mollusk

uncertain fate... the country killing  feminism  . old families'  sleep in today... finishing a workssenhift  *'old family' wealthy folks . ready to go— a cute man  flirts with me

with few words, a senryu about what exactly 

having a young lover my breathing becomes another's . Republicans  of mama's generation... extinct  .

workshift—  Blues creepin' in  everything i do and say

Bacon's Rebellion— revolting has always been America's habit

soup in cup— few back-office deals  fall through . 'what is humanity...'  clown's makeup  a bit smeared . cheap tuna for dinner, ink stains on my fingers  . dandelions growing  another unanswered  phone call  . our world... every day more and more  unrecognizable  . beach-side business closed even Hell's gates closed . voting women  identifying with male oppressors.... lots'o *Patty Hearsts *granddaughter of American publishing magnate William Randolph Hearst. She was kidnapped and subsequently indoctrinated by her kidnappers in 1974 leading to extreme Stockholmes Syndrome . floating world floats on... Black folks  still despised  . after-work tiredness missin' my reflection  in wall mirror  . political advice from celebrities... slippery slope . hotel guest's  quiet 'good mornings...'  even quieter rainpour . acorn rain— this life aint sweet cotton-candy livin'  . bus ride— seated next to  someone's mistress .

parents deceased... at 42 am i  an orphan?

swirl of brown wind my son comes out to me . powerwashing i  shrug  off a fallen leaf . café lunch—his spice colored coat fits too too snugly . Gibsom St—full of shops full of greedy folks  . afternoon funeral procession bowed dandelion heads . someone give me liquor'  refrain playing  in my mind  .

slaying dragons  in wild dreams  my daughter shifts positions sleeping

a brown coat left behind— untimely dispute  between my man and i  after dinner 

 unable to call... a single candle with low flame ready to go— a cute man  flirts with me 'old families'  sleep in today... finishing a workshift  *'old family' wealthy folks uncertain fate... the country killing  feminism  with few words, a senryu about what exactly  Republicans  of mama's generation... extinct  having a young lover my breathing becomes another's Bacon's Rebellion— revolting has always been America's habit bus ride— seated next to  someone's mistress acorn rain— this life aint sweet cotton-candy livin'  workshift—  Blues creepin' in  everything i do and say hotel guest's  quiet 'good mornings...'  even quieter rainpour political advice from celebrities... slippery slope after-work tiredness missin' my reflection  in wall mirror  floating world floats on... Black folks  still despised  voting women  identifying with male oppressors.... lots'o *Patty Hearsts *granddaughter of American publishing magnate Wil

 spiced-rum cookies...he and i have second date

daily smothered with  Congressional highjinks... people perpetually annoyed 

Congress controversies:  more of those than helpfully passed legislation 

 quite bored—walkin' off with hotel desk's writing pen 

political commentators— many remarks like haiku poets' '*old pond' critiques *Basho's 'old pond' hokku 

Trump... quickly changing the subject  to a lesser horror 

Traditional Senryu:  full of sharp criticism  on popular subjects

 for a moment: jotting down many 'Current Events' senryu 

Gulf war memories... today more exhausted  with human condition  

Racism— quite fashionable for some with or without garnish (The current climate now allows for folks to be completely opened about their Racism/Prejudice like having a dish of food with or without garnish)

 'Dateline' reruns—still this nation reels and stumbles along 

Been trying to write within an 'approximate fixed form,' based on counting the number of words used in a ku as told to me by #tanka poet, Dr Kozue Uzawa. In a few examples, Dr Uzawa showed that the 'typical' ku is usually made up of roughly 8 Japanese words. This notion is what she advocated for #tanka poets. She pushed that instead of counting syllables; one could count the # of words they use. She said that it typically takes between 10-15 Japanese words to make a typical #tanka. For English poets, she suggested...10 to 15 words, or the max of 20 English words to make a tanka. The # of words in a #tanka (and now senryu/haiku) would become the approximated fixed form. Thanks to her and to translator and haiku poet, @AsurasHaiku about 8-10 words are used to compose ku. So ive been challenging myself to stick within that framework to see what I can come up with in terms of content and resonance etc. Its very interesting.

