Ficktion (Not Quite On) Friday: Crown of Haiku. Sort of.

A crown of sonnets is seven sonnets which begin each with last line of the previous. The advanced version of this is seen in A Wreath for Emmett Till where the poet writes fifteen sonnets and the last sonnet is composed of the first lines of ALL THE SONNETS IN THE CROWN.

It is a stunning feat — one I am nowhere near able to do, not having time or patience. But I can do a mini-wreath of haikus.

Holy God, love die hard

Holy God, love dies

Hard. In the ink black night, cold,

It still burns, alone.

It still burns, alone.

Undying ember cherished,

Though it burns our laps.

Though it burns our laps,

A cinder glows, defying


Holy God, love dies

Hard. Her ink-smeared note still prays

Help to cut the cords.

Holy God, love dies hard.

This poem of sorts is in response to this week’s picture Lost A Way in the Umbilical Cord of the World, taken by Flickr user Anastasia Y. Maleeva. More fiction this last week of October with the Usual Suspects, maybe, but none through November, so here character sketches will continue. TTFN.

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