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NEW Haiku Journal

Just  published.  A NEW  journal   for  your  Haiku  poetry.  Some  instruction  and  tips  to  help  get  you started.  190  lined,  blank  pages  for  YOUR  poetry. Poetry is  imbedded  in  the  margins  of  the pages  to  inspire  your  writing.

An old silent pond
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
Matsuo Basho

      morning sun dapples
      trees in a polka-dot dress
      shines soft green and light
           ~ T. Sugarek

 

Light of the moon
Moves west, flowers’ shadows
Creep eastward.
Yosa Buson 

                                                       Black, gnarled branch
                                                         green leaves blush
                                                       droop in autumn rain
                                                              ~ Unknown

angle of fall’s sun
so different from spring’s rays
dapples the sun porch

end of hot summer
the crisp, sharp tang of fall’s breath
smokes the air about

a waiting for sleep
under the blanket of snow
until spring sun beams ~ T. Sugarek

                                               Whether one passes on
                                             or remains is all the same.
                                       That you can take no one with you
                                                is the only difference.

                                                Ah, how pleasant!
                                    Two awakenings and one sleep.

                                  This dream of a fleeing world!
                                 The roseate hues of early dawn!
                                               Tokugawa Ieyasu

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Poetry featured on PoetrySoup.com

Dear Trisha,

Congratulations, this is just a quick notice to let you know that your poem Remembered Love is one of the poems being featured on the PoetrySoup.com home page this week. 

Thanks again and congratulations.

Sincerely,
PoetrySoup

Remembered Love

Ashes waft over the meadow
a jet stream of sorrow,
beckoning the widow to the
edge, down to the river.

Contented epoch, at the
creek where the wolves run,
he lived and laughed.

We watched the bright blue
stars foxtrot across the milky
way, a midnight indigo quilt
shivering with light.

Mountain men whose
toughened hands cradle their
violin and mouth harp. Music
soared amidst craggy
chiseled countenance.

We listened to the chaste
screech of a hawk, the forlorn
cry of a mountain cat,
soft snuffling of a bear,
watery splash of a fish.

You and I waltzed in the
meadow; no music needed
other than the love song that
pulsed in our hearts.

Can I have this dance for
the rest of my life?
Together it seemed so…

right,
wrong,
simple,
eternal,
joyful,
lonely,
sad…

…happily ever after?

No.

Time enough for us to love,
laugh, share, be silly, fight,
forgive, and cry?
To seethe and despair?
Yes.

 

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014     
Books of poetry:  Butterflies and Bullets  ~~ Moths and Machetes
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My weekly BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   May:  Joram Piatigorsky, June: Mike Maden writing for TOM CLANCY.  August: Carolyn Brown
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How To Write Poetry (Isolation Series)

Poetry is created in much the same way as other genres of writing. Something will trigger my poetic side. It might be a crushed carnation on a hot, asphalt parking lot or the combination of smells from the biting snow air to a bonfire. The call of a wild bird or a memory from childhood. I begin with the first line of the poem. Duh! Perhaps I won’t write the second line for several days. I can’t stress this enough; it’s okay if that happens.
Nothing else in the writer’s world is more from their soul than poetry. Yes, there is structure that should be adhered to (Haiku) (Sestina) but the creation of words should originate from the soul. Flowing like life’s blood from the heart.
I include here other types/forms of poetry and their disciplines. What is the difference between a sonnet and an epigram? A canzone and a narrative? Every poet is attracted to different styles. Why don’t you try one?
All of my poetry is limited to free verse or Haiku and Renku. This is where my soul sings and my heart beats. 
Start with free verse so you are not hindered by strict rules of construction, (see below). 