nation wrapped up  in homegrown fear... human decency dead

Republican Party:  kid no one wants  at Birthday celebration

hush-money payments  to Stormy Daniels— i need patron

Columbia's Police Raid... Fascism starts with  smothering free-thought

 "mo bébé  everyone's a little conservative."  percolating coffee  

  Conservatism: when did this word become the Right's

 Conservatism— i m everything it hates Black, Queer, Liberal

finishing up paperwork immensely proud  of college protesters 

Gaza protests— revolution breaking out  on college campuses

world at war— tik tok ban signed over roast beef

holiday resort— all working class people  commuting to work

bought an inexpensive fountain pen— cards and letters written

in corner speaking conspiratorially, ordering more drinks the color black, delightful—silence of the hotel watching Winter leave, reluctant to embrace Summer's coming  multiple prayers said...bitter aftertaste of my coffee fireflies on the breeze, everything up in the air midlife crisis: wedding ring missing from his hand vandalism—we create our own brands of hell... my insecurities: oozing out in heavy heavy black ink  platforms bought on Etsy, indifferent moon indifferent me  quickly smoking... back in traincar world in a blur moon's death-shine: monk's lighting candles in silence

DEI gutted... a 'colorblind' society isn't  that noble 

small crack, porcelain heart on a red cushion 

10 minute walk in my thoughts ordering  Christmas lights 

coming rainpour ironing and re-ironing  the work shift

airbrushed photographs what world is this we live in

paper fans folded out of thin  red paper

this urban merry-go-round, murder now big business

pants ive outgrown: many changes in this fleeting life

season of painted dolls, returning to a cold apartment

string of profanity, cold silence on the train home 

  lopsided moon---tonight defining what ´hiraku´ verses are

argument downstairs... such is  tenement living 

 mirrored in water, variety of emotions crossing my face

 muddy work gloves, simple things please my man 

  start of day: handwritten letter over fried eggs

  in black shoes, tiptoeing 'round my sanity

 Summer coming, we'll stand in center of jade hell 

 philosophy—in rain or sun, there is only me

 asking Congress for gun reform: nothing but highjinks and zingers 

 rip in cocktail dress, don't feel so confident now

grandma's silver lining: "a thief's smile  is still a smile"

 Inoue Kenkabo, July 1, 1870 – September 26, 1934  #senryu renovator put in place by Shiki. He and His wife Nobuko were master senryu poets and spearheaded a renaissance within the genre, called 'Shin Senryu' (New Senryu). Attached is his principle for this 'New Senryu.' My Principle on the New Senryu” Kenkabo Inoue   　My principle is egalitarianism. It is liberalism. It is a simple principle that there is no discrimination between high and low, except for the one who is the top of the human race. 　I was born in Choshu. I am related to Yoshida Shoin, Takasugi Togyo*1, and Terashima Touzan*2, and I was indoctrinated by their principles and conduct, so I take their minds as my own. At the same time, they were egalitarians. They were liberalists. 　My principle for the new senryu poem is to make this short poem a thoroughly popular art form. 　I think it is only natural that every member of the public should write poems and sing what he or she has created. No, I believe that

in  church where i lose my faith...

it doesn't ring true... 'promises' of a campaigning politician 

dilapidated factories abandoned. falling apart... lives of daylaborers

closely following man... shadow of  my blooming lust

 adult's tension - quickly broken by   child's laughter

child's prayers: moves hearts of  God and demons

reading Kenkabo-san and Jiro-san's senryu— boring night  *Inoue Kenkabo - senryu master and renovator of the senryu genre at the beginning of 20 cen. *Aso Jiro one of the 'Rokutaika' '6 Great Senryu Masters' of mid to late 20 cen

wine spilled on table cloth— race so messy

 calling Creole things Cajun, no more dates with him

Judicial Committee— empty rituals  now newsworthy

 'im Creole, not American' distaste deepens between folks 

talk of Cajun identity: things become slightly heated

clothes in pile on floor, my life's like a piñata wearing green: this evening no one says a thing 

in the silence sailing  on a wild dream slicing several  white melons 

thin rain, not moving not doing a thing  yellow tulips: inexpensive candles in the dark  sober tonight...          the need to work  a trite thing bayou heat—    family dressin' up for a *Fe Dodo *a dance, ball in Kouri-Vini heated day, American flag drenched in stickiness  mumbling prayers, my mind full of thoughts and... child's storytelling, sudden desire to laugh out loud  list'nin' to zydeco, in distance the Louisiana/Texas boarder with clumsy fingers, handling a thimble while sewing  making *boudin, *Tant Blé's dress a scandalous red *boudin: spicy sausage made from rice and pork *Aunt Blue in Kouri-Vini (a descendant of the poet) some lives are complicated, wild cane grows real wildly  fresh manicure: drunken man stumbles around town artistically nonchalance—        suppose that's the child between 'love' and 'hate'  disdain—coming Summer with its 'friends' heat and humidity unknown festival— sticky- notes all over bathroom mirror

#senryu, like #tanka; allow for any and every type of story (personal and other) to be told. they are perfect vehicles for telling/showing the minutiae of Life, Self, Others, Thoughts etc.

