I am fond of haiku as a poetic form. The Encyclopedia Britannica describes haiku as the "art of expressing much and suggesting more in the fewest possible words" [fn1]. The ability to convey an idea or image in three brief lines, following a (fairly) strict format, seems magical. For instance, here is a haiku by Matsuo BashÅ, who wrote in the 1600s:
On a withered branch
A crow has alighted;
Nightfall in autumn.
I've occasionally tried my hand at creating haiku, but have never shared my poems (and I'm not sure I could find them now - probably they're stuck on a hard drive somewhere). I follow @HumanHaiku on Instagram, and for the month of April (National Poetry Month), they've created daily haiku prompts. I've committed to follow those prompts, and write a haiku each day.
So far, it's been an interesting process. I'm very happy with some of my haiku, and less than thrilled with others. I've never been good at anything that requires introspection, so that's been a real challenge. But, challenges notwithstanding, here are the haiku I've written so far.
April 1 - who you are as a human now Ugh. This is my least favorite of my haiku, but they do get better.
Family and friends, yarn and books, writing, walks with my thoughts and the dog.
April 2 - your childhood When I was twelve, my family was investigating a new church. On a Sunday in August, my mother and I attended our first service at this church. The chapel was simple - no stained glass windows here. In fact, with no air conditioning, the windows were probably open to the sounds of traffic outside. @HumanHaiku shared this one.
A new church, with Mom. Summer light thru windows. Hymns, prayers, welcome. We’re home.
April 3 - your teenage years I wasn't brave enough to actually address my teens! Instead, I wrote about my perspective as an adult, looking back.
Laughing in the food aisle, as songs my teen self lived by play overhead.
April 4 - becoming an adult
I’ve finally learned what should be said, and what ought to be left unsaid.
April 5 - your family Mom was a skilled pianist, but felt that we kids should learn piano from someone else. So she taught other kids, after school, so that we four could take our lessons (piano and other instruments - trumpet, flute, clarinet, violin) elsewhere.
Mom taught piano, then turned around and paid for our music lessons.
April 6 - change
Leaf-crunch yields to snow; snow muds into daffodils. We trust the seasons.
April 7 - your community I was pretty happy with this one.
We break bread, share joy, bear each other’s grief, and so build community.
April 8 - your favorite nature spot
The beagle and I, surrounded by trees, pause for the spring peepers’ song
April 9 - failure Mary Oliver's poem, "The Summer Day," includes the lines "Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?" [fn2] My haiku is a bit of a nod to her language there. I sometimes look at my friends - here a CFO, there a published scholar, this one a mother who started a new career when the little ones grew up - and wonder what they think of my small and quiet accomplishments. Perhaps they shake their heads, but I am content. Among the haiku I've written so far, this is one of my favorites. @HumanHaiku shared this one.
If I am content with my small and quiet life, who’s to say that’s wrong?
April 10 - something you’re learning As I was preparing to retire from my programming job, I imagined myself tidying our home, organizing this room, deep cleaning another. Hah! Why did I think I was suddenly going to morph into this new person?
Before, I couldn’t find time for chores. Now I’ve learned to simply ignore them.
April 11 - something you know to be true
Winter has beauty, but when the cold outlasts the snow, Spring will return.
Tomorrow's prompt is "an accomplishment." Yikes.
fn1: See https://www.britannica.com/art/haiku
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