Made on a 1974 Smith-Corona Galaxie XII typewriter. All rights reserved by me.
The first snow perhaps the first freezing temperatures have gone. Until late November the salvia were blooming blue and Gerber daisies were full of warm colors.
Here’s a go at composing a gogyohka.
the autumn rose
dry leaves resist the wind
bruised seed cases
recall the bloom
recall the bud
This poetic form was developed by Enta Kusakabe and means a “five-line poem” in Japanese. In that they may resemble the tanka or the cinquain.
The format is mainly five lines, however, four, or six lines are allowed and employs a free-verse style that seldom rhymes.
Each line is one breath in length.
These poems are usually untitled.
diced in butter sizzle
homely aromatic delight —
- a form of five line poetry
- first line (L1) & L5 are 2 syllables
- L2 is 4 syllables
- L3 is 6 syllables
- L4 is 8 syllables
Leaving the Winter Woods
the winter woods
light strikes all the way through
still darkness, shadows in plain sight —
I copied Adelaide Crapsey, a twentieth-century poet, who wrote cinquain with 22 syllables in five lines as a 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 pattern.
Her poems feel similar to Japanese tanka, another five-line form, and share a designed focus on imagery and the natural world.
the orchard stands bare
ducks dine on fat snails
soon the snows
come and depart
fruit bears in season
24-11-20 c. Lemuel
Tanka design takes the form of five lines and a 5/7/5/7/7 syllable pattern. Mine usually keep five lines, however, I treat the syllable count as ‘possibilities’
Golf Made Easy, Limerick
There’s a duffer named Squire Tristan
at golf cheats any way that he can.
He cuts a stroke here,
bogus birdies appear:
Sir Shanks-alot— his score is a scam.
The ordinary room clear rigid
that broken glass, you said,
that broken glass on the floor.
Familiar as more glass in disarray
slight fear un-guilty moving
away from that spot on the floor
avoid danger, clear out—be shy
noblesse oblige broom and pan
glass room rigid un-tidy danger.
That broken glass on the floor,
turn a page of the magazine.
Familiar even, leave the floor
remedy apparent transparent—
you said, broken on the floor, again
again, glass shines, danger, even
warns this floor spot, broom and
pan oblige, un-said moving away
broken glass spot shy noblesse.
Once upon a time (or more than “often”) a verse gives me fits. It lacks that punch I like to read.
“It needs some space?”
“Yes or no.”
“Substitute words, find a better, no, different arrangement.”
“Count out the stresses. Enough, in correct rhythm, then proceed.”
The poem is still unruly, distemperate, like a rolling train-wreck, murderous meter and parts are flying off.
Once more, polish a stone, not a poem, it needs to breathe, to exhale the words of poesy.
Forget the deeper personalized meaning(s), make it approachable to a reader who gardens her own angst, swims his own deep drama.
“Leave this part. That is good. Remove a bit, be gone.”
Sometimes insight is as dull as a mis-spelt word, use that cherished gift.
The eureka comes through the mayhem, a beneficence of persistence, from some unknown place with no legible road markers.
Now, this poem sings, it sits up up and purrs, strong as coiled steel, sparse, smooth as chocolate mousse.
The wheedling, work, and worry turned out a pretty-good poem. How it really happened is to my surprise, unknown—although intimate with the scribbled page how can he, she, we, they truly be sure. Poets and I, I mean.
And that is fair and fine enough.
22 July 2018
Obligatory social gatherings, work colleagues,
over rated, really abysmal.
He watched her with the intent gaze of a hair stylist.
She touched the sleeve of her dress–
Distress code for, “Let’s leave.”
He winked and touched the bridge of his nose–
Reply: “I know.”
An hour later they spooned, old clothes luxury,
popcorn munching, old movie watching,
date night belated, ethereal.
01 May 2018