Plastic, or: Fantastic

A haibun

It’s the little things.

The new set of chairs that replaced the ones we’d bought used years ago, which were falling apart. The wireless keyboard and mouse that are both so comfortable to use and easily pack away. The container of wasabi dried peas that I’ve been noshing on.

Today, I’m working from home – in my comfort zone. This is where the magic happens.

familiar plants
goldfish returns stare ~ creature
comforts inform life

Go Dog Go Cafeโ€™s Haibun Wednesday

  • This weekโ€™s prompt is to write a haibun about a place where you find rest or respite.
  • From Poetry.org:
    • In How to Haiku, Bruce Ross writes, “If a haiku is an insight into a moment of experience, a haibun is the story or narrative of how one came to have that experience.”

#TankaTuesday

The above haibun was written for Colleen M. Chesebroโ€™s โ€˜Tanka Tuesdayโ€™ prompt: Poets were prompted to take photos of what their days have been like, then write syllabic forms of their choice.


Let’s write poetry together!

When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

Ben Harper (b. 1969)

Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

56 thoughts on “Plastic, or: Fantastic”

    1. ODE TO THE CHAIR by PABLO NERUDA

      โ€œOne chair, alone in the jungle. In the vinesโ€™ tight grip
      a sacred tree groans.
      Other vines spiral skyward, bloodspattered creatures
      howl deep within the shadows,
      giant leaves drop from the green sky.
      A snake shakes
      the dry rattles on its tail,
      a bird flashes through the foliage
      like an arrow aimed at a flag
      while the branches shoulder their violins. Squatting on their flowers,
      insects
      pray without stirring.
      Our feet sink
      in
      the black weeds
      of the jungle sea,
      in clouds fallen from the forest canopy, and all I ask
      for the foreigner,
      for the despairing scout,
      is a seat
      in the sitting-tree,
      a throne
      of unkempt velvet,
      the plush of an overstuffed chair torn up by the snaking vines – for the man who goes on foot,
      a chair
      that embraces everything,
      the sound
      ground and
      supreme
      dignity
      of repose!
      Get behind me, thirsty tigers
      and swarms of bloodsucking flies โ€“ behind me, black morass
      of ghostly fronds,
      greasy waters,
      leaves the color of rust,
      deathless snakes.
      Bring me a chair
      in the midst of
      thunder,
      a chair for me
      and for everyone
      not only
      to relieve
      an exhausted body but
      for
      every purpose
      and for every person,
      for squandered strength
      and for meditation.
      War is as vast as the shadowy jungle. A single chair
      is
      the first sign
      of peace.โ€

    1. My thumb hit something on my phoneโ€™s keyboard and it generated that โ€œokayโ€. It seems itโ€™s replying on my behalf. ๐Ÿ˜‚

  1. This is great, David! I can relate to using a larger keyboard. Those laptops cramp the fingers, which is why I prefer my desktop if I have to be at the computer for a longer period of time. Your middle line of the haiku cracked me up. I have a saltwater fish tank, so I know that stare. Lol! ๐Ÿ˜‰

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