Opinion

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai’s “Use That Quote”

The quote  – “forget not that the Earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair” Khalil Gibran

image

footprints
and her long flowing hair
-a memory

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Carpe Diem Haiku – hunger moon

This feature is very similar with the other Special feature “Make The Haiku Complete”. So if you would read more than visit  “Carpe Diem Haiku Kai”

Here is the First Line to use in the haiku. 
hunger moon

“Hunger Moon” is the name of the full moon of January as it is mentioned in Thomas’s ‘Old Farmers Almanac’ (founded in 1792). During this month the wolves once roamed the countryside, thus suggesting the name wolf moon. In cold and temperate climates of the Northern Hemisphere, it was difficult to find food during January, thus the name hunger moon.

hunger moon
I put my pen down
and pick up my sword

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Carpe Diem’s “Little Ones” #9, American Sentence (also 17 syllables)

A poetic form developed by Allen Ginsberg in the mid-1980′s as a response to the haiku.  If haiku involved seventeen syllables down the page, he reasoned, American Sentences would be seventeen syllables across the page–an attempt to more accurately “Americanize” a form that had previously translated only roughly across the Pacific into the context of American poetry.

Like (rough) English approximations of the haiku, American Sentences work closely with concision of line and sharpness of detail.  Unlike its literary predecessor, however, it is compressed into a single line of poetry and included a reference to a month and year (or alternatively, a location) rather than a season.

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In the morning breeze over the meadows an Irish harp is plucked

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Carpe Diem ~ Haru Ta (Spring Paddy)

carpediem

patchwork of greens
sudden explosions and napalm
craters of brown

The United States unleashed a secret carpet bombing campaign on this country for nearly a decade, dropping 260 million cluster bombs – the most heavily bombed country in history, with more than 2.5 million tons of munitions during 580,000 bombing missions – equal to a planeload of bombs every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for 9 years  – more than all bombing by all belligerents in World War II, or 210 million more bombs than were dropped on Iraq in 1991, 1998 and 2006 combined.

Of 75 million bombs that failed to detonate, less than 1 percent have been cleared, and 25,000 people have been killed or injured by these bombs in the 35 years following the end of the bombing campaign. Today, an average of 300 people are injured or killed every year by these weapons, about half of them children, and most of the rest working men.

The economy is almost entirely agricultural (rice, in particular) yet one-third of the land remains littered with unexploded bombs.

Between 1996 and 2012, the U.S. contributed on average $2.6M per year to a general United Nations unexploded bomb clean-up program; the U.S. spent $17M per day for nine years bombing the country.

The U.S. spent as much in three days bombing of the country ($51M) as it spent for clean up over 16 years ($51M).

The country is Laos.

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विकर कुर्सी में

And then it happened. She was gone. A micro hurricane of swirling dust and stinging eyes as the bus bounced and rattled to a near-stop then suddenly sped up again and hurtled away.

“Who were you?” I thought, only minutes after she’d left. “What do you do, in your foreign land?”

She had stayed the night, back pack and all, but I’d sat in the wicker chair as she rested her tired eyes.

Leaving, she had taken the mango and given me a peck on my cheek, her eyes gleaming with freshness and fun.

.

polishing shoes again
dreaming of another friendship
no matter how short-lived

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Magpie Tales – The Letter

once

there was a world
where a simple hello

meant a pen
ink

the right paper
the right scratching…

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One Drop

How far we have come. How far we have gone. Yet our life force still lies within the simple rain drop and in the fall it makes from the nourishing sky. It is when walking in nature that one notices, feels and sees the colourful effects of the life force in droplets.

Yet there are many who won’t walk out of the front door without umbrella, and hide from the rain. What a pity. I have seen farmers look up and smile into the rain, and seen bedouins of the desert take deep breaths and enjoy the new, fresh scent of cooling raindrops.

one drop of rain
at the end of a pine needle
on the tall pine tree

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Ode To Traffic Wardens

I used to hate
traffic wardens
when I was a slave to society
but now I see them
for who they are
our holy warriors
slaying dragon cars
appearing just on time
to lay down a beautiful fine
their little sword a pen
but oh don’t be mistaken
its a mighty weapon
and their shield the simple note pad
which such style they wield

Yes! Oh yes!