ABC: A poem that has five lines and creates a mood, picture, or feeling. Lines 1 through 4 are made up of words, phrases or clauses while the first word of each line is in alphabetical order. Line 5 is one sentence long and begins with any letter.
Ballad: A poem that tells a story similar to a folk tale or legend which often has a repeated refrain.
Ballade: Poetry which has three stanzas of seven, eight or ten lines and a shorter final stanza
of four or five. All stanzas end with the same one line refrain.
Blank verse: A poem written in unrhymed iambic pentameter and is often unobtrusive. The iambic pentameter form often resembles the rhythms of speech.
Burlesque: Poetry that treats a serious subject as humor.
Canzone: Medieval Italian lyric style poetry with five or six stanzas and a shorter ending stanza.
Carpe diem: Latin expression that means ‘seize the day.’ Carpe diem poems have a theme of living for today.
Cinquain: Poetry with five lines. Line 1 has one word (the title). Line 2 has two words that describe the title. Line 3 has three words that tell the action. Line 4 has four words that express the feeling, and line 5 has one word which recalls the title.
Couplet: This type of poem is two lines which may be rhymed or unrhymed.
Dramatic monologue: A type of poem which is spoken to a listener.
Elegy: A sad and thoughtful poem about the death of an individual.
Epigram: A very short, ironic and witty poem usually written as a brief couplet or quatrain.
Haiku: A Japanese poem composed of three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five morae, with three sets. Usually containing a season word.
Horatian ode: Short lyric poem written in two or four-line stanzas, each with its the same metrical pattern, often addressed to a friend and deal with friendship, love and the practice of poetry. It is named after its creator, Horace.
Idyll: Poetry that either depicts a peaceful, idealized country scene or a long poem telling a story about heroes of a bye gone age.
Lay: A long narrative poem, especially one that was sung by medieval minstrels.
Limerick: A short sometimes vulgar, humorous poem consisting of five anapestic lines. Lines 1, 2, and 5 have seven to ten syllables, rhyme and have the same verbal rhythm. The 3rd and 4th lines have five to seven syllables, rhyme and have the same rhythm.
Narrative: A poem that tells a story.
Ode: A lengthy lyric poem typically of a serious or meditative nature and having an elevated style and formal stanza structure.
Pastoral: A poem that depicts rural life in a peaceful, romanticized way.
Quatrain: A stanza or poem consisting of four lines. Lines 2 and 4 must rhyme while having a similar number of syllables.
Rhyme: A rhyming poem has the repetition of the same or similar sounds of two or more words, often at the end of the line.
Rondeau: A lyrical poem of French origin having 10 or 13 lines with two rhymes and with the opening phrase repeated twice as the refrain.
Senryu: A short Japanese style poem, similar to haiku in structure that treats human beings rather than nature: Often in a humorous or satiric way.
Sestina: A poem consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-line envoy. The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.
Shakespearean: A 14-line sonnet consisting of three quatrains of abab cdcd efef followed by a couplet, gg. Shakespearean sonnets generally use iambic pentameter.
Sonnet: A lyric poem that consists of 14 lines which usually have one or more conventional rhyme schemes.
Tanka: A Japanese poem of five lines, the first and third composed of five syllables and the other seven.

test

Terza Rima: A type of poetry consisting of 10 or 11 syllable lines arranged in three-line tercets.
Verse: A single metrical line of poetry.

Free verse by yours truly:

Windstill © 

Subtle silence
Windstill
trees await the next
message on the air

Windstill
not a whisper of birdsong
not a leaf-rustle intrudes
it falls
fluttering to the ground

The wind has departed
beyond the next hill
leaving in its wake
Windstill

Will it return? The breeze
dancing amongst the leaves
to the tune of the forest

Shall the still wind haunt
amongst the trees?
or come roaring back, shrieking?
Windstill

Renku

Ruin © (Haiku)

The barn, sad and old
forgotten still standing strong
cob webs in sun beams

recycled boards raped
floor torn away, back bone gone
dust haze dance in light

the barn sad, noble
survives the last season proud
the roof falls, barn death

Did you Miss my Other Isolation Writing Ideas?
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Books by Trisha Sugarek

My Letter to Charles Bukowski

A buffoon for a leader
Gauche, socially inept, dangerous
Waving his arms around trying to find words
In his non-existent vocabulary

A little yellow man waits, with a warhead,
To blow our west coast into the sea

The Russian bear awakes from a
decades long sleep
Sniffs around the buffoon and his
weak spots
Where to strike first?

Muslims take the rap for all the violence against the fat, over-indulgent, rich country and its infidels

A country known for taking in ‘your tired, your poor, your huddled masses’ locks its doors
Goes from house to house, plucking out the illegals, leaving families decimated
Children in cages
Has Hitler finally reincarnated?

Meanwhile the planet warms so that one can hardly recognize it

Dear Hank,
Nothing new here

TS: I found a letter Bukowski wrote back in 1993 which inspired me to answer him in 2017.
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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese and May: Boo Walker 
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In Honor of National Poetry Month

I’m a humble poet, a rambling rhymester, a free verse fanatic, a Haiku sycophant. I love other poets and their scribbles and I worship at the altar of Charles Bukowski. For the month of April I celebrate National Poetry month with some of my own scribbles. 

