hey, haibun

When poetry contest looms, or e-zine deadline approaches, or writers’ website posts a prompt, do you experience brain freeze without benefit of ice cream? Do you hear Lucy yell, “You blockhead, Charlie Brown!” and you realize YOU are wearing a yellow shirt with brown zigzag across it?

I want to write slam poetry…loud, disgusted rants but the internet is already full of angry people raving. I want to write sexy… passionate married love but it’s a private affair not for public sharing. I want to write worship… to the glory of God but it may come off trite or offensive. I want to write verses happy… but dislike words that drip sappy.

So I say, “Hey, haibun, what do you want to be: a metaphor of a secret door? a nature travelogue? a sticky-sweet pastry? You’ll have to say something because I’m fresh out of ideas!”

writer without words

knows world needs more poetry

rake fallen dry leaves

Frank J. Tassone hosts Monday haibun at dVerse poets on topic of writer’s block…

moonlit eyes

Frank hosts haibun Monday (moon day) at dVerse poets’ pub.

Cats hunt by the light of the moon, on the prowl for frightened mice, lost birds, or warm baby bunnies. They slink sleekly; wait with tail twitching…then pounce without an ounce of apology. Cats are soft fur & purr, sharp fang & claw. They yowl and croon at the midnight hour. Mating is a loud caterwauling affair…must lust happen just below an open window?

mysterious moon

catwalks across night sky

gleams in black cat’s eye

(Liz Whizkers)