Category Archives: Poetry Tuesday

Poetry Tuesday: Haiku Examination

A few years ago, when studying Japanese, my professor said something that stuck with me, and that I found profound. She said that the key to a good haiku was to use words to describe what you are talking about, without explicitly saying what it is you are writing about. Given that in high school creative writing, the whole exercise of Haiku took maybe 30 minutes, and you were graded well so long as you followed 5-7-5, this bit of information struck a chord with me. Instead of  “Winter is so very cold”, which seems a little simplistic, you can instead create a painting with the words “breath frosts before me”. Of course, this is a little bit more complicated when working in Japanese when you have just grasped the language, without grasping word play and idioms. In that respect, I’ve been trying to be a little less straight forward with this selection of five haiku.

 

(The Squirrel)

The watchful sentry,

Vigilantly does his task.

Waving his tail, he chatters.

 

(The Dandelion)

White crown grow en masse.

The winds come and dethrone them.

New kings soon will grow.

 

(Shooting Star)

Falling in darkness.

Glittering as a beacon,

Wishes come below.

 

(Harvest)

Wind rushes through blades,

They bow low to acknowledge

Golden fields await.

 

(Mountain Melt)

Trapped beneath the sun.

Running down the mountainside,

The buds awaken.

 

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Poetry Tuesday: March 21st

As yet untitled. This is a variation on a theme, perhaps influences from reading a lot of paranormal fiction, and just maybe a touch of manga. The idea of the separation between life and death, between the known and the unknown, between normal and paranormal, natural and supernatural.

Untitled: Variation of Regret and Memory

Staggering the pyramid of broken promises,

Reshaping the dreams of previous lives,

like sand.

They slip between the sleeping and the waking realms,

Unsure if they even ever existed.

Dashed hopes cast off upon a mountain of regret,

Good intentions spoiled for the sake of one more moment,

Caught in that perfect imagining,

The fades as mist after dawn.

From the shore they watch the world,

Sorrow wailing, and they pine

For what they can no longer reach.

Curled fingers of desire and longing come up empty in their desperate bid,

To leech another moment of warmth from their remembered scenes of life.

Caught in a state between one moment and the next,

Skirting on the edge of memories of those still drawing breath.

Slowly, with each longing sigh,

They draw others from that shore to them,

Claiming them to repeat the past one more.

-Megan

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Poetry Tuesday: Champion

Trying a little something different this week for Poetry Tuesday. This is a piece that i elaborated from a fragment that I found a few weeks ago when I was going through my old notebooks. As such, it does not totally fit the themes I have been going after, but I still kind of like what came out of the revisit the initial verse.

The Champion

 

“Come closer to my ear,”
The tortoise-shell cat grinned wide.
“I will tell you of things you cannot see,
Those that hide from plain sight.
In both the darkness and in light.”

His tail swept wide upon the floor,
To his nose he touched his brown boot paw.
“A mouse is what your fool eyes see,
All soft fur and sharp knowing teeth.”
His breath puffed out, he purrs beneath the hand.
“To me a mighty beast appears,
Strong tail lashing, bright scales clashing;
Fire brimming in its fearing eyes.
You see not as I.”

Imperiously he flares his tail,
Paws clasping at the carpet ground.
“And on a branch a bird you spy;
Look all fluff and feather.
But keener eyes than yours discern
The talons clutching desperately for flesh;
Its body twisting in a dive for food.
This mighty Griffen is my prey,
To keep my mistress safe.”

Mist green eyes follow all, his coat clean and smooth as silk.
“So call me beast when at your feet
I lay my hard-won conquest down.
But as Champion, forever at your call will my service be.”

-Megan

 

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Poetry Tuesday: Bared Bones

Bared Bones

 

Grave bons dropping dust,

Crossed at the old master’s feet.

Creaking and bleating their lonely cries.

Left with unrest in their defeat.

 

Dry bone, marrow turned to stone,

Tossed at the blind king’s throne,

No One left at the hearth,

No Sons to take them home.

 

Cold bones, wrapped in parchment flesh,

Shuddering in the darkness, in suspense.

Not a memory of theirs remains.

Yet, still these ones draw breath.

 

Hot bones bathed in red,

Upon the soaked bloody ground, abandoned.

No tomb for them but where they fall,

In a field so far from home.

 

-Megan

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Poetry Tuesday: Day Dreary

DAY DREARY

Watching the sun rise over the tired city trees.

Hot steam bringing life to walking dead dreams,

used to follow the current, subdued.

Left to rot.

Arrive on time,

Day.

Turn and press the button,

Month.

The same bleeds out the difference,

Quells the imaginary possibility.

The adventure is pushed into he broom closet,

Locked tight and covered in cobwebs behind

A disused mop bucket.

Flavourless tuna salad lunch.

Monday  is every day, repeating over.

Friday is just a Monday in sheep’s clothing,

Closing an leaving illusory promises

To re-assessing the dreams of adventure.

But Saturday dawns, yawning with a fake

Beatitude of hardship, a covered reality of a different

Kind of work disguised as breaking.

It too is just as routine,

As the sun rising over still tired trees in a half sleeping city.

Waiting for something to break the cover on the safety

Glass alarm of freedom.

A Dangerous gambit to destroy the safely systematic, routine, boring.

Life.

-Megan

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