What Do You Feel When You See My Shorts?

Someone told me that the reason she doesn’t care for haiku, senryū, and micro writings in general is “because they are not long enough to make [her] feel anything.” I was… surprised. I mean, I can’t imagine someone feeling nothing after reading, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

I decided to run my own wee experiment. I shared a blackout poem—the heart of the first of today’s poem bits—then, I asked my Instagram friends to tell me what they felt after reading it, what the 5 words brought to mind. Their responses were illuminating. So, of course, I wanted to do something similar here. After you drink in the wee bits below tell me what comes to mind. What, if anything, do they make you feel?

 

imagine, my heart,
but do not pretend to feel—
hollow love’s nothing

 

freedom is twisted
around limbs flayed by winter,
waiting to be freed

 

wilting blooms
sparkle their brightest
at sunset

 

the wee notes…
– the six-word story at the end of the first paragraph has been attributed to Hemingway, but no one is completely sure if he was the first to write it.
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
– yes, the title made me giggle, too.

Hammer Headology

“Granny Weatherwax had never heard of psychiatry and would have had no truck with it even if she had. There are some arts too black even for a witch. She practiced headology—practiced, in fact, until she was very good at it. And though there may be some superficial similarities between a psychiatrist and a headologist, there is a huge practical difference. A psychiatrist, dealing with a man who fears he is being followed by a large and terrible monster, will endeavor to convince him that monsters don’t exist. Granny Weatherwax would simply give him a chair to stand on and a very heavy stick.” ~ Terry Pratchett

 

I know love can rip,

rip the guts out of walls built to kick
maimed wings that believe

freedom is a myth that only happens to some-
one never forced to bleed to live,

live knowing that empathy must be,

be a balance-kissed hammer
always willing to fix the world

or rip

what needs ripping.

 

 

– linked to Hedgewitch’s Friday 55 and Poets United.

(Intentionally) Perverted Senryū

“Country song goes… ‘Rain makes corn, corn makes whiskey, whiskey makes my baby feel a little frisky’. [To which] Jack [age 3] says, ‘Mom, whiskey makes babies?!’” ~ from Parenting, by Caroline Bologna

Yep, the coolest members of the human species are wee hysterical fountains of wisdom… who Create the Best (Unintentionally) Naughty Misspellings. Then, we grow up (on the outside), and the hysteria is totally intentional:

 

T is for tatas…
unless it’s cold (and you’re 5),
then T is for tights

beware of tall Dicks
to keep your neck from snapping,
opt for a short John

penis meals are hard
to swallow, it’s quite all right
to spit for comfort

I hope you laughed, my Wicked Luvs…

…life is always more glorious, when you “armor your-Self
with humor”. Trust me. I know things.