Monday, July 11, 2011

Haiku Chain from class

Set me free to roam
the skies and hills all alone-
hawks soar above us -me

Flapping and flapping
I find my strength from the sun
and soar across the land -classmate 1

I flap my wings as
I soar to each fluffy cloud
Oh no! I'm falling! - classmate 2

As I fall I scream
Spinning frantically, falling
Green grass hit my face - classmate 3

When I recover,
lying face up I see clouds.
What strange shapes they are. -classmate 4

floating across skies-
people the universe wide
wonder what they'll see -me

will they see the stars?
twinkling throughout the night
or stop at the sky? -classmate 1

Stars at their brightest
Can I? Should I make a wish?
To float through the sky -classmate 2

As dawn comes to dusk
I have failed to make that wish
Sun! Please set again. -classmate 3

Oh sun! I begin
to understand why the world
once thought you a god. -classmate 4


I await the moon's rise

for destruction, creation
your whims we endure -me

Falling in ashes,
or rising in stardom, the
earth will keep turning -classmate 1

Revolving Earth waits
Eagerly for each season
Change is upon us -classmate 2

Summer, Spring, Winter..
Fall, four seasons, all in all
change is constant, forever. --classmate 3

Nature, I'm victim
to your prowess. I await
your change, earnestly. - classmate 44

Saturday, June 18, 2011

musings in an online class (creative writing)

It's funny how assignments, especially online, can trigger the most amusing responses. And spark a moment of creative fun. I'll post the example below that started my musing. I wonder if and why we feel more free to banter :) and respond on class discussion boards with faceless screens than IN class. I believe so and can almost understand why.. still passing strange no?

From an assignment- my post (An ars poetica)~>

From where does poetry come...?

Endless hours of labor

perfecting one small poem,

or a pouring of the soul

in minutes, seconds, less?

What does it matter I ask?!

Poetry is not so simply defined

as by verse and meter,

or the way it rhymes.

Poetry is the language of the soul,

and in crying out

its wishes to be heard—

only then can the best be crafted.

After all I wonder….

Would you read of an apple,

sitting on a table?

Or of its growth, its life…

It’s fall from home and ended strife?


classmates response~>

Well done. You have won my favor. Would the "ended strife" of the apple represent the eating of the apple? I banter.

and my response in turn~>

I think perhaps the ending of strife

is best described as nothing more

than an ending of life.


How then would it come...?

By decay or feast-

we all eventually succumb....


Truly the end is many ways contrived

but I find the part most often discussed

is the way in which we lived.



Thanks guys for the replies!

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Long time gone...

I like that song and it seems oddly appropriate! I'd all but forgotten I had a blog, life gets busy sometimes I suppose. Yet if it didn't... it would probly be pretty boring :)

I feel....
the crush of grass
dried in summer heat,
cobblestone sidewalks
beneath my feet,
pounding out my run-
beat by beat.

Suck in the night air
fill your lungs till you burst,
as you push beyond
your limits....
and yourself.

Sweat dripping,
skin on fire,
lost in a world outside youself;
tonight...
was ephemeral,
nirvana,
back to basics-
with the wind beneath your feet.

Tonight...
was a good night.