Thirteenth Saturday

Seagull circles, lands,
Pecks at food scrap, changes mind,
Floats on rippling waves.

Second gull soars in,
Tries same scrap. Same opinion.
Bobs beside his bud.

Big blackback swoops down.
Others lift off, flap away.
Empty kingdom’s his.

fog 004

3 comments

  1. Been reading haiku poetry, reading old masters, reading definitions, reading modern….. my conclusion, even though writers deviate from 5-7-5 three line work, there has to be a cadence, rhythm for pleasing readability? Even when the obvious is to jar the senses? Or is it like other art forms… a time and phase for everything? Like your images and your haiku!

  2. SJ Rozan says:

    Thanks, Marilyn. My take on haiku: the 5-7-5 is pretty hard-and-fast in Japanese. (Though not in translation; the words suffer if the translator focuses on the syllable count.) In English I try to maintain that. Also, each line is a complete thought, no running over to the next line. That’s a nuance I didn’t know when I started but now I adhere to it. They need to be about nature, or at least, real, solid things, not thoughts or ideas. And it’s good if they deliver a little surprise. Those are the concepts I’m working with, anyway.

  3. Thanks SJ! I like the rhythm of the 5-7-5. The compactness of a few images to describe fleeting moments of nature appeal to me. Appreciate the concepts of “no running over to the next line.” It seem natural. Have been in the doldrums, last summer had two cataract surgeries, now have to do drops for glaucoma. There is a tipping point, a time when adding on years is no longer a positive. This summer last two grandkids are getting married, June and late July. Thanks again for the haiku pointers…. am challenging myself to either paint or write EACH day! Have to get out of this funk…. Always enjoy your posts, writings and images. Yesterday’s snow attempt:

    A dressing, soft, white,
    A cape? A bowler? A spine?
    Intermediate!

    Earth lay blanketed.
    As finches land, snowflakes fall.
    Sparkle, then a drop.

    The sun’s warmth… magic
    Uncovering the pine bough,
    The burr oak laid bare.

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