I’ve got a poem for you, a very short one, he promised with a garrulous grin, and then, in a long-winded introduction in which all the masters of brevity were cited, he proceeded to demolish the very notion of shortness. The poem took ten seconds, the intro five minutes.
Could you squeeze her
into a haiku? No, that would not do.
Her life was too sprawly.
It simply wouldn’t fit.
Something larger, more inclusive.
Perhaps a biopic.
I saw it advertised in the local rag.
‘Bonsai Show’, it said.
It was a tiny notice. I had to squint to read the details.
The hall was rather tiny.
I squeezed through the entrance almost knocking my head
against several light fittings on my way in.
It looked like a huddle of hobbits around the bonsai which
were unusually tiny.
“They’re not fully grown yet,” a volunteer offered.
Like many of you, I felt like saying but bit my tongue.
The Club President gave a haiku-sized speech for which
we were all grateful.
I mingled for half an hour indulging in the small talk until
refreshments were served.
There were pies, pasties and muffins from the ovens of Lilliput.
“Would you like a short black?” the serving lady asked.
“Any chance of some wine ?” I said.
“Sorry,” she answered, “It’s in very short supply.”
I had had about enough of pint-sized jokes.
I couldn’t wait to get outside in the big, bold world.
Montaigne wrote an essay on Cannibalism
But he was not thinking of the literary kind.
Lately, having been ravaged by an uncontrollable
Hunger for poems to post, I have begun feasting
On a number of my haiku, being both salubrious
& delicious, not to mention efficacious. No one else’s
poems were hurt during the making of this poem.
The proof, they say, is in the pudding, which
I will set out before you to decide whether
Such a practice should occasionally be condoned.
She crams characters
Into her novels like clowns
Jammed in jalopies
The challenge was to write a book review in haiku form. Here is my first attempt. Do you want to try one? It will be interesting to see what people come up with.
‘The True Color of the Sea’
didn’t flow for me
its prose flat and monochrome
as a pancake sea
his little epiphanies
tucked away in his notebook
like matches in a box
the haiku lunges
out of the dark ocean of text
its flanks be-jeweled
by sun, the way
a whale lunges out of the water
in Oban Bay
I wrote a poem once about a bath.
How you emerge from one
‘rosy-skinned and luminous as if
Fresh from a voyage’.
I had a sleep like that last night and wrote this poem.
You’re a writer.
You wake up with something to say.
Already you feel the wind beneath your wings.
You hop into your little plane
And putter up into the sky
Where you write your happy haiku
Before the breeze blows it away.