The Ligo Haibun challenge is here. This week is the word prompt challenge.
- The Honourable Mentions. We like to select no more than 3, but will go as far as 1/3 of participants in a given week, which is what I have done, so we have 4 this week.
The Ligo Haibun challenge is here. This week is the word prompt challenge.
“The key is where to find the key. If you know where to find the key, then you know the key. If you want to find the key, you must also want to look for it. If you want to look for it, you must be happy to search. If you want to enjoy searching you must learn to wander. It takes a lot of wandering to learn that not all who wander are lost.”
I learnt that message high in the mountains of Azerbaijan, from a Sufi walking alone, who said “Sa’lam, hello, Sufi brother to be,” to me.
to the one who walks-
butterfly waits for your haiku
among the bamboo grove
fool was I
did I think the troll would just
I was warned
don’t trust them – or anyone
who wears their heart on their sleeves
and there it is, it’s heart
glowing maliciously in the dark
pumping sparks that will not ignite
I wonder what the troll thinks it is
perhaps the Marine of the internet
invading free speech
you come from a dark planet
full of insidious plants
but your words – I fear – have little effect
feed yourself on another
you’re a victim of your own success
or lack of it
Ligo Haibun offers two prompts as usual this quote prompt week. I chose ”It is solved by walking.” –Algerian Proverb. In my first verse I chose thanbauk is poetry – three lines with four syllables on each line. The rhyme pattern of thanbauk can be seen below, with 4th, 3rd and 2nd syllables rhyming in the 1st, 2nd and 3rd lines.
X X X A
X X A X
X A X X
_____________________Ligo Haibun here_____________________
All through the mountains when I grew up there are paths that coil lazily up the hillsides, and offer sedentary, slowly changing views while hiking upwards to conquer, on trails manicured by well-meaning local rangers or park reserve officials.
Life is not like that in the real world. Yes, I am aware of the metaphysical message I am alluding to, but I mean in the real world.
When I first went to Guatemala and Nicaragua, and managed to escape our diet of Western World vs The Rest I learnt very quickly that the rest were living lives that would cause many in our plasticised, alcoholised*, overweight and overcomforted existences to revert to our primaval Western world state: the tantrum.
Paths on the flanks of volcanoes in Guatemala do not wind their ways gently upwards: they go straight. Straight means straight up or straight down, and the local people use the paths while working – collecting honey, or coffee beans, which they then carry on their back, glancing at foreign visitors walking the mountains in some latest gear, hiking boots and glow-coloured sweat-resistant shirt with tolerance and mild bemusement.
heavy long tracks
taking coffee far
on backs to cups
Those paths, and the hard-working people using them showed me the cocoon of the Western world. It is the embalming media numbing that tells us as school children that Livingstone ‘discovered’ Victoria falls, that Columbus, or the Vikings were the first people to ‘step foot’ in ‘America’, that ‘America’ does not include any of Central America or South America, that the slave trade was only a’terrible’ part of history, and ‘others did it too.’
In Nicaragua, one of the countries Western world leaders have used as a weapons playground for not behaving like docile 3rd world countries should with a nice corrupt dictator, I learnt wasps are grown and let out into crop fields to get rid of bugs and pests, as they do not have the money to buy the wonderful pesticides we use. Of course no civilised Westerner would put up with more wasps and their stings. Well we should be stung every now and then.
wasp cleans trees of bugs
apples taste fresh and juicy
wasp stings my mouth
(*Costa Rica was the first country in Central America I saw with the luxury of drunk men lying in streets. Other countries are too poor, with a population that works to hard for such a common indulgance)
Trifecta says: “And now on to a completely different type of prompt. As you may or may not know, November 15 is National Erotica Day. Trifecta is not an erotica-specific type of place, but we never shy away from a chance to stretch our creative limbs, and we hope you’ll join us as we dive in to celebrate this quirky day. We are asking for an open write this week–33 to 333 words of erotic writing. No specific words need to be used, and we aren’t necessarily banning any either. If you want to see what our writers came up with last year, click on over and check them out. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.IIIBjsrw.dpuf” This piece is exactly 333 words, and is a reworked piece I ended up not using for a published work.