…oh thee of tight uniforms ankles bare
our proud holy warriors
marching in your ranks
to my eye you bring a tear
the dobermans of an Orwellian animal farm
and part of our war against terroni
on behalf of nations and corporations
yes hail the heroes who set us free!
they are veritably our kindred kind
how I’d love to put my arms around your neck
advance fair until a car be found
or hope for a delivery truck
to which an orgasmic ticket written
feels better than a …Original Sin

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Meditation

sand
dunes
ripple
grains textured 
in intricate waves
a horizon that slowly moves
more slowly than each deep breath taken in under the sun
and slower than the path it takes from morning to night – so dream slow, breathe deep, think of waves

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Friday Fictioneers – Last Known Words of HMG Gurrumul, Lead Explorer of the Queen Bentafrou Antartic Expedition, date and year unverifiable

…Ladies and gentlemen who may read, I fear these may be my last known words, not for want of trying, but because one does want posterity to keep a kind eye cast and not a presumptuous giggle, and it is clear my colleagues and I are rapidly succumbing to the effects of unverifiable collective delirium.

I enclose the film for you to process if found, to see if indeed we have ‘lost it’ as they say. But we have walked by a mirage of a river and fauna in the Antarctic sun for hours and are too weak to continue. Surely the photo will show snow, no more-

Friday Fictioneers found here –  http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ Thank you, Rochelle

Photograph by kind courtesy – http://erinlearywrites.com/

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Meditation Haiku

sound of bell
meditation stops
haiku starts

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Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, Dance with the trees

I never once walked in my forest with a feeling of wasting time. I never walked my daily forest walk and did not learn something, never went into the forest without coming out with more.

A forest supplies more than meditative energy. There are answers there, even before you ask the questions. If I go with my neighbour from across the hill, our conversation is always different among the trees. She walks barefoot on the pine needles most days of the year, until the snow comes, and ever since she started doing so, her health improved.

I try not to miss one day. We try not to. When we do, we feel it. 

the answer
is when the wind blows
dance with the trees

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People gravitate away from conflict which usually leaves the platform for the minority of bigots to dominate. We see that in our politics. We see that at our churches. We see that in our corporations. If more people got the courage to step up to the plate, not only on racial issues but socioeconomic issues, society would be much more tolerant, inclusive, and fair. Everyone must go out on a limb and step up to the plate.

Egberto Willies (via thesmithian)

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Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, Wild Flower

kyoka today, I think! A touch of controversy always a pleasant tune to play..

in front of dark clouds
her bright emerald eyes
a flower in hand, thorn in foot
blood onto innocent heather
and I want her milky white breasts

[youtube=http://www.youtube.c…

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Ese’s Quote & Shoot- Intricate

052

I believe the most intricate plot won’t matter much to readers if they don’t care about the characters.
Jeff Abbott 

ese’s quote and shoot challenge

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But If You’re Talking About Destruction You Can Count Me Out/In

”The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall.”

(Che Guevara)

‘Revolutionary’, in the image of the brutal if sincere Che, has a positive, romantic flair much in the same way as to ‘nurse’ something along is positive, and to ‘doctor’ it isn’t, inexplicably.

But nursing things along is not what revolutionising is all about, according to Che, and I dare say he knew. It is about short, sharp shocks. However, the problem with revolution’s revolutionaries is the penchant for reinstalling a ”past”, instead of wanting to take society a step forward. Granted, the laws of physics apply fully to politics: every action demands an equal reaction. How else could we explain Hitler, Pol Pot, Ayatollah Khomeini and Pinochet? How else could we explain the swing the Republicans took  in USA, that sees them now seeking to ‘moralise’ while calling for ‘less government’?

Revolutions can work long-term.  1776 is the classic, as was the French revolution, kind of, and the Haitian revolution against slavery in 1791 (though massive repayments to previous slave owners after the successful revolution permanently damaged the nascent Haiti’s prospects).

Maybe Che Guevera was an exception, but his masters, or minders in Moscow – whether he liked them around or not – were among the most conservative of all, and the Soviet revolution had long lost its way. But Che’s early writings show a doctor horrified by poverty in latin America and its blatant causes, for which the North American and European continent heartedly contributed to.

Tonight 409 years ago, a revolutionary at the other end of the evolutionary scale called Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the houses of parliament, in order to restore a Catholic monarch to the throne. The 5th November has now accordingly become Guy Fawkes night in much of England, when British boys and girls blow their fingers off with fireworks instead. Hopefully not too many this year.

An effigy of Guy Fawkes, wheelbarrowed around streets by children mysteriously asking for ”a penny for the Guy” is followed by the tossing of the straw-filled figue onto a large bonfire in towns and villages nationwide.

