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Political Haiku

Politics is out of the question I’ve learned talking to chickens What is the question I’ve learned talking to chickens? This is a revision of a post-Trump election haiku posted today. The original was “politics is / out of the question I’ve learned / to talk to chickens.” But a friend raised some issues and […]

The Unequal

How often I slip on the slick leaves The Unequal pulls me up again   Notes The haiku is a “fall” haiku — the season is the scene of such happenings. Which happenings? The energy is leaving the world — leaving the leaves, which are rotting underfoot. Yet that energy — or is it a […]

Does Haiku Rhyme

the small crowd erupts all eyes on the ball which seems not about to fall   Language structures experience. Words are sounds. The poet plays with words to fulfill his desire for a good poem. A good poem after many readings blends into one hyper – sound. The word ecstatic comes to mind. A sound-narrative […]

Just like riding a bike

I am already riding this bicycle o- ver the roadside curb As the poem of the “between,” haiku communicate the vital processes of being in the middle of something, of some “act” by which one’s being takes shape. Wittgenstein contrasts the application of rules, the observance of formula, and the ongoingness of our experience — […]

Thinking Being

who can think being away not I sitting here under the blossoms The phrase “think being away” is quoted from William Desmond. It draws on the phrase “think being” — and I suspect Desmond is having some fun with the fashionable use of the word “think” used as a transitive verb. Especially when the object […]

Form and ‘forms of life’

Poetry Central We must undo the dualism of word/thing into a figure of analogy. Words are (like) things; things change. Meaning is rhythmic, tidal. Item: ┬áHomer’s comparison between words and and leaves in Autumn. Add to that diachronic aspect the synchronic aspect of “the inherent beyond ness of words to themselves, their essential non-self-identity” (Stephen […]

Poems and Puddles

In the rain puddle broken clouds I step in it Sometimes a poem is like a puddle with beautiful clouds appearing and disappearing in it and writing it ruins everything. Is that an acceptable use of the word ‘poem’? If not – and by ‘that’ I mean the context that has seemed to support that […]