nest
Haven't written a lot of micropoetry since November 2017, when I hosted Micropoetry Month (You can also find the link in the sidebar). Time to give it another shot, maybe?
(1)
nothing
black wing on tangerine sky
and…still…nothing
(2)
summer solstice
how short this night
how long her empty sigh
(3)
one moon stirred pond
one splash of insomniac frog
what are the odds
(4)
rain falls on glass
on tile
on leaves-
so many ways
the sky calls out your name
(5)
wordless question
slanting shadows
kneel on the bamboo mats
(6)
between her and the night
a paper lantern
with one eye
(7)
even the moth
that burns in the flame
first sees the light
(8)
in the distance
autumn
I tremble with the leaves
(9)
stirring the afternoon
lone crow
with a broken wing
like Scheherazade
fighting
to stay alive
love invents
a new reason
every night
Three haiku published in the Wales Haiku Journal’s inaugural “Spring 2018” edition:
waiting
at the end of the road
another
summer’s end
twilight sticky
on the butterfly’s wings
gunshot
what was
isn’t
Many thanks to the editor, Paul Chambers.
jet lagged moon
how distant this night
from that morning
just my poem
and its shadow
answering existential questions
#amwriting #WorldPoetryDay #poetry
— TP_Poetry (@TP_Poetry) March 21, 2018
the winter of becoming-
that which was a leaf
is now a lie
On this last day of the first edition of Micropoetry Month, I thought we’d take a look at the Jisei, the Japanese Death Poem. The Jisei, written about death in general or about one’s own imminent death, reflects the poet’s contemplation of his mortality, of what was and what comes next both in the context of self and universe.
One translation of Basho’s famous Jisei goes like this:
On a journey, ill—
And my dreams on withered fields
Are wandering still.
I attempted a jisei a couple of years ago, here’s another shot at it. Share your micropoem, about death or maybe about life, using comments or Mister Linky.
And when I realize
there was no now,
that life, like time, was a linear illusion.
Like death.
What then?
A cherita as well in the same tone:
she wrote her jisei in six lines
one line about
the fickle, waning moon
two about a persistent mist,
and three about a hobbled dream
waiting for a perfect night
With just one more day left, Micropoetry Month pulls away to a bittersweet end. Writing everyday was pleasure and pain. Was joy and angst. Was exhilarating and draining. Was necessary and random. Was everything poetry is. And isn’t.
I have a short poem today inspired by a Midweek prompt at Poets United If you haven’t visited the group, be sure you will always find great poems to read, much to learn and new friends to make.
I wait outside the temple gate,
my feet shackled by my disbelief
to the nothingness,
my questions cast down into the dirt
like glass marbles,
the urchins run up to play with them
shooting one into another
letting them explode into a thousand universes,
one was carried away
in a small, grubby hand
through the carved double doors,
my question going where I
would not, where I could not,
its innocent eyes daring me
to follow,
like an answer.
Share your poem using comments or Mister Linky. And stay tuned for the final Micropoetry Month post tomorrow!!!