alone  this Sunday night hoping  no customers stop by or disturb my inactivity 

overcast afternoon... ive absorbed all of Wednesday's weariness... crunchiness of a carrot along the brown fence what remains of sanity insanity and humanity's dignity something deep down in me begging for something...

slow afternoon-exacting my revenge:-pink slip... pennies-at bottom of drawer:-domestic living slate grey skies, what i remember most about *mémèr *grandma in Kouri-Vini rock in pond, my reflection shudders for minutes River of Heaven—humans walk along its bottom scribbling meaningless verse, its Wednesday im tired in my boredom, polishing my halo...Caravaggio smiles wind passing-through my bones-willow trees bloom in grey wind, adjusting how i appear to others

 Race... the great instrument of confusion pruned shrubs, when did i become such a cynic no lover, across town summer temps arrive much earlier well-done steak, another shift another bout of misanthropy pansies: this frustration of approaching summer and allergies old wheelbarrel—can't make heads or tails of life artsongs by Wolf: my toast a bit burnt this morning androcentric society—losing myself in honeysuckle and dandelion seeds tribal masks: discovering expressions i didn't know existed

 in casual dreams, swimming through kelp and worries (in memory of the 900 souls that died under People's Temple pastor; Jim Jones) 1978: in Guyana, 900 die from madman's fruit-juice been away...the bright orange of Fanta soda eating carrot chips, and still senryu burn in me lopsided rainpour, my aversion to 'white' Jesus quite strong brainwashing: black woman not allowed to shop downtown within the rain, my roots turn translucent—i think still tired, poetic output slows down for a minute

  #senryu and #freerhythm #haiku or #jiyuritsu #haiku are ideal for documenting the minutiae of everyday life. every fleeting happening, thought—whatever; in my humble opinion.

weary, whispering my angst to a goldfish onions in stew: stern look on his face boring—he never sees the magic of the moon lawn mowed...lunch will be sardines out a can season of plover bushes and sudden divorces Noh drama on tv— my life has no ratings in bed, Kurosawa film watches me midmorning coffee, barely hiding my irritation in raindrops, becoming blooming spider lilies woman carrying groceries, sun shining aslant with attitude

 this customer service life... a mish-mash of entitlement and people wanting everything

 Chinese citron— now home sinking into bath pulling double-shift dog-star shines dimly in me in my smile traces of midnight melatonin moon— still at work doing a double to be human, to be redundant machine i think pushing babystroller, today overly cloudy for my taste my income aint great, everyone's smile sorta strained overnight shift and double, slight headache behind eyes moving through coffee-scent: this morning unmopped floors money spent ordering fragrances online: one small delight slice of life: toy soldier's missing their heads spring day overcast wishing i were in pajamas double-shift working: listening to zydeco to pass time for this level of sleepiness: jotting down senryu high off coffee, feelin' the 'crash' coming slowly Sunday morning: all God's children wandering aimlessly around me weariness inside me spits out night: sterile lights in black shower-cap: my eggs overdone i believe Sunday painter in my mind, suppressing a yawn hum of vacuum clean

 new day, unsure where everything lies

prayers  poured out  in five  lines  down  good will  carried in the skin  of tanka  pungent pine needles  lull me to sleep 

  Here is the article "Senryu Vs Haiku" from 'Frogpond 17-2, 1994' by Professor Hiroaki Sato https://www.hsa-haiku.org/frogpond/backissues/17-2-Frogpond-1994.pdf below are snapshots of the article.

 * Relatedly loving your recent socialism alluding poems, I gotta get back to reading more theory asap, that stuff rocks worlds! ⚒️✨🤩 🤎 2:13 AM thank you!!!!! taking a page out of Marlene Mountain's book (with all her feminism, environmental, political) ku and some of the ku of senryu masters like Akira Tsuru and Aso Jiro who wrote 'personal' senryu but also what is known as 'Jiji Senryu' or 'Socialistic/Political focused ku)....so as I grow older and look around at our world...i see material for writing about our present realities as well as my personal stories (hope that makes sense). Its amazing how it used to be a time when reality writings (poetry and otherwise) were not a thing but most poetry and writings in my opinion were escapist and based on these ooey-gooey notions of alternate realities; kind of like soap operas and the like....but maybe with the rise of Pound and then the Beat Poets and such, reality and the 'what's actually going on'

