How to Create Haiga Poetry

Have you hear of a Haiga? Colleen explains it expertly. It’s defini something I will try with my young writers in Writers Club.

Word Craft ~ Prose and Poetry

Gorgeous Colorado!

Since so many poets are inspired by photos, drawings, paintings, or other images when they compose their poetry, I wanted to add the “Haiga,” a dramatic poetic form to my weekly syllabic poetry challenge starting the first week of February 2019. So, for the new challenge posted on 2/5/19, this will be another acceptable form for our syllabic challenge.

Haiga is sometimes called observational poetry because it contains an image with either a haiku or senryu written on it or near it.  

Youtube: Traditional Japanese Art – Haiga – Japanese Paintings with Haiku poems by Doshin Kuba

This one form combines three artforms:  imagery (photographs or original art), poetry, and calligraphy.

The site, ahapoetry.com shares this about the Haiga:

“Haiga is a Japanese concept for simple pictures combined with poetry, usually meaning haiku. In Basho’s time, haiga meant a brushed ink drawing combined with…

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Poem

Sewn

Threads dispersed, tendrils drifting,

Cross stitches holding my heart together

Fragile grips for forever

Like kisses on a broken organ.

Undisclosed attachments to materialistic grips

Patterned designs meant for purpose

But, oh, giving me goose bumps of joy

As I blanket stitch them together.

Expressing my toxic insides

Filtering them with padding

Slip stitch my lips so nothing escapes;

Shh! Here comes the blunt truth…

Nothing can hold back the black and white

No shade. Backstitch that bad stuff,

But the running stitch won’t erase it.

The stark truth prevails like a blind stitch.

Monk’s House

Monk’s House

https://poetscornerblog.wordpress.com/2018/11/15/monks-house/
— Read on poetscornerblog.wordpress.com/2018/11/15/monks-house/

Broken Voices

There are voices in the attic

Static sounds of confusion

Scattered murmurs of insecurity.

Voices of misshapen dreams

Lying dormant for so long

Now stirring, writhing whispers.

Attic beams once a safe space

Creaking and moaning uncontrollably

Holding back voices searching for escape.

There are voices in the attic

Bold and ready to be heard

Scratch. Click. Roar!

They are free.

From now on

From now on I’m not going to drown in your ugly words

From now on I’m not going to hug my sides because it hurts

From now on I’m not going to wish I could just disappear

From now on I’m going to wear my bruises loud and clear.

From this day forward I will climb back inside my skin

From this day forward I will be proud to be African

From this day forward my British roots won’t fail

From this day forward my Dutch forefathers will smile with pride as I prevail.

From now on I choose my destiny

From now on my skin speaks and says it’s free

From now on whomever I dare to love is okay

From now on till my last remaining day.

My Poetry Book is available from Lulu.

Content – gluedmirror

Further to my post the other day, Gluedmirror found something in my story that triggered his own way to express it – through poetry.

I appreciate how hard this must have been and appreciate the fact that it was his muse for a moment in time.

---

Here it is July already Still no path to calmness, still no connection Like a dancing live wire, burning holes in the pavement I remember my mother, laid up in that institution Waiting to die She had liked to write before I met her, and I went to find that girl  And I went to…
— Read on gluedmirror.wordpress.com/2018/07/01/content/

Saturday Night Poetry

Hello and welcome.

Any poet will tell you that events and people inspire the art. Our exchanges breathe moments of desire, passion and slowly dying embers of deceit or delight. As the intensity passes, we are left with the memories of the encounter and this rare beast is what we try to capture within our words. Well, at least I do!

This poem, for me, is the moment trust dies in a relationship. It could be a friendship, a loved one, a relationship with a workmate or boss. In time, we all experience events where life becomes art and the words that encapsulate that emotion are trapped forever.

I hope this poem as much as I enjoyed writing it.  It doesn’t have a name yet. Maybe you could suggest one in the comments below.

Have a great evening.

 

Nuances once found endearing

Now grate against my skin

Scratching, screaming down my vertebrae

Telling me all your sins

Incompetence and flagrant misdirection

Needles picking at your consistence

Integral parts of my anatomy

Shouting out allegories against your existence

Deprivation within the biomass

This disorder known as yourself

Rip disregarded respect and faith

Away from all harmony; my loss, your wealth

 

 

Copyright held by ©Eloise De Sousa (2018)

 

Saturday

Raise your cup with me

Avoid the green spittoon

For dancing full of glee

We forget under the seduction of the moon
Raise your cup with me

Fair Sporalls of the night

The whiff of hoof and wee

Forgotten and out of sight
Raise your cup with me

Ye fair maidens with hidden gems

Gents fall at your long toenailed feet

Bidden by the temptress to rise again
Raise your cup with me

Hairy hollers to the divine

As we frolic beneath her beams

And succumb to music and wine

Weekly Poetry Challenge

Colleen, the Fairy Whisperer, has shared her weekly poetry challenge, which is open to everyone. 

“Welcome to my contribution to my Weekly Poetry Challenge, where you can write your own Haiku, Tanka, or Haibun using the prompt words of “soar and wait.” Colleen Chesebro, The Fairy Whisperer 

This week, I thought I would dabble with tanka poetry for my contribution.

Following the instructions I have created my tanka using the 5-7-5-7-7 rhythm and the prompt from above: soar and wait.

My Soul

Give it a try and leave your links in the comments or on Colleen’s post. 

Sunset romance

A fragile as glass
Heartbeats slowing
As shadows run past

Twighlight’s fever
Purple bruises so dear
The pain of living
In love’s final sphere

Dusk is moaning
Orange passion now gone
Blues are holding
Vigil over love’s song

Night creeps over
The warmth of the sun
Ink is spreading
Love’s colours have run