Tag Archives: Senryu

Happy Birthday, Viv!

1 Dec

Our lovely Viv is 75 today!

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Viv is still in hospital but on the mend and desperate to access the internet.

To celebrate her birthday, I have written a simple senryu, to complement the one she wrote yesterday, in her hospital bed, on the spot and over the phone to her daughter, who posted it on Viv’s blog.

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Viv has been alive
for seventy-five years.  I
am glad she is here.

Visit her blog and
push her numbers up to
80k.  Make her day.

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Happy Birthday, Viv!  We miss you.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

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Timing Is Everything

15 Mar
WordPress Logo

Image via Wikipedia

Having informed you yesterday that this blog will no longer support poetry, what does the WordPress Prompter throw my way?

Write a haiku about something that drives you nuts.  Remember: 5, 7, 5. [syllables]

Okay, WordPress Prompter; you asked for it (though technically, what you’re asking for is a senryu; if you want us to do something, at least try and get the terminology right):

In Response To A WordPress Prompt

Dear WordPress prompter,
you drive me nuts.  You can do
better.  Have some guts.

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Just a reminder that I have a separate poetry blog now at I’m Not A Verse.  I have added a subscription facility today, so you can have an email to your inbox instead of having to search for me.

Go on!  You know you want to.

Merry Christmas Eve

24 Dec

Apologies for the intermittent nature of my posts this week; you know what it’s like in the run-up to Christmas: shopping, visits out, glasses of wine to drink, visits to us, glasses of wine to drink, turkey defrost calcualtions to maik, glashes of wine to drink, visits to the ductor, washes of gline, preshunts to exshange, clashes of wane to dunk, whine….

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The Hub made apple and meat pies yesterday.  Um, let me rephrase that: the Hub made two apple pies and two meat pies and one apple & mango pie, and fifteen large sausage rolls with proper sausages (it should have been sixteen but I stole a sausage when he wasn’t looking).  The Hub was in bed for six o’clock.  He over-estimated his energy level and the time it would take to bake.  Never mind: the CFS might do for him but at least we’ll eat well.

We will have one of the meat pies for tonight’s dinner.  We didn’t have it last night because I had prepared chicken stoup in my slow cooker.  Chicken stoup is what I call it because I’m not certain if it was stew or soup.  Whatever: it tasted good; who cares what it looked like?

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You will notice the absence of photos on my blog today: I was going to post a picture of the Incredible Bearded Baby but the computer had a hissy fit and refused to play with me.  When the Hub wakes up, I’ll kick him downstairs to come and sort it out.

The prompt for this week’s We Write Poems was to say what you want.  I want to have some serious writing time, but that’s not happening this week, so here’s a senryu I got as a result of two spare minutes in the bathroom:

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What I Want

I want my husband
to be well again.  I want
him to play football

with his children.  I
want our lives back: say what you
want, I don’t aim low.

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But that was too grim so I had fun instead:

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You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Beauty Queen: I want world peace

Megalomaniac: I want the world, piece by piece

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I had planned to write a load more (Old-Fashioned Pudding: I want pease) but I had baking to supervise (i.e. clean up after) so I’ll come back to it in the New Year.

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If you want to know in seventeen syllables who will rule the world after a nuclear holocaust, go to my other blog.

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Sorry if this post is somewhat downbeat for the season, but today is the tenth anniversary of my darling Dad’s death.  He was 64 and lung cancer brought on by lifelong smoking killed him.

He was a funny man, always joking.  I miss him.  I would post a photo if this stupid computer wasn’t sulking.

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That’s enough gloom for today.  Our plans are: a lot of cleaning (me, delegating to Spud); a lot of cooking (turkey & gammon are sizzling in the oven right now); a visit to the cemetery followed by a walk (me, husband, dogs, youngest son); a lot of nail-biting (me: will Tory Boy’s train get through in time?); and a glash or tree of Bick’s Fuzz.

Merry Christmas to you all, or any other holiday you might be celebrating.

Thank you for making my blogging year a successful one!

 

A Temporary Poem

18 Dec

I’ve got a busy day ahead but I wanted to post something; apologies if you have seen this before.  Today’s prompt for Writer’s Island is triumph.  I hope to write something else so this is a stopgap:

Dog Day Afternoon

Spring day; a walk in
the park: the triumph of hope
over effluence.

 

 

 

 

Writer’s Island: Wondrous Senryu

13 Dec

Something sentimental for Writer’s Island.  Don’t expect me to make a habit of it, though:

         ‘Tis Wondrous

                  a loving husband
                         our two beautiful children
                              their hugs and kisses

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We Love Senryu

8 Dec

The prompt for We Write Poems this week was various kinds of love.  I didn’t write all of these senryu in response to that prompt, but it’s my favourite form (you might say I love it) and I have enough about love that I can share with you.  There’s also a short poem I wrote as a teenager in love on my South Africa – A Love/Hate Story blog.

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Talking Point

My son discovered
he loves Shakespeare: now we have
something in common.

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Christmas Eve With Dad

He lived and loved, laughed,
then sighed.  He held my hand.  He
held my hand.  He died.

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A Note For My Mum

An old woman passes me,
smelling of fags and
booze.  I grieve, for she’s not you.

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Friendship

Geese guard a stricken
comrade until it dies or
flies again – how neece.

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Adult Yearner

Married man longs for
someone. It can never be.
She is his wishtress.

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Unconditional Love

I expected to
feel it for my children, but
not for my pet dogs.

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Empty Nest

Forlorn housewife. Heart
heavy like wet washing on
the line. Mothers’ fate.

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Not-So-Modern Marriage 

Selfish man: your wife
will fetch carry clean feed love
you: stupid woman.

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Two Beautiful Things 

A bloody baby
and his brother, screaming their
way into my heart.

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Panic! Only 394 Shopping Days To Next Christmas!

26 Nov

I read these in an email doing the rounds:

  • There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.  Ben Williams
  • Scratch a dog and you’ll find a permanent job.  Franklin P. Jones
  • I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult.  Rita Rudner
  • Anybody who doesn’t know what soap tastes like never washed a dog.  Franklin P. Jones again.
  • The most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog.  Ambrose Bierce
  • If your dog is fat, you aren’t getting enough exercise.  Anonymous

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I got a shock yesterday when I noticed the date – only a month to Christmas!  I have never been so behind in my shopping – I normally start in the January sales and stock up through the year.  My kids are gonna cry come December 25th when all they get is three pairs of socks and a tin of deodorant.

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The prompt for this week’s Big Tent was a wordle.  I used all of the words but I could only manage three senryu, and I’m not particularly happy with them.

Cry Baby

A mother cupped
her baby’s face with a gentle
hand: peace was restored.

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Inspection Passed

Ash-pit re-surfaced;
ancient boiler fork-lifted
away from the site.

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A Reason To Stay Awake

Words clunk from my nib.
Once hung in the air – studied -
lush rhymes will follow.

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 For a linked senryu on what South Africa sounded like to me, go to my other blog: South Africa: A Love/Hate Story.

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