Fragrance of Life © Trisha Sugarek

Cool rain drums on blistering
asphalt, the scent streams into
the nostrils–hot, grassy smell of
summer, freshly cut-smoky
cedar lingers on the air

Fresh popcorn drenched in
butter, I sit in the dark, musty
movie house. Childhood
memories of Tom Mix dashing
across the screen

A breath, deep of rain-damp wool,
heady peat of whiskey
neat. Old butt-imprinted leather
and the dusty, pulpy smell of a
well thumbed book as the page
is turned

The mule drawn plough turns the
rich, boggy earth beneath an
autumn sky. With luck and some
rain the larder is full at harvest
time

Wrapped in strong arms, nose
pressed to warm skin smelling of
soap and outdoors. Drinking the
heat in with the smell of the
man, your man

Sweet puppy breath. Pure
doggy conviction that you will
love him as much as he loves
you

Candles and incense in the
great cathedral… the heart fills
with faith, hope, and
expectation

Soft curls, sweet skin, the babe
squirms closer… powdery
newness, innocence, and trust

Briny, sharp tang of the northern
sea. Balmy, yielding, essence
under the Southern Cross
Green aftertaste, fishy decay
and salty fresh scent of the
clean-swept beach

Sultry air twines itself through the
Quarter, crushed sugar, wet
pavement, yeasty bouquet of
hot beignet. Warm beer,
praline sweet, heady grape
Old river water slugs along

Stifling, coppery smell of blood
be it the battle field, hospital,
crime scene, butcher shop, or
birthing room…

Cloys in the nostrils sticks in the
back of the throat like old
mucus,

Icy sweetness of winter air,
frigid sting of snow to come…
sharp pine tantalizes the senses,
as harsh breath smokes the air

Steaming manure in fresh straw,
roasted peanuts, pink spun
sugary sweet…
the pungent animals stalk the
cage. Sawdust under old
canvas glows like old gold in a
shaft of sun light.
The Big Top!
Childhood rushes back

The smell of her on your
mustache… you don’t want to
wash your face… lose the
intoxicating scent of her love

New trees struggle to rise above
a sea of old petroleum.
Pine sol lies still on the cold tiles,
stale baloney on old bread.
Rancid tired clothes reek of
cheap cologne
The truck belches halitosis

Move on down the highway

Sharp fall gusts through the
quaking aspen,
pitchy sap barks in the
crackling fire,
snowy air assaults the senses

The loon sings, warming and
plucking at the heart.
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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese and May: Boo Walker 
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‘Windstill’ ~~~In Honor of National Poetry Month

Windstill © by Trisha Sugarek

Subtle silence
Windstill
trees await the next
message on the air

Windstill
not a whisper of birdsong
not a leaf-rustle intrudes
as it falls
fluttering to the ground

The wind has departed
beyond the next hill
leaving in its wake
Windstill

Will it return? The breeze
dancing amongst the leaves
to the tune of the forest

Shall the still wind haunt
amongst the trees?
or come roaring back, shrieking?
Windstill
                                                         ********

There isn’t anything lovelier than receiving reviews from my fellow poets as I celebrate Nat’l Poetry Month.  My free verse, “Dear John” was featured on the home page of Poetrysoup.com and received these: 

‘Trisha,this poem spoke to my heart. Very raw with emotions and beautifully written, Keep that fire burning,it will light up the pathway for your John.’ Chinwe Igbozurike

and

Trisha, I really enjoyed stepping behind your eyes for a brief eclipse with your heart! Wondrous writing!’  red barchettadrive
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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese and May: Boo Walker 
To receive my posts sign up for my   On the home page, enter your email address.  Thanks! 

Haiku ~ In Honor of National Poetry Month

Haiku and Renku Poetry © by Trisha Sugarek

Haiku

to write haiku is
to distill to perfection
with only three lines

 

Memories of the South 

spanish moss shimmers
slave ghosts of days long gone by
hanging from the trees

stain on Old Glory
dark time of subjugation
when man enslaved man

memories forever
then bodies, now gray moss hangs
tears, blood-darken roots

Samurai Song

delicate blossom
rests in the still gnarled hand
bruised petals weep tears

weary eyes open
tiny cuts, the body bleeds
peace still years away

sun rise breaks the hill
heralds another battle
draw your sword and charge

Life after Death

Dark, cold days of grief
think you can no longer breathe
great loss, emptiness

Summer woods
a single leaf floats
deer creep along well worn paths
fish leap with delight

rings spread on the pond
katydids shout their presence
goslings paddle near

breezes stir the trees
the forest floor perfumes rise
a lone bird exults
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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese and May: Boo Walker 
To receive my posts sign up for my   On the home page, enter your email address.  Thanks! 

 

 

In Honor of National Poetry Month

I’m a humble poet, a rambling rhymester, a free verse fanatic, a Haiku sycophant. I love other poets and their scribbles and I worship at the alter of Charles Bukowski. For the month of April I celebrate National Poetry month with some of my own scribbles. 