We’d been on the road all day. I glanced at a sports car coming up quickly in the rear view mirror, shooting by us, slowing suddenly, then overtaking again, two women glancing at us with gifted smiles, dreadlocks flowing. Through steamed truck windows, sitting suddenly and suspiciously straight the two of us just passed as presentable and eligible males.
In front of us the sports car had set off the right blinker as the lay-by and lifetime of love approached, or a novel, or a few warm moments under a moon.
We stopped slowly.
“The moonlight makes the pines glow,” she said, as we walked up an incline into the trees into the soft darkness. She huddled against me for warmth and started to talk again, but I knew she was going to ask me to kiss her, and so saved her from having to ask.
Lips melt. They just do. Under the moon, our lips melted. She reached inside my army coat, and slid her arms around my chest, hands up my back, urging me to her.
“Let it happen,” she whispered, and the soft moan that curled from her throat was warm, inviting, her eyes chocolate and when she pulled my shirt hard to get to my bare back, her fingernails dug with feminine intensity.
She slipped her hand down, sliding it into my jeans, her fingers plunging downwards, but she did not have to go far, and her fingernails sent a shudder along my thickening shaft. I marveled at the taste of her, her smooth neck, earlobes, gorgeous, inflamed nipples then sensual woman’s bellybutton. In my thick sleeping bag we lay under the moon, in untamed nature over pine needles. When I kissed her again, just below where her cowgirl belt buckle had been she shivered and bucked with the intensity of storms that sometimes make a pirate tremble, her head nestled in her cowgirl boots and leather gloves, flower petals open among deeply-scented pines, mouth quickly over pouring lava…
This week’s LIGO HAIBUN CHALLENGE is out. The links are open at 1.00 am UTC +3.
Click on the link to read about the six Honourable Mentions in Dispatches for last week’s challenge – the links are still open for 12 hours though!
Read also some of the new forms in this innovation week, and come back to this blog tomorrow to see the givaways this week.
the sailing boats have sunk
down at rat’s creek where a summer
was not complete without
at least one great big furry rat bite
where knees were meant to be skinned
and where Josie taught me
how to have sinned
down where the water rose each spring
where summer we dared each other
to swim the length of the pond bared
to the midday sun
nothing on except water
and where in those Autumn days
the sun sent its last golden rays
and one by one the boats clogged with leaves
till there was only my one boat left sinking
so I grew up too
loved and lost and left town
and rat’s creek is now frozen
every time I’m there in the snow
all the sailing boats have sunk forever
Josephine’s doesn’t even recognise me anymore
glass in her hand when she answers the door
the boats are all sunk – and there’ll never be anymore summers
written for the wonderful http://dversepoets.com/ page – (topic Childhood Toys & Games), a truly beautiful bi-weekly challenge. My apologies for not getting the reading done I want. But I will.
