haiku
July 15, 2021
Grey pigeons my father's colour flown away PS Cottier
Rather cold Russian pigeons in that beautiful photograph, to accompany a quiet haiku about loss.
Tuesday guide to not writing haiku
March 15, 2020
Straining to create
seventeen syllable pups —
such stillborn haiku
That’s about the type of haiku where the number of syllables dictates everything. It’s a bit of an example of what to avoid, though I am rather fond of the second line.
Tuesday poem: Haiku
September 4, 2019
Behind the parlour
nail clippings rejoice
castanets
I was just thinking about the constant trail of stuff we leave behind; skin,hair, nails. The idea of all these sheddings coming together is disturbing. Maybe have a go at writing your own weird little haiku? The hair caught in hairbrushes comes to mind.
Tuesday poem: (haiku)
July 4, 2016
Blue eye of the sea
flutters white eyelashes —
wet sand flirts
P.S Cottier
The poet vows that she will be nastier next time after an unaccountably pretty haiku
Tuesday poem: Wetlands haiku
August 25, 2014
perched on a log
damp bark transfers water —
my pink frog bum
P.S. Cottier
I do not fully understand this image…
Now that damp croak of a poem was written at a great event which was held in O’Connor, just up the road from where your poetic blogger lives. (That’s me, if you were wondering.) A group of people met, heard about the wetlands and haiku, and wrote a brimming bucket of the tadpole poems.
The event was organised by Sarah St Vincent Welch (writer) and Edwina Robinson (Urban Waterways Coordinator). There are lovely photos and more poems at the following link, including some more serious ones. But I am particularly chuffed by the photo that follows on from the poem, in which I am indeed perched on a log.
http://www.canberra.edu.au/faculties/arts-design/research/research-centres/cccr/publications/haiku
Canberra is a very lucky city, with features such as the urban waterways in the inner city. (If you are imagining a city such as Paris, or Sydney, please don’t. Canberra is not that type of place at all.) The waterways return some of the creek that flowed through this area to a more natural state after it was concreted at some stage. Philosophically, it is an interesting question whether these recreated ponds are ‘natural’, but I am pleased that they exist.
Similarly, is haiku in English actually haiku? Is a haiku that contains a rhyme a proper haiku? Should we worry about such notions of form and purity?
Or should we just play?
Press this feather, fly to New Zealand, and read even more poetry:
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