September 21 (Fever chart)

fever chart
daylilies spike
along the fence

__________________

I put this one in the hat to be critiqued at the workshop in Mineral Point, but we didn’t really get to discuss it much before the bell rang and we were dismissed. (I blame this on the fact that everyone else’s ku were way too interesting. I’m hoping to get in a group with some worse poets if I ever do that again.)

In the few seconds we had left Randy Brooks tried to convince me that I should leave out the word “spike” … which was probably his kind way of saying that I should spike the entire ku and go back to the drawing board. But I stuck my tongue out at him and refused. Go ahead, tell me he was right, I don’t mind.

July 2: Lost

I’m not in the mood to write haiku today.

Well, okay, I will probably write one, because I promised myself I would write one every day for a year. But I doubt it will be anything you will want to see.

I’m feeling a little pressed for time these days, and (as usual) very bad at managing it. I write long essays on this blog and respond to comments at ridiculous length while the to-do list keeps getting longer. The to-do list of important stuff. Stuff I’m getting graded on and paid for. (And yes, I am still Western enough to consider that stuff more important than stuff I just love to do.)

So here’s a Real Poem (as opposed to, you know, those fluffy little haiku things) I wrote a while back and did some half-hearted tinkering with recently. It needs something — probably a Real Poet to take it apart and put it back together again. But we do what we can.

*

I will write a poem
about the loss
of poetry.

What do we have instead of poetry?
Slick thoughts,
Puddling on the surface of our minds:
A seamless liquid spreading over the page.

Instead of —
A lithe sleeping animal curling its back in ecstasy,
Unfurling its claws one by one,
Spiking holes in our perception.

This is not what I meant to write,
And it is not
poetry.