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Quiet... calm... reflective. You are the gentle breeze. Patient... hopeful... restive. I am the solitary birch.
Saturdays
Contemplating existence in coffee houses will make your head feel old, and tired, and send tingles up and down your appendages. Eventually someone will accidentally stumble across you and remind you that you look very silly when you're serious, and you'll laugh at yourself, and do it all over again.
That's what happens on Saturdays for me.
Nudist Haiku is Floundering
... but not because it has no ethos! It has an ethos, a soul. J Endwright wrote an early manifesto entitled "Haiku in the Garden: Naked by the Tomatoes" in which he cited three major sources of Canadian haiku. Among the more commercial, industrial producers (Starku and McKu) was the dark horse, Nudist Haiku. Endwright's words would not create the ripples in the literary community that he had hoped for; the lords of scholarship quickly dismissed his work as teary-eyed wistfulness, a pipe dream of days of yore. Harold Bloom's 1981 monograph 'Basho Was Never Naked' stamped out the last embers in the afterglow of Nudist Haiku's golden days. But i
Lion in a Coma
Please don't leave me, things that feel good/ I've been lucky trying to feel good...
The boy had the sort of curiosity which breaks down walls, and allows light through to the darkest aspects of those around him. He did this simply through need, and desire, and yearning. The sort of creative energy and openness possible through Indian ragas flowed through his veins instead of blood.
Mundane things on the bus
Hello. I have decided to write a journal.
© 2011 - 2024 penlender
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