There's a 'Frogpond' haiku magazine article from 1994 written by Prof. Hiroaki Sato; that was titled "Senryu Vs Haiku." In the article he details a roundtable interview that feat. gendai haiku, senryu and tanka poets. One of the poets intimated that the onus......for distinguishing itself was NOT on #senryu but was for #haiku to do. I found that to be an amazing thought. When I read that I wondered to myself...'what if its actually #haiku that diverted from the essence of 'Haikai' and not #senryu.' the Haikai tradition...celebrated the earthy, playful, light, silly, clever, humorous in everyday life and was a reaction to the High Renga tradition that came to dominate. Basho started out writing such low haikai like verses but eventually grew tired with it and wanted writings that were more poetic and full of substance (at least that is what i've gotten from the few books ive read about him.) Most folk know that #haiku is patterned after the '

all the ghosts of past customers gather in the lobby looking to me  for some answers

Waste treatment plant— wanting someone  to break me down lovingly 

 Billboards— on this stretch of highway i move beyond myself

Whispering river— tonight's Fèt is where we  conduct our affair.

 time— a stubborn stream moving sometimes  slow sometimes fast ignoring our screams and protests

arriving home no words spoken  settling  into a hot bath  dirt of the day pools around him 

 around violets, spilling the remains of my shame  unconcerned: at midnight labormen trudging toward cars

 overcast afternoon... ive absorbed all of Wednesday's weariness... crunchiness of a carrot along the brown fence what remains of sanity insanity and humanity's dignity something deep down in me begging for something...

slow afternoon-exacting my revenge:-pink slip... pennies-at bottom of drawer:-domestic living slate grey skies, what i remember most about *mémèr * grandma in Kouri-Vini rock in pond, my reflection shudders for minutes River of Heaven—humans walk along its bottom scribbling meaningless verse, its Wednesday im tired in my boredom, polishing my halo...Caravaggio smiles wind passing-through my bones-willow trees bloom in grey wind, adjusting how i appear to others

 pacing quietly— there are ripples in my  black-black coffee * around midnight having few pieces of toast— what happens next...

 in and out  of a stupor— on and on  the tv drones 

 this Friday evening  the piling of different words different images to express. to remember

 magpies  and all sorts of  things  completing an overnight workshift with the help of liquor in and out  of this world the smile of God seen in  a pile of dead leaves

 on the edge of all reason  blue fire— tonight i crochet a memory blanket for the dead ones  burning a pile of leaves i hurl  all my thoughts and all my emotions into a steady five lines down Coka-Cola laced with Patron... on this overnight shift  thinking of 'red scares' and the future of this floating world  *red -scare: reference to McCarthyism that swept the US during the Cold War era with fear of Communism etc barefeet creating tracks  in wet sand down by the beach i watch  him disappear in waves empty lobby  and still the uncomfortable presence of thoughts  and traumas and fears staring in a mirror can i smile can i move these facial muscles and command them to show a joy i do not feel burnt coffee and this struggle to feel alive to make sense of every inhale // exhale 

 burning leaves: ignoring a 'Dateline' episode for bed

 nearing 5 a, telling self 'go to bed' quickly

 peonies burning red, i can't shake this drowsiness . needing sleep  tonight  i avoid  this ringing phone   . with tired eyes  this old me watching tv— unfinished drink

 enjoying penny candy, living Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451"

 burning and burning - a scarlet dahlia when i should be asleep - watching television . beyond 3a walking up and down the stairs a neighbor's argument heard through the walls . quite drowsy at this time trying damn hard to weave words into poems . mums - cosmos - honeysuckle - and red maples making new senryu out of Issa's haiku . over romanticization - waiting  for the hamburger i ordered to arrive tonight . my bathtub faucets need replacing ... Friday morning - i stay in my bed all day . tonight young men passing through courtyard on the futon fighting this drowsiness  .    

enjoying Turkish Delight im partial to Madam Mao . my thoughts spilled fishbowl marbles this evening  . prisoner to  tangled sheets house empty of sanity . planting perennials eating tuna from a can . aimless flags i consider becoming a Socialist. a Communist... . banned books-we smile big in chosen ignorance 

in dreams i stockpile  image on top of image... wind through my bones . 'oblivious...' in my blackness i embody  Ralph Ellison's  'Invisible Man' . wild tulips in the soul of a man not fully a man but a half one . some tanka are written in two lines... focusing on the 'kire' not lines or syllables

 having stayed up all night i head to bed only for a few hours . what's the difference between tanka strings and tanka sequences or tanka clusters . enjoying a plate full of pancakes... are those a kigo i don't care

thin rainpour-becoming one with-incense and darkness

camisole changed:-therapy session for-Presidential couple

warm toast-he and i sink-into black tea

courtyard:-seeing a chocolate cosmos-i hate that man

fragrant rose-two women-share passionate kiss 

administration's end-does the office furniture-leave as well

mid spring-realizing i live in-some Noh drama

Rosh Hashanah!-working so much-forget to clean glasses