___________________
Part One : Home Alone
___________________
an empty couch
beside me
watching TV
just isn't
the same
all those
stupid things
that would have
frustrated me
I miss them now
acting like
teenagers
on the phone
no, you
hang up first
one white cloud
in a blue
blue sky
where is that
robin I can hear?
night rain
hard against
the window
our double bed
feels much too big
the pillows
smell of her
recalling
the last time
we had sex
sounds echo
through the
dark house
I sleep with
the light on
___________________
Part Two : Night Flight
___________________
let's give Brian
a hand
the flight attendant quips-
last to board
he drunkenly sits
I watch someone
reading their book
who watches me
as I write
this tanka?
streaks of light
in the window
air born
I wonder, will
we all die tonight?
learning to write
tanka on the plane
my lips dry out
while Takuboku's
pages curl
unable to tell
sky from ground
on the wing
a light flashes
red black red black...
before I have
even written
six tanka
the captain announces
we're about to land
I squeeze my dirty napkin
into the empty can
unused straw
don't feel lonely
there is room for you too!
I stop writing
as she checks
my seatbelt
last line forgotten...
____________________
Part Three : Hotel Lives
____________________
in the hotel room
frantically looking
for condoms
all we find
is a bible
Dear John,
Fuck this is some
sexist crap.
Sincerely,
The Corinthians
once in the
afternoon
again in the
evening
do not disturb!
composing tanka
at 3am in
the morning
she sleeps while
I watch cartoons
five floors down
five floors up
do I really
need another
cigarette?
watery
moon
smoke in
the cold
air
plenty of
room on
the elevator
why don't the
cleaners join us?
after three
days apart
even holding
hands gives
me a hard on
when we
get back
from breakfast
our room
tidied by ghosts
___________________________
Part Four : Hang on to your ego
___________________________
sun
then rain
then sun
again
cabin fever
the walls
of the room
close in
as the space
between us grows
arguing
all afternoon
why can't
I let go
of my pride?
she is in
the shower
I sit on
the bed
fuming
last day
in the hotel
we pack
our bags in
silence
there is
no poetry
in our fights
just a lot of
useless words
I am sorry!
she is sorry!
sometimes
it is not
enough
our anger
disappears
as we realise
eventually
one of us will die
she throws up
in the toilet
I am reminded
how much
I love her
struggling
each day to
like myself
how could I forget
so is she!
________________________
Part Five : Homeward Bound
________________________
we stare
at each other
in disbelief
what the fuck
is leaving tax
oblivious of
other passengers
we hang
on the sky's
every word
snow melts
coming down
the mountains
rivers turn
into seas
white peaks
through the clouds
below
imperceptible
planes
lakes no
bigger than
my palm
trees become
fingers
pockets full
of air
hearts
in our
throats
how long
must the earth
have journeyed
she weeps
with joy
chasing
the sun
set
red
horizon
dusk
descending
lights
up the
runway
home
so glad
I cleaned
before
I left
recovering
from our
holiday
takeaways
and television!
(August, 2008)














Devious Comments
Comments
--
glad you enjoyed them!!
next part will be up soon.
--
"We are intent on reducing art to its simplest expression, which is love." (Andre Breton)
--
--
"We are intent on reducing art to its simplest expression, which is love." (Andre Breton)
reading their book
who watches me
as I write
this tanka?"
That provokes quite a thought! I often wonder things like that, myself. Sometimes I just like to watch people and their fascinating mannerisms, and it's nice to feel that someone could also be taking the same interest in you.
I like how you can make everyday life so poetic. Keep 'em coming!
--
these are inspired by Takuboku who was into a journal approach to tanka. he even said that poetry should approach prose to the limit, and almost become prose, in order to reveal its poetry... a total opposite to the usual Western logics which would seek to differentiate the two clearly...
glad you are enjoying them. Set three will obviously be the coming together of the two lovers (in Hamilton of all places - known as a real hole of a place in NZ).
--
"We are intent on reducing art to its simplest expression, which is love." (Andre Breton)
--
yeah - I have been trying to get th passage of time to occur in the poems from day to night. I a ctually reorganised Chapter One to get it to flow better in terms of this.
thanks again for the lovely comments!
best,
Dick
--
"We are intent on reducing art to its simplest expression, which is love." (Andre Breton)
Hope you are well.
--
"We are intent on reducing art to its simplest expression, which is love." (Andre Breton)
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