Congratulations, this is just a quick notice to let you know that your poem The Farm is one of the poems being featured on the PoetrySoup.com home page this week. Poems are rotated each day in groups of 14-16 to give each poem an equal opportunity to be displayed.
Thanks again and congratulations.
Sincerely, PoetrySoup
Fields of mustard seed
as far and beyond the eye
the farm dogs return
dusted in yellow
The clapboard grey of the old
farm house stands in testimony of
generations of pea farmers,
hunters, fishermen, and cooks
Heady fragrance of a farm dinner
immerses the senses as the screen
door slaps open
The matriarchal voice sings out
‘tea party!’ A call to supper
the city folk sit around a battered
and scared wooden table laden with
baked chicken, fried steak, mashed potatoes,
green beans and corn that hung from the
vine just minutes ago
Her biscuits and corn bread are the stuff that
dreams are made of
Later they all sit on the warped porch steps
and listen as the geese honk their way in to
the fields and their nightly time of respite
Bats fly across the moon, frogs call out their
secrets, a loon wails its loneliness
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As I swiveled around in my office chair I faced the back wall of my office and stared unseeing at a (manually) typed letter from James Clavell dated June, 1971. Clavell being the author of the classic and world renowned, ‘SHOGUN‘. (for you poor pathetic illiterate readers out there who have never read this classic or heard of James Clavell.) The letter was a response to my asking him for more information on the word ‘joss’ and how it was used in ancient Japan. He responded with my answer and an invitation for us to sail up through the Strait of Juan De Fuca and the Georgia Strait to Vancouver Island and his home. WOW!
‘SHOGUN‘ began my love affair with Samurai Japan and the history of ancient Japan. The Samurai, a military caste in feudal Japan, began as provincial warriors before rising to power in the 12th century with the beginning of the country’s first military dictatorship, known as the shogunate. They continue to rise to great power, known for their superb fighting skills, their unwavering loyalty, and (oddly) their poetry. I became a student of this warrior class for over two decades. Searching out and reading their Haiku and Renku writings.
I was fascinated by the fact that these fierce, bloodied, bigger-than-life warriors who dedicated their lives to their lord and war could, in turn, write delicate, tender poetry. So delicate you felt as though the paper the poetry was written on would crumble if you held it too tightly. So tender your heart wept at the reading.
One day; I don’t know which day or what prompted me, I wrote my first Haiku. And as they say, the rest is history. I have written Haiku for over three decades, published three books of poetry.
It is a wonderful exercise in brevity and translates over to your other writings. Helping you to cut away the excess, the fluff in your writing. And if you write enough of this poetry, the fluff in your writing will never appear in the first place.
The Garden
I wander my blooms
the morning sun barely peeks
above the far hills
~~Trisha Sugarek
Samurai Song (Renku)
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
~~Trisha Sugarek
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Another pair of cowboy boots
beneath my bed
banishing dreams of
a permanent man
right out of my head
They call me a buckle-bunny
but that sets low the bar
for at the end of the night
I take home the rodeo star
He rides wild horses
and even wilder bulls
I lap him up by the mouthfuls
Lust curls in my belly
when I spy the champion buckle
his laughter is sweet as honeysuckle
An aging buckle-bunny is what I see
until the next cowboy smiles at me
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With years of practice writing Haiku, Renku (and prose) poetry, I feel as though I have acquired some skill. Because that is what it takes, practice. The more you do anything the better you become. This my first attempt, ever, at ‘rhyming poetry’. For two consecutive mornings I had lain in my bed, between that creative space of half-sleep and wakefulness. The poem swirling around and around until it distilled to this and I had to write it down. (for better or for worse.)
The biggest reason that “rhyming poetry” has fallen out of favor is that it is often forced and unnatural. … To the ear, it will sound more like internal rhyme (but to the eye it will appear as some form of end rhyme). In a good rhyming poem, the reader might not even realize it is rhyming poem (until later). (Unknown. From the Internet.) If I accomplished this, dear reader, it was by pure accident.
The title: A young country-western song writer made up this term and it caught my fancy. She meant it as a name for the groupies that follow the rodeo and its cowboys.
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Haiku Journal acts as both an inspirational collection of diverse haiku by master writers such as Matsuo Basho and Masaoka Shiki and an encouragement for readers to fill in their own blank books with haiku creativity. It pairs lovely black and white drawings with examples of the diversity that can be incorporated into the traditional haiku form.
Where creative writing books might focus on the three-line stanza approach of its poetic structure, Trisha Sugarek provides a deeper interpretation of what makes a haiku piece stand out: “A haiku is a way of looking at the physical world and seeing something deeper, like the very nature of existence. It should leave the reader with a strong feeling or impression. Traditionally the natural world is mentioned.” She also includes works by master poets which didn’t always strictly adhere to the 5/7/5 haiku foundation because “They were too beautiful to ignore and not be included.”
This note advises readers that there is an attention to excellence, here, that goes beyond strict regimentation. Any poem that is uplifting, beautiful, and an example of unique expression is included, such as this: “Well, what must we think of it?/From the sky we came./Now we may go back again./That’s at least one point of view.” –Hôjô Ujimasa
These works appear alongside lined blank pages that encourage readers to become writers through example. The poems are juxtaposed
Haiku Poetry
with tips on how Sugarek chooses to write, including creative writing and history information that supports various approaches (i.e. producing a complete poem in three sets of three lines, known as Renku).
Sugarek’s own poetry is juxtaposed with verse and free verse from others, adding just the right blend of encouragement and a flavor of diversity to a haiku journal that serves as both an encouragement and an example.
Wannabe haiku writers looking for inspiration could not find a better wellspring of support than in Haiku Journal. Its format and presentation lend to not just inspiration, but creative effort. Purchase here
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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.
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.
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
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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!
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!
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 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!
PoetrySoup.com home page this week. Poems are rotated each day in groups of 14-16 to give each poem an equal opportunity to be displayed.
Watch for more interviews with authors. September: Culley Holderfield. October: Simon Gervais for ROBERT LUDLUM’S The Blackbriar Genesis
the grub even better