dirty haiku

the way to you

is feather duster worthy

speak with your torso
 
day fourteen

canoe adrift on
glassy water – night carries
moans to a dark shore
 
day fifteen

petals in the rain
make red stains on the sidewalk
lipstick on my throat
 
day sixteen

spanish moss hangs from
sprawled cypress limbs – she lays back
in her torn green dress
 
Last edited:
petals in the rain
make red stains on the sidewalk
lipstick on my throat

I like this one because of the visual link. Ezra Pound wrote a piece which linked petals in rain to
so many faces in a crowd. He 'borrowed' this from someone else. Only problem , having read Pound's petals in the rain I can hear his last line after I see you image. It's just an echo that arrives fractionally later than your image.

Spanish moss hangs from
sprawled cypress limbs – she lays back
in her torn green dress

This one gives me sense of place. In my imagination I can feel the heat and I can imagine a woman
wearing in torn green dress laying back after the image of the tree.

Very good , and if anyone thinks they can write three simple lines, they will find themselves going crazy at a first attempt. So anyone reading this should be aware how much thought actually goes into haiku. If you don't know ( readers) this was at one point in it's development a Samurai mind-excercise . They borrowed from a less restricted 'middle class' parlor game and lightened ,sharpened and honed the form, like everything else they did. It is so fcking difficult to get right.


The old pond;
a frog jumps in —
the sound of the water.

Now that is Basho. Samurai descendant and recognized master of this form. The problem here is everything we read is a translation. If you listen to the work in Japanese it has rhyme and actually sounds like a frog jumping in. There are thousands of translated variations on this one piece.

Some guys wanted to see how far they could take the form. This is what they came up with.

pond
frog
plop!

Well I guess you can take the form so far, but then you only hear the noise as the meaning has been lost.
 
Last edited:
petals in the rain
make red stains on the sidewalk
lipstick on my throat

I like this one because of the visual link. Ezra Pound wrote a piece which linked petals in rain to
so many faces in a crowd. He 'borrowed' this from someone else. Only problem , having read Pound's petals in the rain I can hear his last line after I see you image. It's just an echo that arrives fractionally later than your image.

IN A STATION OF THE METRO

The apparition of these faces in the crowd ;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

the Pound poem has been one of my favorites for ages and ages. I wasn't thinking about it when I wrote mine, at least, not that I knew of. And since you pointed out the resonance, it's glaring at me. Anyone who's ever had an Ezra Pound resonance glare at them knows how uncomfortable this is. I wonder if a fix is as easy as taking petals out of the beginning of the line.


in the rain, petals
make red stains on the sidewalk
lipstick on my throat

Though I don't have to be a syllable-fascist on a rewrite, so there are other things I could do. hmm.

Thank you for the reading and the thoughts, and also the history. I didn't realize that the poem had its origins with the samurai, though it makes perfect sense. It's all about economy and immediacy.

wax on
wax off
catch the fly in chopsticks
 
the sound i made
was

corrupted by awareness​

mine

the moment is
 
hot, wet opening
filled with steamy, thick lava
the Earths orgasmic earth quake
 
lol! Thank you! It was truly fun.

I may do another if you don't mind!?

I don't mind at all.
In fact, I wholeheartedly encourage you (or anyone with such delicious diction) to post here. If you really want to punish yourself, join me in my self-challenge: 1 dirty haiku a day, until the end of time, or until you decide to stop, whichever comes first.
 
mowing the lawn short
keeps it looking tight and trim
what a lovely sight
 
day seventeen

thunder roars, shaking
the house. She clenches in fear
and I roar, shaking
 
wetness tricklin' down
pressed against a window pane
cold upon hot skin
 
I'm writing a series of poems about my succubus (character). Now if you really want to live dangerously.

Fucking you ,
You, more savage than the Great(est) White
How tenderly you nuzzle, scrape and bite

The moment inspires
Boxing gloves and rope!
Your scrawled hieroglyphs ooze .

You snarl in my ear
A pack of dogs
One bone
 
Last edited:
Winter Wry

Honey spread on dough
Pumpernickel dusk to dawn
Sweet rolls in the snow
 
day eighteen

falling leaves expose
my secret perch – still she does
not close the curtain
 
Wow ... many thanks to ben, jax, ero and honey for very hot contributions yesterday.

It makes this pervert happy.
 
Wow ... many thanks to ben, jax, ero and honey for very hot contributions yesterday.

It makes this pervert happy.

lol.. thank you nerk!

It was fun.. I've stopped writing and now your thread has inspired me...even if it's just dirty haikus!
 
lol.. thank you nerk!

It was fun.. I've stopped writing and now your thread has inspired me...even if it's just dirty haikus!

Stopped writing .. is exactly why I started doing dirty haikus.
It's a quick nibble that gets the juices flowing, and in just a couple of weeks I've done a few poems, a few exercises, a bunch of starts and rough drafts and one actual submitted short story.
Hopefully, I will have the next one done today, spit-polished and submitted by the end of the weekend.

and then I can worry about mowing the lawn.
 
Back
Top