{poetry 7: haiku, classified}

It is the same song, second verse — I am always whinging how each challenge we set ourselves as Poetry Sisters (plus Sara’s brother JC, who is our collective plus one poet) during this 12 Months, 12 Poems thing is challenging in a different way than the last. I fully expected the three classified ad haiku to be easy-peasy; after all, I do a daily haiku or senryu every National Poetry Month… however, after my learned sisters talked about the form – its purpose and meaning, and the lazy people who just worry about syllable count and not the punch of the final line nor the precise wording nor beautiful language — I started feeling like this was a little beyond me.

Granted, I have been in the U.S. now for a solid week, and am still slightly travel-fuzzed, so I kind of have an excuse. My brain hasn’t caught up; I seem to want to have lunch in the UK, so am waking up between 2-3 a.m. for my usual 1 p.m. repast — it’s doing my sleep no favors. Despite the shortness of the form, the classified theme seemed really overwhelming. I don’t remember ever placing an ad in a paper in my life, and even the simple language – which pay by the word, right? – seemed to elude me. Fortunately, when we opened the group document where we share our work, other people admitted to struggling, and “threw” haiku at the group wall, to see what stuck.

One of the goals of this 12 Months, 12 Poems exercise, for me, at least, is to make friends with failure — to be best mates with mediocrity and intimate with imperfection, — and to move on. I am just going to do that, okay? I don’t really love any of these, except a little, in the way one loves a lost tooth, or a gallstone one has passed. (Not that I’ve ever done that, but when I was in college, my boss… had hers put… in a baby food jar. And brought it to show her student workers. I’ve often thought she probably needed… hobbies…) My feeling on these is that they’re mine – I did them – but it’s still not quite… what I’d call a great job. But, the point is to DO it, right? *sigh* Meh. Whatever.

Daily Grind

CLASSIFIEDS

$.05 per word

Caveat emptor, people.

BUY/SELL/TRADE

for sale: one wardrobe
once owned by True Believer
oak. no secret door.

LOST AND FOUND
Missing: narrative
arc, plot, characters: Greatest
story never told

PERSONALS, MISSED CONNECTIONS
hard-backed bookie seeks
shelf-conscious thriller for close
reading pot-boilers

Local papers in the Poetry Sister Cities are making a killing on ads this week.

The Sara Quarterly has some great ads this month.

The Kelly Traveler has wildlife, and cabana boys – can’t beat that.

The Tricia Courier offers optional head-losing for any boys in the area,

The Liz Intelligencer has an offer on stolen hours,

The Daily Laura offers wrecking balls, and buzzes about personal ads.

And finally, Andromeda Planet is in search of everything, in cheese sauce.


It was so funny how such short snippets of poetry – when we finally managed to get them on paper – revealed so much. That’s the beauty of a shorter form. So much is packed down into succinctness.

More poetry can be found this Poetry Friday at The Opposite of Indifference, which is always an intriguing name for a blog. Cheers! May your garage sales and classified scouring go well this week.

Happy Weekend!

15 Replies to “{poetry 7: haiku, classified}”

  1. I love what you wrote about attempts, possible failures (or on the target, but not as close to center as you’d like), but OWNING it and MOVING ON. Three cheers.

    Three more cheers for the wardrobe poem. Though it does make me sad. Or wistful, like donating my most beloved stuffed animals from childhood this summer…

    1. The Wardrobe poem made me wistful, too —
      Are you still a True Believer if you’ve given up your wardrobe?

      I think maybe they’re in the market for another one… and seeking other doors…

      I am sad about your stuffed animals! – but I guess in your forties, the time has come, maybe, a little?? I am not there yet.

  2. Well, aren’t you fancy! This is wonderful. I’m thinking I probably shouldn’t admit that I have a part of my patella in a little clear rx bottle from one of my knee surgeries 20 years ago. Clearly I need hobbies, too:>) Anyway, I share your feeling. I like my poems ok, maybe more than you like yours, but I don’t have any magic around them. But I agree that one of the magical things about this year is feeling the strength of the group as we share what we wouldn’t normally share. And it feels good!

    I like your Narnia poem, and the Greatest story never told made me laugh…but my favorite is the book one. “shelf-conscious thriller” — heehee. I know this is probably more me than the poem, but it made me feel more OK about the fact that I am NOT a literary writer nor reader. I read to escape into other worlds. And, yes, those other worlds sometimes absolutely change me and my own world. But often, it’s just sheer enjoyment and entertainment. And sometimes I’m a bit ashamed about that because all my writer friends, ahem, are so much more literary than I am. Anyway, I thank you for that poem:>)

    1. Well… somehow, a BONE is one thing, a piece of … calcium that caused you major pain and for which you collapsed at work… not so much. (Although, now I’m going to imagine you doing color guard and flag-flinging with surgically replaced knees!! You Rock!!!)

      We potboiler readers must stick together…

  3. Greatest story never told gets a laugh out of me! And look at you, making much out of what you call “meh”! A whole layout and cool fonts and fun intro and personal story. Not meh, not the poems, not the blog post. I like the revision you did to the wardrobe poem—the oak beginning the line makes me think not only of an oak door, but a live oak, standing, sturdy, with no door, and yet, looking at you, you are transported. I think I still do believe in Dyads and Hamadryads.

  4. I don’t think these are meh at all! The one that really strikes me is the lost and found. I LOVE “greatest story never told.” And like Andi, I appreciate your reference to Narnia.

    Thanks for sharing your struggle. We are sisters in many ways.

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