Hosts: Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh
1st September 2022
This week we begin and end with two quotes:
You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick . . . You’re back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps . . . so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in. – Dylan Thomas
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
– Thomas Gray
Give us a haibun that breathes and burns and thunders into your readers' minds!!
Go for it!
As always, a good haibun will find its way into the next issue of our fabulous journal. Firdaus and I are eagerly looking forward to reading your haibun.
PLEASE NOTE:
1. Only two haibun per poet per prompt.
2. Share your best-polished pieces.
3. Please do not post something in a hurry or something you have just written. Let it simmer for a while.
4. When poets give suggestions and if you agree to them - post your final edited version on top of your original version.
5. Don't forget to give feedback on others' poems.
We are delighted to open the comment thread for you to share your unpublished haibun (within 300 words) to be considered for inclusion in the haikuKATHA monthly journal.
Premeditatio Malorum* The chemoport starts to itch. The second session of chemo is over. Now for the nausea, low blood counts and the bone pains. She had feared this illness long before it struck. To think about the worst that can happen to you before it actually happens doesn’t prepare you for what finally comes. chipped nail the uneasiness that refuses to go * It's the stoic exercise of imagining things that could go wrong or be taken away from us. It helps us prepare for life's inevitable setbacks.
Feedback appreciated:)
Poetry in Rustling Leaves
I just returned after being with my parents for a month. My mother is 85 years old. I notice every shade of emotion running along her wrinkles as she narrates incidents from her childhood days ... and I don't miss the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that tells me she also remembers the times she has repeated these stories to me.
and the game goes on
n bi on t e n
u r s h f c
s d e e playing musical chairs
feedback, please. _()_
Revised 1(with input from Kala)
Title Self Edit - Sept 8th
Round the Clock
The alarm rings at four. Pump on, the gush of running water fills her ears.
it’s dawn—
snores of indifference
dance with the early light
She walks a mile to her job where she sweeps, mops and dusts. At mid-day, lunch is a hot meal, followed later with a cup of tea and rusks.
Those limpid eyes of the stray cow look up, as she gently nudges the papaya skins off her hand. The heavy smell of cheap rum hits her when she returns home. She sits cross-legged to clean the 25 kilos of wheat grain given free at the ration shop.
It’s a holiday…
Revision: Thank you, Florence!
Instinct
I see him every day at recess. He sits by himself on the floor by the boys entrance. He doesn’t eat, he just sits quietly and keeps to himself. I think he’s like me. Lonely.
whispers in the playground I push past my butterflies
Over the next few days, I make sure to smile at him as I walk past. He doesn’t acknowledge me and instead stares right through me. Nothing new there. I remain committed and keep at it until he finally looks at me. I have to admit it’s not the most welcoming look, but I take it as an invitation and plop down beside him on the floor. I do all the…
open to feedback
i have never written anything like this.I hope it counts as Haibun. inspired by life experience and a walk on the beach. also inspired by Diana's last post.
Healing
sea asters flowering and
sew thistles in seed
September on the shore
I am in the sea and the sea is in me.
rising from the deep
a bloated dog
and a headless seal
Waves roll in, waves roll out, shifting shores. Quick sand. The suck of it.
empty shells,
the sting of the
dead jelly fish
Going down… down… down…
pirate ship
sunk to the depths —
treasure chest
Waves roll in waves roll out, surrender to the currents. The pull of them.
the churning
sorrow
transfigures…