Expanding Bits of Fiction and Poetry into Haibun, 9

The last two (or is it three?) Bits of Fiction and Poetry I developed into longish short stories didn’t get as much feedback as my expanded poems usually get. I suspect that the decrease in comments have to do with the length of the fiction. While in search of a happy medium, I decided that turning the Bits into haibun (a short dance between prose and haiku) might be the best option. So… yes, the name of the feature has changed… *cough, cough, cough* again.

I’ve listed the poetic Bits I’ve shared on Instagram and Facebook, since “Blood and Midnight”. Leave a comment letting me know which Bit you would like to see grow into a haibun, and I shall develop the one with the most votes. Please make your choice before March 9th, at 11:59pm EST.

1) Which Bit do you wish me to develop into a Haibun?
2) *optional* Why?

Here is the list, my Wicked Luvs:

Scream your love into the world.

Forgiveness is best served with a side order of memory.

Your rose has gone brittle,
but my memories of you bloom
and bloom and bloom.

a leaf bunch
sun-filled for winter—
dry ginkgo

The seasons don’t rob hearts and faces
of beauty; time just changes the way
we know how to feel, and lines stories
and smiles on the pages of our skins.

I love words,
words that tell tales,
that sing poetry and speak
truth. I will handfast pen and paper,
and we’ll birth ideas day after day.
I just love words!

in the night,
my mind births wild things,
my flesh moons

bloomed wild with the moon
and fanged sheep

darkened skies
in her eyes; her mouth,
a blood pit

a soft wing
cradles her bloodless—
wild dreaming

I enjoy peculiar fun.

A living heart can’t be broken
gently. If you are going for love,
go for it hard.

Bits of DarkBits of dark poetry, in love, spilling midnight and grit.
(blacked out from the titles of the blog posts I published last month)

* to see the images of the listed blacked out and handwritten poems, fly over to Instagram*

With Soil, Sweat and Grit

The hike puts a pant in our hearts, leaves us with soil, sweat, and grit on bits of skin few hands can publicly reach without blushing a little. My soles and toes sizzle when I plant them unshod on moist soil. My lips (with a wicked old grin) sigh the delight covering the flesh of my feet. My hiking buddy barks at a squirrel that pays him no mind.

Before the sun can twilight the tips of treetops, I pitch our tent. Firewood isn’t difficult to find—my tree sisters don’t mind sharing their dead bones with a soul who cares for their green.

With shelter and grub set for the night, I peel off my threads and run skyclad for a dip. My pup jumps into the stream first (bark and splash, bark and splash). The river is cleansing bliss. It removes dirt, too, so I scrub myself and the pup. Too soon, my pup strolls away yawning… leaving me to swim alone and to grin at the woods on my own.

dirt coated
white pup in the woods,
lies in shame

linked to dVerse (Haibun Monday, 8)
the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Tuesday Platform)

Puppy Covered in Dirt