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.

(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.

Game of Words and Flesh

You are counting my gasps with your lips. I can’t see you, but my skin (and deeper things) can feel every breath your want is tracing over my breast and ribs and hip. “Am I getting warmer?” you say. And your words arch my back because warm burst into flames a mouthful of well-versed licks ago.

I’ve hidden kisses
between my poems and flesh.
Want them? Come… and seek.

 

the wee notes…
– over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, our dearest Rommy asked us “to write a poem that incorporates the idea of a child’s game.” So, I chose to poetize some Hide and Seek.
– I rarely use capitalization in my senryū/haiku, but it felt right for this one.


Sea of Feelings”, by Leonid Afremov