On the rough road

Re-organized my blog and this collection of haiku I put together three years ago, now has its own page.

Thought I’d put it out there, in case you didn’t see it earlier – tucked away in a cluttered sidebar.

The page has a feedback option as well, so do share your thoughts – on the collection, on haiku, on Basho, on travel, on life!


In the mood for micropoetry…

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?

black wing on tangerine sky

summer solstice
how short this night
how long her empty sigh

one moon stirred pond
one splash of insomniac frog
what are the odds

rain falls on glass
on tile
on leaves-
so many ways
the sky calls out your name

wordless question
slanting shadows
kneel on the bamboo mats

between her and the night
a paper lantern
with one eye

even the moth
that burns in the flame
first sees the light

in the distance
I tremble with the leaves

stirring the afternoon
lone crow
with a broken wing

Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #20

Micropoetry MonthWhile I prefer to break away from the 5-7-5 scheme and other traditional haiku rules, I still think haiku or senryu (in its modern avatar) should seize the essence of a moment anchored in the close observation of nature. This is truly the hardest form of poetry to get right- to be simple yet profound, layered yet obvious, beautiful yet utterly truthful.


contrary to the summer rain
this endless waiting


pleated morning
she hides my unfinished dreams
in her folds


mangled sky
together we watch 
orange tulips filling with rain

Share your haiku or any other form of micropoetry using comments or Mister Linky!


Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #12

Micropoetry MonthHaibun is a wonderful style because lets you combine prose and poetry in a beautifully fluid way. Basho, the master, wrote it in such a simple, effortless style making his work timeless.
I have two rules for myself. 1. Keep the prose short. 2. The haiku should derive from the prose without being repetitive in word or content.

Write your own haibun or any other form of micropoetry and share using comments or good old Mister Linky!

It was the kind of morning that had all the answers – the square of anticipation, the differential of despondency, the coefficient of human failure. Hanging from the sky like a picture frame behind which we had once hidden the dark, its colours dissolving into sunshine streams, its birds flying in formation beyond its corners. It was the kind of morning that should dawn after a night like that. After you left, after I stayed, after I gathered the pieces, not knowing if they could ever be put back together again. The improbability of hope.

shrinking dusk
the lone raven steals
the last of the light


Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #11

Micropoetry MonthI’ve never attempted Renga before and I don’t know many of its intricate rules! Renga is traditionally composed by two or more poets, with a three line verse offered by one (what became standalone haiku subsequently) followed by a 2 line response by another. Written alone, it is called Solo Renga and the single poet takes on both roles.

The response usually derives its theme from the previous verse and then incorporates a shift, so the whole chain becomes fluid and while centered around one idea, keeps moving and creating new images. The five lines of verse and response (the precursor of the tanka) should fit in a way that the two lines in the middle work well with both the preceding and succeeding verse…though that, I suppose, requires some serious expertise!

Here’s my shot at Solo Renga. Share your micropoem in this or any other form using comments or Mister Linky. Start your own renga or feel free to pick up where this one stops!

Those Renga Nights

coy moon
she holds the passing mist
to her naked breast

trapped between half-light and day
a harlot, a moan, a lover

creaking garden gate-
tonight, I fear,
it’s just the wind

only the stars heard him arrive
the sun was sleeping when he left

but look how they smile-
the white lilies rest
like sated paramours

the dervish whirls in the silver dark
stirring the attar of roses

broken wine jar
people will know you, love,
when the flowers bloom

what is a tree, what is a flower
but a tree, but a flower