9 to 5 Poet

Waiting for the Bus

In the absence of
snow, our bodies cave inward,
shrinking from the cold.

****

I’ve been writing these haiku very sporadically for the past eleven months, and I’ve noticed something about living with a form. While my goal is 100, I’m taking my time getting there, because I’m waiting for the right image. It feels like I have an invisible set of antennas that are attuned to only the ideas that will slide inside the form.

For haiku, you need to have seventeen syllables (5-7-5) and traditionally they contain a reference to the season. It’s this last bit that’s been challenging. I feel like certain seasons are more conducive to haiku than others. (Summer was pretty dead for me, despite all the time I spent reveling in the sunshine.) I think that the seasonal element needs (for me) to have an emotional resonance, and I just seem to find more within Spring, Fall, and Winter.

But now, as I go into my second winter of haiku-ing, I’m finding that my winter imagery is changing. I’m spending more time outside (due to my bus commute) and less time observing from the window of my car or condo. Even as I write the poems, it feels different. I’m now participating in the cold, rather than just observing it. I’m hoping that this shift in perspective comes through in the poems.

I also wonder how other poets who participate in a commitment to a traditional form react to this experience. Sometimes it feels like I’m reading the same book over and over again. In some ways, it’s positive because I’m learning new inflections and resonances. But in other ways, I’m just juggling the same words (or images) around.

Among Strangers

With bundled bodies,
frozen smiles, we are always
preparing for cold.

* * *

As I take public transportation every day now, I’ve become a bit of a student on human behavior. At least, human behavior when humans are forced to share a limited amount of space, while waking up in the morning. Lately, it’s been so cold in the mornings that the 3-4 of us at the bus stop have to move around to keep our toes and fingers warm. We may chat, in monosyllabic phrases about the weather, but we still have to keep that weird polite distance that we call Minnesota nice. The above haiku is inspired by this awkward morning ritual.

Fall has already arrived in Minnesota with a loud cold *snap*. I woke this morning to frost on the neighbor’s rooftops and a brisk chill in our building’s hallways. With the season’s early change, I’ve been writing (and reciting) these two haiku beneath my breath for the past two days.

This morning, I decided to take a quick walk and take some pictures to accompany them. I wore flip flops and my toes got so cold I had to run back inside. I miss summer already.

Becoming Dormant

Flowers don’t sour
at summer’s end, they reveal
their brittle brown husks.

* * *

Awakened

Haze evaporates
to crystalline blue skies. Clear
light breaks through thick clouds.

* * *
To see more pictures taken on this morning’s inspiration walk, go to my flickr site!

Walls

Crimson brick facades
store the day’s heat, radiate
gentle waves, outwards.

Summer Starts In

humid alleyways,
and garbage-scented breezes,
sour as spoiled lilacs.

For the past couple of days, I’ve been posting haiku that are inspired by a recent walk I took in my neighborhood with my digital camera. I live about 4 blocks from downtown Minneapolis, so most of my neighborhood is comprised of apartment buildings and stores. However, in a hill above my house there are some really lovely city houses with gardens. This is where I took the majority of my pictures.

This has also helped me to get a jump start on my 100 Haiku project, because it had been pretty stalled. I’ve been trying to write 100 urban inspired haiku, with a focus on the seasons, as is traditional with haiku. However, it seemed like winter was a more evocative season for the city, until I found these flowers. Click on the 100 Haiku label to read the others. Enjoy!

Sidewalk Garden

In concrete confines,
a manufactured chorus,
voices singing spring.

City Flowers

are like scarlet soldiers,
standing silent sentry at
our black gated homes.

Spring Flower

Yellow petals curled,
beckoning fingers. Flower
whispers, Come closer.

I was having a bit of difficulty with this week’s Poetry Thursday
prompt of “rivers.” Even though we passed many rivers in Iowa this weekend, I just didn’t feel a connection to the image. Then, this morning on my walk in my neighborhood, I watched the freeway full of commuters and realized that there are many different types of rivers.

Freeway Overpass

I cross the one-way
river, crowded with cars, stalled
as I am today.

Midnight Walk in May

I sense spring in hints
of blooming lilac and faint
lightning behind clouds.