The real Guy Fawkes fared little better, and was duly hung, drawn and quartered in the best tradition.

Guy Fawkes night needs to be expanded, to symbolically include all the fanatics and fundamentalists who have found their way through the woodwork, as worms do when the foundations are rattled. The trouble is that the foundations do need rattling. Strongly. Catch-22.

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Ese’s Shoot & Quote Challenge – Ugly

For the past few years I have found Autumn galling and ugly. This year, for the first time, I'm starting to find beauty in the concept.

For the past few years I have found Autumn galling and ugly. This year, for the first time, I’m starting to find beauty in the concept.

I think it's safe to say that not many would argue that knives through the skull is a pretty ugly before,after and during experience...

I think it’s safe to say that not many would argue that knives through the skull is a pretty ugly before, after and during experience…

 

The quote~

 

I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.

Winston Churchill

 

 

 

ese’s challenge

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Trifecta ~ Blossoms Of Blood

Prompt: BLOOD (noun)

  • response must be between 33 and 333 words.

~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3“If we each slice our palms then press them together we’ll be blood brothers,” he said, knife in hand. He started to cut a long gash in the corner of his palm. I took the knife and quickly followed suit. We clasped hands together for a few long moments in tribal salute, raising them to the sky.

“Now we share the same blood, man, ” he said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“We’ll stand up for each other, an’ look after each other,” he added.

I did, and looked after him for a few long years. Sure, I knew he was gay but that never affected our friendship. When he died he was in agony and I was there. I was there at his funeral too, with a few forlorn figures in the pouring rain, bare branches dripping, splattering onto our coats; icy water seeping into our souls. No doubt I’ll be there again shortly.

He didn’t know he had it, then, or I like to think he didn’t. But I’ve got it now. It’s in my blood, and it’s only a matter of months. What I hate most are the stupid blossoms sprouting on trees. Basically they are bacteria, growing, multiplying, happy to show off the passing of time. And blossoms always remind me of hospitals.

I told the dear kindly old woman at the post office about the blossoms and she hushed me with a, “now now dear, give yourself a walk in the park and refresh your mind!” What she doesn’t know is how I envy her, as for the park; grass blades sliced short, like at those war cemeteries, and dead leaves they didn’t find under bushes, if you look…

Anyway, I’m too weak to walk that far. The sun hurts my eyes, and the wind cuts through my bones. And I’ve developed a hacking cough, just like he did. God I hate my blood red curtains. Waterfalls of memory. But I’m too weak now, so just hate them.

T r i f e c t a 332W

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Trifecta ~ The Ingredients

The min 33/max 333 word story must feature the following word in its 3rd definition:

“I shot the sheriff,” he hummed, walking up the stairs. Blood poured down the stairs and over the stairwell in a solid, sticky and quite sickly stream, if you were not a mosquito or homeless dog: “..but I did not shoot the deputy..uhhh!” he sang, earphones plugged in ears, until the fresh blood splattered onto the pizza box, shuddering it open.

“Oh maaan!” He moaned. Duty made him first give a cursory glance into the pizza box to check if the contents had been compromised, even as the blood streamed in a slowing waterfall next to him. “Oh dude!” he said aloud, to himself, checking his shirt, pulling it forward between thumb and forefinger; “oh dude, dude!”, his blood-splattered white shirt, the word “Pizza” at the top left breast pocket almost obliterated. He looked up the stairwell, completely and totally unsure what his next step should be; programmed to deliver pizza, nothing else. “You ok up there, man?” he tried. The silent reply echoed silently.

Seemed to be more tomato in the pizza than before. He’d never failed a delivery yet. Couldn’t tell you where pizzas come from, or how to make ‘em, but he’d never failed one delivery, and now was stuck. Just did not know what to do. The box dripped with blood, and his shoes gelled to the congealed blood on the stairs as he waited for his mind to come to a decision.

That darn box. That was blood on it. Couldn’t hide that. So he took the pizza out of the box, cupping it with his left hand, then dropping the box. “That was stupid, dude,” he said aloud, upon reflection. “You jis’ cannot deliver a pizza with no box.”

He ate the pizza, in one of those spur of the moment things; stress bringing upon hunger.

Later, in bright red lipstick, polka dotted dress, breasts held firmly in bra, he sat in the court room. “And the defense for the woman’s murder?” Roared the prosecutor; “alchemy, she says!!”

T r i f e c t a 333W exactly

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