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Hello Haiku

Manic Depression
Disco ball sparkle
while you vomit in corners
awaiting the black.

I’m an easy going poet and spend most of my time writing free verse.  It’s not that I don’t like forms as evidenced by the haiku above, but sometimes the challenge of writing in form befits a poem the way a record plays a song.  Gets the job done but you can still hear scratches on the original.  In most cases, I dare to say that it is a distraction.  Forgive me for the bold opinion against years of tradition but maybe it’s just me.
The haiku is small enough to escape the trap of distraction.  It is a whisper in the wind of poetry.  A Japanese form loved the world over.  Generally written in English as 5-7-5 syllable lines (as opposed to morae or on, in Japanese) loosely and juxtaposes two ideas or images.  The mood of mania vs. the mood of depression are the two images chosen for the haiku above.  Manic depression, the poem, contrasts the light drunk spinning of mania with the spell blinding crush of depression that follows.

Unemployment or a Lack of Work

Broken resume

sits in the fire burning–

one call from rescue.

This is sort of how I think of my own resume, broken and deserving of the gift of bonfire.  Delicately crafted unique and original, my resume is sent out to be shredded up or perhaps burned, while I wait by the cell phone hoping that someone will save me and dial 911.

Menstruation

Keep dark memories

stark red and held by a string,

raw, unforgiving.

Then, there is my friend menstruation which shattered like a mirror, carries reflections of lives past.  Every cycle another life dripping in normalcy onto a feminine product.  Considering the true nature of the monthly period, I feel like there should be a party for it.  It would be a grieving party for things not happened but a party, nonetheless.

Got a favorite form or haiku to share?  Leave it at the beep.  The biggest triumph of poetry is when it is shared with others.

About missyrogers

Lifelong Michigander, early 40s, craft addict, chihuahua collector, coffee drinker, recovering human being, bipolar I, electronic music lover, bullshit caller, 5' tall, my blood is organic, and I refuse to be anything else. I will write until I die.

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Queen of the bad haircuts with coffee for blood.

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