Category Archives: writing poetry

A poem, an edit

A poem’s beginning is maybe a waking dream — expressed in words. Inside that beginning, the writer hides something secret, even from him- or herself.    share?

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Walking meditations

Kinhin… the doll in the corner recognizing the hero’s enemy who do we tell stories for? share?

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Where to go: Haiga

Haiga share?

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Tanka

31 morae, 5-7-5-7-7, or, roughly, short-long-short-long-long and this by Chen-ou Liu share?

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Writing poems

haikai haibun tanka prose haiku – 3 lines, 10 to 17 morae as roughly 5-7-5, about nature, with kireji and kigo senryū – 3 lines, 17 or fewer morae, about human foibles, cynical or darkly humorous, with no kireji (cutting … Continue reading

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Taking notes

Sometimes I get so dramamatic. Know what I mean? I think it’s insufficiently-focused energy, leaking out in words. I’m full of power, brilliance, wit and tenderness (hehehe, I’m so fine), but I hold it back most of the time. The … Continue reading

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While you sleep

While you sleep, cicada songs rise and fall, a crow flies in from north-northeast, calling as it goes, redwood’s sweetness kisses the air, a harbor breeze brings drinks of bruised roses and salt, and eddies of leaves and white butterflies … Continue reading

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Spelling your name, 3 drafts

Last night I fell asleep under only a sheet. There was a chill rain all night, and my windows were open. Later I woke from the cold. My right hand was tracing the name of the man I love in … Continue reading

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Frederick Seidel, poetry, love

On the weekend, I read an article in the NYTimes about Frederick Seidel, whom I’d never heard of. He reads six of his own poems in a multimedia piece attached to the article. His six readings, which last less than … Continue reading

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Tough love, 3 versions

(1) “Still in love?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. share?

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For the first time

For the first time,   I face the edge of      me & the world,drawn like a line   of Conté red      on pale paper:If I cross I’m dead. Holding my arms over   bowed head, all these      years of self defense,I didn’t know   there was a line to see. I … Continue reading

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There’s a room I keep for you (reworked)

There’s a room I keep for you in the woods near a spring, a mountain cabin with blued-edged corners, soft cream-colored walls, a lilac bush growing by the door. The door is never locked, though it has a key. The … Continue reading

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Unpunctuated (reworked)

dark light frogs sing in the night of me tigers stroll in the crowns of trees my words slid from the strings of me lose softness in your strong square hands the hour is late tigers hunt frogs sing in … Continue reading

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Perfect (open-ended)

Two-thousand-meters-high icey-pristine. Soft, warm and welcome as mothers (can be). Powerful, valiant, just like my dad. Pear-sweet crisp-apple-ish classically bad. Noblesse oblige of the high-wired kind. A mind soaked in honesty, gulabi-style. Compassion in person for all that you meet. … Continue reading

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The jackal and the tigers

a jackal sniffing at tigers’ prey, surprised by the moon in the night, cries at the moon as if it’s a man. then it gnashes its teeth and eats. under the trees, the tigers recline, and watch the jackal feed. … Continue reading

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A wild house mouse

a mouse a mouse wild in the house clothed in velvet soft like a cat gray as a stone with apple-seed eyes looking for rice share?

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