Tuesday, April 21, 2009

hot as balls

the Haiku writer


said

something about seasons,

something about transience

something I was too busy

being young to listen to.

he said something about

the leaves or petals or

rivers drying or emptying,

something about a bird maybe,

something about how if I

didn’t stop to notice these

and more details than these

I would one day find myself

wasting the last precious

syllables of life living as 

someone who used 

to be beautiful.


::::::

 Write about the haiku. I know there are some poets (in this very group even) who are anti-form. So, I'm giving them the option to write their anti-haiku manifestos. Of course, if you pay attention to this 2nd prompt, it doesn't need to be anti-haiku; your poem could be questioning or even praising the haiku. Or somethinG.

:::::::


I chose "something."

 Hot hot hot out for April.  Psychologically I am not prepared for summer so early.  I was being stubborn about refusing to act as if summer has arrived but ended up hauling the a/c out of the closet and using it last night.  Spent most of yesterday afternoon at the beach with my favorite anarchist and B.  Not a bad way to spend the afternoon with two of my favorite humans on the planet.  Except is was so hawt that I stayed under the umbrella the entire time.





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