Poetry Stretch Results - Hay(na)ku

The challenge this week was to write in the form of hay(na)ku. Here are the results.

Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.

The Widow Speaks

Husband,
Come back.
I miss you.

These
One-way conversations
Satisfy no one.

If
You cannot
Come to me,

I
Must go
Underground to you.

Your
Gray stone
Beckons to me,

The
Words written
On its surface

A
Printed invitation.
Here’s my RSVP.

I
Will not
Be too long.

© 2009 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved.

Heidi Mordhorst of my juicy little universe left this poem in the comments.

Good
morning Tricia
I finally Stretch!

before
trying hay(na)ku
must make lunches

tofu
soy sauce
storebought chocolate pudding

Diane Mayr of Random Noodling left this poem in the comments.

Turkey
sits waiting
frozen solid, wrapped

in
plastic. Innards
removed except for

liver,
gizzard, and
heart soon to

become
additions to
gravy, stuffing, or

kept
for the
dog's thanksgiving treat.

I
ask: what
would the Pilgrims

think
about our
idea of thanks?

Kate Coombs of Book Aunt left this poem in the comments.

One
leaf, shaken
by windy envy.

One
bird, rewriting
a November sky.

One
sound, alarm
clock prodding me.

One
good morning
in the mirror.

One
pillow, making
half a bed.

One
lunch beside
the front door.

One
bowl, one
spoon and cup.

Sometimes
I forget
lonely, but then

Some
days it
eats me up.

--Kate Coombs (Book Aunt), 2009

Kelly Polark left this poem in the comments.

Thanksgiving.
Time to
Stuff the turkey.

Holidays.
Time to
Stuff the human.

January.
Time to
Start your diet!

--Kelly Polark, 2009

Easter of Owl in the Library shares a poem entitled Married to the Military.

Carol Weis left this poem in the comments.

Stirs Up Memories

I
miss Mom
as the holidays

come
upon us.
The thought of

her
easy laugh
and the sweet

scent
she wore
stirs up memories.

I
can smell
her creamed onions

drifting
through the
house as I

peel
the skins
of those small

white
elliptic beauties
ready to drop

them
into a pot
that she once

used
knowing full
well her redolent

essence
will infuse
this reminiscent dish.

© Carol Weis. All rights reserved.

Julie Larios of The Drift Record left this poem in the comments.

Ten
leaves falling,
nine hang on,

Eight
winds blowing -
going, going, gone.

Seven
to Heaven.
Six to sea.

Five
says Four,
please marry me.

Three
leaf babies
in a swirl,

Two
Leaf Boys,
one Leaf Girl.

Susan Taylor Brown left several poems in the comments.

jangled leash calls
snoring dog
awake

***

grandmother's rosewater perfume
calls back
yesterday

***

families
gather happily
but not mine

mine
pretend invisibility
breaking grandma's heart

Linda of Write Time left this poem in the comments.

An Invitation

Children
now grown-
far from home.

Sharing
this holiday
with their in-laws.

Spending
our first
year without them.

Might
be fun-
trying something new.

Thanksgiving
for two-
How about it?

You
and me-
dinner by candlelight?

Stephanie Parsley of sparble shares a poem entitled For Alfred, Visiting From My Daughter's Junior High Science Lab.

Harriet of spynotes left this poem in the comments.

Three

 [a hay(na)ku]

Once,
I had
three small things:


a
white horse
with silver wings


that
fit in
my small palm,


a
tiny green
beetle who buzzed,


and
a pebble
from the river.


I
kept them
in my pocket,


warmed
them between
hands and thighs,


until
the beetle
spread its wings.


Then
there were
only two things.

The
pebble slipped
somewhere toward home.

It
clicked against
the pavement, vanished.


But
the horse
with silver wings,


it
lies in
my pocket still –

As,
I think,
it always will –


to
remind me
of possible flight,

to
remind me
of possible loss,


to
remind me
to hold to

one
true thing
to carry around,


one
horse with
two silver wings,


and
a hand
to hold them.

I tried hard to write about Thanksgiving this week, but sometimes you have to go where the words lead you.

Impossible
is bringing
my father back

but
that’s exactly
what I want

one
more day
alone with him

watching
his strong
hands at work

listening
to strains
of Dixieland jazz

silently
working together
side by side

Impossible
is filling
the enormous hole

in
my heart
and our family

It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.