Tag: haiku
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“despite a breeze…” a #tanka (9/7/20)
9/7/20: prompt-free despite a breezeand a suddenlyovercast skyour outdoor reservationremains intact #tanka #micropoetry #poetry
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My Daily #Haiku (9/7/20)
9/7/20: tick-tock Labor Day… still no fresh batteries for the mantle clock #haiku#micropoetry#poetry
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#Haikai Challenge #155 (9/6/20): remaining heat (zansho) #haiku #senryu #haibun #tanka #haiga #renga
Had enough crickets and morning glories, haijin? Congratulations to last week’s contributors: Haikai Challenge Participants 1. Eugenia2. Xenia Tran3. s.s.4. Jane Dougherty5. Jules6. Colleen Chesebro7. Dave Madden 8. Cheryl9. Li/Lisa Fox of W MI, USA10. willowdot2111. Janice12. Linda Lee Lyberg13. Goutam Dutta14. Peter 15. Revived Writer16. Linda Lee Lyberg (2)17. Christine Bolton18. Jen Goldie19. Al…
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Brooms Out Back: an .@ImageCurve #Haibun
The broom rests against the vinyl siding adjacent to the storm door. Its yellow bristles scatter out like unkempt hair from one side. A black foam guard overlays a gray plastic staff. Mira steps outside, chattering with her sister overseas. She sweeps curled, yellowing maple leaves on-handed as she converses about God-knows-what in Portuguese. Even…
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#SilentSaturday (9/5/20)
A rest from #haiku See you tomorrow!
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Into and Out of: an .@ImageCurve #Haibun
A moth emerges from the darkness outside. A touch on glass, a blurring of wings and it returns. Flying through a reflection of the kitchen, as though it made it inside. fallen leaves on the deck brightening sky Photo by Max Kleinen first published in Image Curve, August 27, 2020 for dVerse Poets’ Open Link Night…
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“sunbathed grass…” a #tanka (9/4/20)
9/4/20: unprompted sunbathed grass…still sounding offcicadasthe day after Mira passedher ASWB #tanka #micropoetry #poetry
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#Publication Alert: “Arid Hope” appears in the latest Drifting Sands Haibun!
I’m happy to announce that my tanka-prose “Arid Hope” appears in the latest edition of Drifting Sands Haibun! Arid Hope An endless drought. The reservoir continues to dry out. Wheat and barley fields, once so full of promise, have whilted for want of water. Like everything else. We watch the medicine woman stirring her pot…
Frank J. Tassone 