Spring Haikuplex
The rain coming down,
pounding on the roof above:
the poet’s pen runs dry.
The poet’s pen runs dry;
always in his heart are dreams:
words refuse to flow.
Words refuse to flow,
pictures still buried so deep:
buried and yet unsaid.
Buried and yet unsaid
are the pictures never drawn:
of rain coming down.
ed pacht
3 comments:
I like this very much. The single haiku can be like a honey drop or a bee sting. In a group, like this, the impact is heightened.
I was sitting in a poetry reading, listening to someone else's work while the rain made amazingly loud noises overhead. Since I'd been discussing writer's block a bit earlier, the first haiku burst out of my head onto the paper. Haiku are normally complete in themselves, and this one certainly was, but I didn't feel done. The last line told me to keep going, and so I did, until the piece came around full circle. That's why it has the unusual form. As for the content: one thing I had just said was that, when I experience writer's block (as we all do) -- well, I write about it, and sometimes that ends up producing a good poem.
ed
Now that you describe the scene... the flow of this is rather like steady rain!
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