ese’s quote and shoot challenge
She hones her craft
a real skill
a different skill
from the craft
of the man
in a faraway land
to the president at a desk
“dropping a drone is best”
the president agrees to drone
while she sits alone
in a hut made of stone
threading a carpet
an expensive carpet
one thousand thousandths of
the price of the drone
which will obliterate her home
her name is wrong
and similar to her neighbour’s
and to the man down the road
the one who lost a son
when the last drone
hit the wrong hut
made of stone
on the wrong hill
on the wrong front line
but the president’s man
insists they got it right this time
his craft that of a salesman
‘selling ice cream to the eskimo’
so the hut made of stones
collected from the other huts blown
deserves too, to be blown
by one single drone
there are people in this world
who have never tasted ice cream
or never owned a mobile phone
whose only skill
is to weave silk carpets alone
who don’t have the craft and guile
to know the price they will pay
of not finishing the carpet in time
think of the power
that awesome power
at the fingertips
that while sitting at breakfast
sipping tea, flicking channels
you can watch the result
of your latest drone attack
and there are so many more carpets
one more one less won’t change a home
unlike a drone
to stop honour killings
and stop feminists ignoring this
men must be Colossus of Rhodes’
Written and posed for in the name of those beautiful women murdered. In European countries honour killings are not given the attention they deserve. Femdem are right to remove their tops when they protest. Our societies need to show just how ridiculous the concept of ‘family honour’ is. We need mainstream Feminism to stop ignoring this issue and pretending it belongs to some ethnic minority in their countries and does not concern them. It is racism to not speak out in defence of women murdered, and the total absence of Feminist voices in this regard is a scandal. We must stand tall and be counted about this.
Ah the buzzing butterflies, the shudder as the plane takes off, the tingle of anticipation to be travelling again…the sudden vibrations and smooth landing in an exotic land. How I enjoy to travel, and dream of Yemen, Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Morocco, Iran…
‘In every man’s heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibrations of beauty.’
The Mont d’Aravis, the highest peak on the skyline, that I climbed so many, many moons ago with my father, a beautiful climb. The desire to get to the top again so strong, but it will never be…
‘My own prescription for health is less paperwork and more running barefoot through the grass.’
‘Walking barefoot, also known as “earthing,” has gone from being a kooky counter-culture trend, to a scientifically-researched practice with a number of remarkable health advantages, such as increasing antioxidants, reducing inflammation, and improving sleep.
by Dr. Isaac Eliaz, respected author, lecturer, researcher, product formulator, and clinical practitioner. He has been a pioneer in the field of integrative medicine since the early 1980s. Dr. Eliaz is a frequent guest lecturer on integrative medical approaches to health, immune enhancement, and cancer prevention and treatment.
10- Blues. What was the world like before the invention of Blues? Impossible to conceive. BB King, Muddy Waters, Sonny Boy Williamson, Eric Clapton, Luther Allison, Taj Mahal, and so many more. You cannot breathe without blues man, how did they before?
9- Tea. In tea friendship, the Japanese saying goes, To say the least. What can’t you say about tea? There is everything in a cup of tea, best drunk in a papercup, or from a flask, or a glass, among friends, lovers, alone, in the morning, afternoon or at midnight. If the world stopped to have a cup of tea,…
8- Tango. The definition of sensuality. You do not use words to describe the tango. Everything is in the accordian and high heels. And inner thigh.
7- French. There is not a more evocative, beautiful language. Period. Granted, it is just a slang of Latin, but no French woman has ever paid for a copper bracelet in my shop, just saying, “bonjour!” guarantees it is free… The language is style itself. When I speak French my voice is in a different octave, and everything is more relaxed.
6- Politeness. The absence of politeness is like the absence of fresh air, or sunrise. When travelling to countries where people are very polite like Iran, where politeness is the culture, it is a sheer delight. Afterwards one misses it like a life without tea or blues.
5- Deserts. Like the tango. Words cannot describe a desert. Imagine an environment that changes a little bit everyday as sand dunes reveal new curves and lines , always warm, where you can sleep outside every night in a perfectly and naturally-cushioned bed, without any mosquitoes or flies. Sheer luxury. Desertification is much underrated..
4- Rain. Rain in the desert is like diamonds. But rain anywhere is beautiful. Rain separates parasites from those who want to enjoy life deeply. I have heard those who curse rain but expect beautifully orange carrots from their supermarket. The whole Bollywood film industry survives on that dance in the rain; rightly so. No-one should own an umbrella. Especially not the queen.
3- Fish n Chips. The royalty of food. None better. Served with tea. Tetleys. Malt vinegar a must. Big chips. You simply have not eaten if you have not had a decent fish supper. Better than any food in France, except a meal shared with my new French neighbour who recently got locked out of her flat, but that is a whole other delicious story.
