My six-word poem is called a hay(na)ku, a poetic form created by Eileen R. Tabios. The basic format is this: First line = one word. Second line = two words. Third line = Three words. If you'd like to learn more, check out Eileen's webpage.
In February I submitted three poems for the upcoming anthology, HAY(NA)KU 15 (working title). One of them was accepted. Whooo-hooo! The last time I had a poem published by someone other than me was. . .hmmmm. . .about 40 years ago.
I visited Hawaii for the first time in Fall 1984. A girlfriend and I had plans to backpack the trail in Kauai, but she dropped out a few weeks before our departure. My vacation days were already set, so, I took the plunge and went to Hawaii by myself.
The moment I stepped off the plane in Honolulu, I felt like I'd come
home. The warm breeze, swaying palms, the sultry air, the local people.
They all spoke to my being. Unlike the Philippines that I'd visited 10
years earlier. Unlike Hollister where I was born and raised. Unlike San
Francisco where I was then living.
The first time I drove into a sugar cane field, I wondered if the Daddy may have worked there long ago. The Daddy lived in Hawaii from his early 20s to his early 40s. I asked
him once, "Where did you live?" "All over," he said. "Maui. Hilo. Kauai.
Oahu. All over." He signed a three-year contract to work in the
Hawaiian sugarcane fields. Go there, make money, go home to the
The Mama, as some of you dear readers know, is in her nineties. The tiny, fragile, slow-stepping Mama is doing well, thank you very much for asking. She's as fit and magnificent as the flowers and vegetables that she grows. The only medication she takes is for her thyroid. I can only hope that I haven't screwed up the genes she gave me too awful much.
This morning, I found a poem that I wrote about the Mama two years ago when she was rushed to the hospital. The Mama is amazing.
The Sleeping MamaSlipped into her ER room. She was fast asleep, Hooked up to the IV, heart monitor, and oxygen.
In one moment, she could not move no matter how hard she tried. And, she tried, and kept trying, to stand up.
"Walking pneumonia," the doctor said. "Dehydration."
I like Autumn. I seem to wake up in the fall. Maybe it's because I'm a fall Autumn baby. Yes, that sounds good. This week, I'm participating in Outdoor Wednesday, hosted by A Southern Daydreamer. See what other bloggers have been doing outside by clicking here. P.S. I'm also linking up with Follow Friday 40 and Over, hosted by Never Growing Old. Come check out other blogs with me by clicking here.
The little old lady walked slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly across the street.
The grandpa waited impatiently for her to cross completely pass his car.
"C'mon on, Rebecca," he muttered from behind the wheel.
"Do you know her, Grandpa?" asked his young, earnest grandson.
"How do you know that's her name?"
"They're all Rebecca," the grandpa said. "All little old ladies."
The earnest young grandson was the husband. He told me this story (of course not exactly in those words) after our first time sitting together in a car waiting for a little old lady to slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly do something. I say "something" because I don't remember what it was, though most likely the little old lady was in her car, and we were waiting for her to turn left or right, drive across the intersection, or edge into a parking spot.
It's a type of Japanese poem that is similar in format as the haiku.
Okay, this is not English class, but I know you wish to be enlightened. If not, you will, by golly. Or, you can simply scroll down to the poems. My education of all things haiku came last night when I finally wrote the last line to my haiku-in-progress. I felt that it wasn't really a haiku. So, off to Google my questioning mind and tippity-tap fingers went.
In short, the haiku and senryu are three-line poems composed of 17 syllables. The pattern is five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the third. Haiku poems are about nature; no mention of human foibles allowed. Senryu poems are about human nature; no reference to the natural world at all.
Now, you know. It didn't hurt, did it?
Here's a true haiku by Basho Matsuo, who is said to be the first great haiku poet. He lived during the 17th century. An old silent pond... A frog jumps into the pond, splash!…
Here, then, I share with you two poems from the public domain. Be forewarned: The poems are graphic. They are ugly. They are painful. As they should be. These poems give us a glimpse into the world of men and women who live and risk dying in war, any war, so that corporations, businesses, churches, and other institutions may continue.
I am not advocating for or against war by presenting these two poems. I'll tell you this though: I would love the ideal conditions that beauty contestants want, "World peace."
This first poem was written by Alan Seeger, an American poet who joined the French Foreign Legion in 1914 so he could fight in the war against the Central Powers. He was killed in action in France two years later. Rendezvous by Alan SeegerI have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air - I have a rendezvous …
Yesterday was designated Haiku Day for the Wordcount Blogathon. I missed it. Well, I could've posted my haiku, but then I'd have to think up something for today. Drum roll please. . . . I give you the haiku that visited my mind. The Lawrence Welk Show
Tenor Feeney sang. Daddy listened and then said "He earned his two bits."I have a feeling my haiku is really not one. Oh, well. That's all that's in the old noggin for now.