Monthly Archives: November 2010

Haiku

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my Japanese friend…

‘Why you do not celebrate

Jacarandas?’

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“He’s no fisherman”

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I must have been

about seven.

We would often

go fishing as a family.

This time uncle Dennis

came with us and said

to my folks

in his broad Bristolian accent,

He is no fisherman!”

My mum defended in her

diplomatic way.

I just stood and listened.

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This piece isn’t about

the small man

my uncle Dennis must have been,

saying this to a

seven year old boy.

Everyone

has had a voice

saying

“You’re not good enough.”

from a teacher, parent or someone.

my question is…

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Why would my memory

choose

to

remember

t h o s e   w o r d s

from 25 years ago?

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Why, when my memory

has forgotten countless

better memories like

the scent of the air

between lips as I leaned

in for my first kiss?

Or the feeling of my feet first

standing on a surfboard,

skidding along a moving curve of ocean.

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Why keep a photo

of uncle ‘I’m not good enough’

on the wall

of my memory?

Why play that scratchy sound recording

so crisply in my

adult ears?

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It seems so stupid.

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Aussie themed haiku take#2

I wrote so many versions of these Aussie haiku and struggled with some of the edits.  Here are some earlier versions of two of them.  Particularly for  my Brisbane poet friend Jdub.  Let me know which reads better.

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hot and sleepless

karaoke through the night

– Willie Wagtails

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Why do I expect

Anything from this billabong?

– silence

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Australian themed haiku

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sultry

all night karaoke

– Willie Wagtails

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hopping back again…

– in the billabong

dust

.

green in the centre,

– first test Gabba pitch,

outside… jacarandas

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I recently found this essay from John Bird, editor of Haiku Dreaming relating to the use of ‘kigo’ (season words) in Australian haiku.  There are so many ideas (rules) being thrown around on the issue of ‘correct’ haiku.  It is an interesting read for those learning about English language haiku, especially when living in a different hemisphere.  The discovery of Haiku Dreaming made me look through my ‘ku’ with a distinct Aussie theme.

Piece of pain in my pocket

Tomorrow marks three years since Isaiah died.  It is true, time makes a difference.  It doesn’t heal, it becomes more familiar each bout in the ring.  We learn to live with the pain and carry on.  Written back in January 2008.

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In my pocket is a piece of my heart.

It is a good place for it.

Close by to me

within reach.

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This piece is broken from the rest.

Its weight changes

like a piece of wood

burdened with water, it sinks

.

deep

into

sorrow.

Too heavy for my pocket

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I pull it out

carefully, but the edges

are too sharp

to hold for long.

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Not for my hands

the pain

cuts my eyes

and into my right.  Tears

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splash concrete.

I place the piece

back in my pocket

and continue working.

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