2- Immigration. Imagine a country with only rednecks. With boiled or deeply-fried pork and overcooked potatoes, wishy washy music without soul, and racism as humour. No spice, zest or colour. Blond hair and blue eyes ruling, and nice high alcohol abuse.. Immigration has been the one overriding success of the modern era. I hate whiter than white countries,with suspiciously pure thoughts. The pilgrims were intolerant, ignorant fascists who would have all died off without native Indian help, There are those among us that revere religions from the Middle East , yet act as if the people from that area of the world are in some way inferior to “us”. Weird. Most don’t even know where the Middle Est is: rednecks.
1- Trekking. There are still people who still drive their cars two blocks to drive cigarettes. Unbelievable. And that people still smoke is actually funny. Talk about sheep controlled by the corporate world. The tobacco stuffed into cigarettes bears little to no relation to the much milder tobacco smoked in the peace pipes my friends, it has been engineered to be much stronger, much more addictive with higher levels of tar, even the lite brands, which compensate with more chemicals. So buy a pair of canvas slippers and walk in a desert instead. Walk, for days, sleep at nights, through the desert sands. Glorious.
And now, just because…
When you pass a farm, do you sometimes ponder what your fate would have been, if you’d had your own ranch or plantation, with acres to cultivate, cattle to raise, and of course decimate, but all for the greater good, and all romanticised long before Hollywood made the cowboy the hero of all heroes. I mean, I have not heard of one occasion where a farmer is presented as the villain of the piece. On the contrary, these days farmers are portrayed as perennial victims, with footloose governments playing into the propaganda of agriculture being part of a country’s defense.
But I’ve known some wonderful farmers in my time.
There was Abdulrahman, a bedouin of the desert, in Saudi Arabia, who tethered his goat herd among the oil derricks, or more to the point, entertained us with his wonderful zest for life while his employees tethered goats. But what a perfect example of a young gentleman he was, only being depressed once, when a Pakistani trader stole one of his goats, which was subsequently found at a market a hundred miles away.
There was his neighbour of sorts, Maged, who I spent many a long evening with, among his camel herd, eating dates piles high with creamy froth from a pale full of camel milk, as well as a few nervous but glorious times bareback on a camel, swaying as the camel drifted up and down dunes into the sunset.
There were reindeer herders too, who taught me two highly unusual facts about reindeer herding. The first, in Mongolia, that if you need to relieve yourself in nature do not do so near a herd of reindeer because they find nothing more tasty, and running away in deep snow, with flies undone, past laughing Mongolian women standing outside yurts, with a pack of reindeer chasing you, will rank very highly on your list of most embarrassing moments. I know. And it is especially embarrassing. There are specific reasons why it is specially embarrassing, but let us just say that being in that exposed condition in the cold with a sudden fright will not present you in the best light. As for women in a same position I would say there would be a fairly high quota of embarrassment too, depending on exactly when the marauding reindeer are discovered.
The second, in northern Finland, is the reverse. The reputed Fly Agaric mushrooms of fairy tales and such, the red ones with white dots, are not in fact poisonous, but rather conducive to a rather pleasant ‘high’, especially when ingested through a reindeer first, which removes the toxins. The reindeer urine is in turn used as a potent brew, thus the stories of of a merry Santa Claus and flying reindeer, say nothing for fairy tales themselves. I am not sure where the Christmas goat then steps in, in Swedish and Finnish lore, but it does.
But if I had a farm I would have ostriches and rhea birds for the excellent meat, and the odd goat for the cheese. My fields would be sown with hemp and bordered with jute, and I would thus be able to sit at sunset pressing my hemp oil and extracting the odd marijuana plant to replace any desires to discover whether the Agaric mushroom is worth sampling or not.
a pirate dream
swapping seas for long grasses
-a trip on land!