April 27, 2011

NaPoWriMo Day 26: a haiku (senryu?)

I should have written this long ago — about 10 years ago, to be approximate. As is common with haiku/senryu, it’s untitled.

baby’s umbilical cord
drops off —
caught by the dog


April 9, 2011

NaPoWriMo Day 7: haiku, in the whole bean field

Another haiku.

in the whole bean field,
one robin; hanging
overhead, two hawks

April 6, 2011

NaPoWriMo Day 6: haiku, cloud-mottled sky

For today, a haiku-type thing — untitled, as is traditional with haiku.

cloud-mottled sky:
from dwarf pear blossoms,
a blue jay screams

September 8, 2010

Why I don’t write 5-7-5 haiku

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — crcb @ 11:31 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Why I don’t write 5-7-5 haiku

Sometimes, to get the
right number of syllables,
one must pad sometimes.

At other times one
must omit expected words
for it come out right.

Of course, I write 5-7-5 poems, but they’re usually not haiku. The 5-7-5 poem (or stanza) has become a vehicle for epigrams in English, and it’s well suited for that.

August 6, 2010

Not necessarily a haiku

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — crcb @ 11:08 pm
Tags: , , ,

soon to sleep -- and from those dreams, what changes?

(I have to get a better camera than my cellphone!)

April 18, 2010

National Poetry Month 2010, Days 16, 17 and 18

One haiku (or an attempt thereat), and two more pseudonyms — one writing in response to the other. In keeping with the spirit of haiku, the first one has no title.

under the school’s
iron stairs: a long, bright row
of chewed gum blobs

— Carl Bettis, 4/16/2010



Love is an allergic reaction to loneliness.
Hope is a flower that opens at sunrise,
never at night; its seed is a strong narcotic
that should be administered only in hopeless cases.
Faith is the platonic archetype of a lump of coal.
Poetry is a reverse strip-tease,
fabrics meticulously layered to show
illusions of nakedness.
Memory is a transistor radio with a broken tuner,
stuck between stations, playing Madonna and Mahler.
Loneliness is a child apologizing
for winning at checkers, a sunday school teacher
lighting seance candles, a gentleman
at a roadside fruit stand eating kumquats
and sniffing his fingers.
Love is an allergic reaction to loneliness.

— Isem Goins, 4/7/2010



Faith is an artery that doesn’t know
such a thing as the heart exists,
but pulses anyway.
Hope is the anticipation of pain
from work, from play, from a nip beneath
sweaty sheets, from
the strenuous exercise of desire.
Love is a snow-melt that trickles
into a creek that flows
into a river that rushes
to the sea where all life began
and all streams return.
The wit of despair is a shade-grown weed
that wilts when joy arises.

— Rex Munn, 4/18/2010

April 18, 2009

Poems for April 16th and 17th, 2009

The April 16th poem is about the god of low self-esteem. For April 17th, a haiku-like thingie.


Abosh, the god of low self-esteem, hates his name.
The most famous legend concerning him tells how he spied
Princess Zephyr, loveliest of women,
strolling in a garden, and at once lost
his immortal heart to her. Disguised
as a young man, he descended
and stood around, pretended to study the roses,
and hoped she would notice him. She didn’t.
Hence, Abosh is the patron of secret loves–
and of the openly cheated-on, but that’s another story.
His altar is a doormat, where followers leave
second-hand clothes, leftovers, whatever
they were getting rid of anyway.
Hymns and prayers make him fidget:
he already feels more like a fraud
than a god. His devotees strike their heads
and chant “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
They hope, after death, for a spot
somewhere near Paradise, where now and then
they might smell the nectar and overhear
the blessed rejoice–
if that’s not too much trouble.

–Carl Bettis


old man’s funeral.
a balloon in the rafters
says “Happy Birthday!”

–Carl Bettis

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