The Poetry Sisters Write Pantoums

We've been at it again. My poetry sisters have been up to hijinks once again. I've been privileged to be schooled in several poetic forms by these fabulous and talented women before, when we challenged each other to write a crown sonnet , villanelles, and rondeau redoubles. Liz got us going this time by challenging us to write pantoums sparked by the line "I've got better things to do than survive," from Ani DiFranco's song "Swandive." Several years ago Miss Rumphius's Monday Poetry Stretch taught us the form and I tried it out here. I really struggled with this one, editing and fussing over it right up to today's publication time. I am not done tweaking I am afraid, but we agreed to go public so here I am,  jumping into free fall. Please go read the others at Laura's Friday Poetry roundup post, and share some love with the kidlitosphere's weekly poetry celebration.

Moth Sisters

"I've got better things to do than survive"

she flung over her shoulder on the way out.

The crash of her door a shattering cry

supplanting my lamp with a far distant star.

Gusting over her shoulder on the way out,

her tresses diffused a cool honey shine,

supplanting my lamp with a far distant star

(silk spun for protection hides hooks on the end).

Her tresses diffusing her cool honey shine,

a cocoon once jostled begins to emerge.

Silk spun for protection hides hooks on the end.

And me alone with my dolls in a muddle;

a cocoon once jostled begins to emerge,

from crumpled wings expanded she flutters away.

And me alone with my dolls in a muddle.

She believes she's outgrown what once kept her whole,

from crumpled wings expanded she flutters away.

The crash of her door a shattering cry

She believes she's outgrown what once kept her whole -

"I've got better things to do than simply survive!"

Andromeda Jazmon

 

Rock Climbing Haibun

 

Last weekend we went hiking in a state park where there is a large outcropping of rock towering above a creek that winds through the valley. We ate lunch on the top of the ridge with a view that scanned the clouds floating on the horizon, the forest hills, and the tumbling whitewater far below.

could be trout

far out of casting distance;

rushing stream

We climbed down the trail twisting between trees that sometimes clung to the very rock wall on our left. We passed climbers strapped into high tech gear and trail crews scrubbing graffiti. Everyone was in a cheerful mood. I got an ache in my neck from straining to take in the sheer awesome bulk of the rock that rose above us. Trees grew below, beside, in the midst of, and above rock in every shape an size. Roots exposed or sunk into the crevices, each one found a way to flourish and catch the sun.

 

roots in the air

from trees clinging to cliffs;

rocks in the treetops 

Down at the bottom of one of those formations, under a trickle of spring water sliding over mossy rock, we found a tiny pool of muddy water.

 

 

 I bent down to get a closer look and discovered a tiny frog sitting under a leaf in the puddle. He held still for me to take several photos and didn't seem startled to see me hovering over him. Perhaps he is accustomed to ignoring massive shadows looming over his head. He was secure in his fortress; stone wall at his back. 

little frog at home
under the rock wall;
all else is sky

This type of haiku story-writing is called Haibun. It's an old form of prose poem/travel log or journal with haiku poems interspersed between short narrative descriptions, made famous by the 17th c. Japanese poet Basho in his writing The Narrow Road to Deep North. Read more about the form here.

Today's Friday Poetry roundup is hosted at Dori Reads. Enjoy!