FOGGY NIGHT © Trisha Sugarek

The white orb, tidal
saturated with huge flows
pierces through the veil
a ghost ship shrouded
in fog slips up the channel
Night gulls sing and cry
day is gone, night creeps
fog seeps in, the tide rolls out
water glistens, gold

Night soft, edges blurred
trees in ebony, drift by
damp seeps into bones
Fog casts tents of light
Hunters of the sea own night
swoop, dive, attack, eat
Fishers, feathers stark
white against the night shadows
palm trees shape the gauze
brushes hard with paint
Pilings sway, waists cinched with rope
the craft finds its home

There isn’t anything lovelier than receiving reviews from my fellow poets as I celebrate Nat’l Poetry Month.  My free verse, “Dear John” was featured on the home page of Poetrysoup.com and recieved these: 

‘Trisha,this poem spoke to my heart. Very raw with emotions and beautifully written, Keep that fire burning,it will light up the pathway for your John.’ Chinwe Igbozurike

and

Trisha, I really enjoyed stepping behind your eyes for a brief eclipse with your heart! Wondrous writing!’  red barchettadrive
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese, and May: Boo Walker 
To receive my posts sign up for my   On the home page, enter your email address.  Thanks! 

In Honor of National Poetry Month

I’m a humble poet, a rambling rhymester, a free verse fanatic, a Haiku sycophant. I love other poets and their scribbles and I worship at the alter of Charles Bukowski. For the month of April I celebrate National Poetry month with some of my own scribbles. 

 

The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek

The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far desolate peak

Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
As if they had grown there
dusty spurs jangled as he trotted down the main
street of the sleepy town
a saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat stained with sweat
from the hard ride

Reins dangled in the dirt
the horse hung his head, relieved
to not be moving

A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat
he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory

He pulled a cigarillo out,
one smooth movement wiped a match on his pants,
the tiny flame ignited
he puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the day

Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door

The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch,the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, 
down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back

He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time

Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and sauntered into the saloon,
honky-tonk piano played
the doors behind him whispered back and forth

The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman

The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze shied away

Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked

Show me your coin, the barkeep growled

His days were numbered,
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch
would find him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree

There isn’t anything lovelier than receiving reviews from my fellow poets as I celebrate Nat’l Poetry Month.  My free verse, “Dear John” was featured on the home page of Poetrysoup.com and recieved these: 

‘Trisha, this poem spoke to my heart. Very raw with emotions and beautifully written, Keep that fire burning,it will light up the pathway for your John.’ Chinwe Igbozurike

and

Trisha, I really enjoyed stepping behind your eyes for a brief eclipse with your heart! Wondrous writing!’  red barchettadrive
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   December:  Jayne Ann Krentz (Amanda Quick)  January: Molly Gloss.  February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning and April: Poet, Joe Albanese
To receive my posts sign up for my   On the home page, enter your email address.  Thanks! 

Haiku Poetry

 

 

 

 

 

Review: Cocktails with a Dead Man by Joe Albanese

reviews, authors, writingreviews, authors, writingreviews, authors, writingreviews, authors, writingFive out of five quills ~~~  A Review reviews, authors, writing

 

 

Cocktails with a Dead Man  (a book of poetry) is honest, hard hitting,  marvelous and humorously clever.

With other poems in this book, the laughs are nonexistent. Albanese’s writing reflects situations (Anniversary Dinner) too painful to face head on. Love torn asunder. (We Need To Talk) Loss and heartbreak we mortals think we cannot survive. A nice mix of  despair and irony; my perfect cup of tea.  Later in the book is a poem about our dreams of fame as writers. What writers will ‘settle for’ so we can continue to write. (Moonlight Serenade)

If Albanese keeps writing poetry, we just might have another Charles Bukowski on our hands.  This reviewer certainly hopes so. 

Writers will smile and groan as I did, when reading Sensory Adaptation. When the writing  stalls (‘writer’s block’ are words not allowed in this household) and the page remains blank this excerpt of poetry rings with all the frustration and truth we writers feel at times.

Sensory Adaptation ©

Tick-tock, tick-tock
The page is still blank
Writing at the dining room
table
I hear the clock in the family
room to my left
Tick-tock, tick-tock
I hear the clock in the living
room to my right
I hear the clock in the family
room to my left, ticking
at opposing half-seconds
Tick-tick, tock-tock
Tick-tick, tock-tock
120 per minute
30 minutes
3,600 ticks
All I see is white
The cursor blinks
Tick-blink-tick
Tock-blink-tock…

Joe told me, “I allow myself to write shit, then come back and rewrite slightly less shit. Repeat until not shit.” In my opinion, he doesn’t publish work that still contains shit, only distilled…wonderful…poetry.
 
I am looking forward to interviewing Joe soon.
To Purchase 
Release date, January 15th
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  MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   December:  Jayne Ann Krentz (Amanda Quick)  January: Molly Gloss  February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning and April: Poet, Joe Albanese
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To Purchase