Writers often take journeys in their minds. Observation, memory, and imagination create thoughts to travel by. Experience, learning, and time mark signposts along the way. We draw from an interior well or search for a fresh fountain. Of course, sharing the trip with friends enriches and expands us.
We write one step after the other: a few scribbles in a notebook, an idea tapped on the keyboard, a poem submitted here or there. If we do the work, why are we surprised by acceptance and publication? With or without a map, no journey goes as planned but that’s part of the adventure!
Sometimes we face roadblocks to overcome. Do not give up; do not quit the trail. Keep moving forward. Whether as a career or a hobby, we discover that writing feels satisfying and readers prove gratifying. Is it possible that book you’re dream-wording will appear in print?
journeys of the mind
where everyone’s a poet
words expose secrets
Frank J. Tassone hosts haibun Monday at dVerse…join us on the journey!I think my haiku is actually a senryu 🙂
Zuihitsu: Japanese form that blurs poetry, essay, and Chinese characters meaning “follow the impulse of the brush.” An artform some consider to be poetic potpourri incorporating nonfiction, musings, confessions and lyrics to create a spontaneous, layered text.
when i hear “zuihitsu”, hairy little dog runs into room yip-yipping sneak out for disorderly conduct… in neighborhood (bitch in heat)
Winner of the 2023 Ruth Lilly poetry prize and other awards, Kimiko Hahn has been writing and teaching this form for years. In her poetry collection The Narrow Road to the Interior, she writes “the sense of disorder” is “integral” to the form of zuihitsu. Did you sneeze? God bless you!
van gogh believed in God but that didn’t solve insanity layered pain(t) thickly with brush… or palette knife (sharp enough to cut an ear)
Merril D. Smith introduces diverse poets to zuihitsu at the virtual pub. She encourages exploration and experimentation with unique (uni)form. This is my experimental attempt to catch the dog, layer ideas, and weave wild words. An imposing form can make one feel like imposter.
textured tapestry hangs in stairwell neutrals woven in layers of loopy clouds…outlined mountain (luxurious [lunatic] fringe)
Linking to dVerse poetics and feeling nostalgic with Lillian this evening…
in comfortable chair with eager arms she opens book to uncover its charms from pages living letters, words escape in visions of an author’s storyscape; such rich imaginations fill her head with true ideals, aspiring soul is fed. her heart in chest does real affection swell how many pleasant hours she’ll not tell; another’s point of view now understood to grow inside with character proves good. she wanders on from scene to shining scene and wonders what a metaphor might mean. reader will thrill at unexpected plot; whether one owns a signed copy or not.
angry fire burns from careless spark of offense which touches off flammable pride’s fuel and emotionally charred words are stirred until warmest relationship is reduced to ashes
why not hold love’s only extinguisher (forgiveness under pressure) and douse arson’s conflagration before it’s too late?
Sarah’s chosen theme for quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets is “ashes to ashes”… check out the link!
A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.
Like Solomon, who wrote these words, I find soul satisfaction in beautiful speech. As a writer, I search for delicious words to be framed in serendipitous syntax. I hope to pick ripe thoughts, artfully arrange them in woven-word baskets and serve a taste of lingual delights. I admire skilled poets and appreciate how different poetic brushstrokes reveal textured perspectives; unique angles on life’s truth. Flighty images of the mind settle to roost in solid words. Sentinel ideas on signposts outline silent spaces for contemplation. Hand-in-hand, we meander world with senses alert to the wild call of hurricane winds or the fresh whisper of gentle breezes, then collectively record richly scripted delicacies for our hungry souls to feast on.
a poem in my pocket 
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