Haibun on the whys and the wherefors

I thought I didn’t know how to respond to this dverse prompt. Then realised I need to remind myself.

 

He wrote, they wrote, we wrote, I write. Poetry is a yearning, a trail of matter that drapes the DNA like a banner, drifting and waving in the essence of who I am. It is a baton handed down, a pearl in a deep dark shell that opens when the time is right and the dark pearls become rainbows. I took up the batons, one in each hand one from each side, distaff and spear, and I wield them like pencils. Poems surge in the blood with the pulse of the heart, always were, like the sands on an ancient beach, always will be, as long as there is a star above to guide the words to birth.

Opening, leaf buds,

enrobing with green, a tree.

Ever-changing sky.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

44 thoughts on “Haibun on the whys and the wherefors”

    1. Thanks Michael. It’s a bit like being asked when did I do my first drawing? Who knows? It’s what kids do, and I drew with words too. Didn’t make it poetry, but it was a way of playing and sorting out ideas.

      1. Yes I’m thinking about what my response might be. I agree with you about using it to express ideas. In my case I was into song when I started. Plus I enjoyed as you say drawing with words though mine was more playing with them.

    1. As I said to Michael, I don’t know when I wrote my first poem. It’s something I’ve always done. Poetry reading and writing was encouraged in my primary school, so we took it for granted.

      1. I understand. I can pinpoint my first haiku because of the circumstances. It seems I have always written poetry. I was going through some of my mother’s things and came across two boxes, one older than the other taped up and with Toni written across the boxes. I opened one and found poems, short stories, sketches, notebooks with poems…I sealed it back up. I choose when her one year anniversary occurs, I may open them again.

      2. I have tons of letters from my mother and grandmother, not so many from my dad, he preferred to telephone, and I can’t bear to open them again. Words are so powerful in bringing a person alive again, except they’re not, which is heartbreaking;

  1. I wonder if your parents or family also wrote or expressed themselves in poetry? For myself, I don’t know too my beginnings. Love the poetic expression: It is a baton handed down, a pearl in a deep dark shell that opens when the time is right and the dark pearls become rainbows.

    1. Thank you, Grace. My father was a poet and on my mother’s side, her grandfather wrote too, poetry and prose which is what I meant when I said the urge came from the distaff and the spear side.

  2. I can so relate to these words, Jane: ‘Poems surge in the blood with the pulse of the heart, always were, like the sands on an ancient beach, always will be, as long as there is a star above to guide the words to birth’.

      1. Yes, I agree. Lately though I’ve been loving the fact that I went to school back in the days were taught to spell and to look up the meanings of words. A good vocabulary (such as yours) makes writing all that more pleasurable and rich.

  3. “It is a baton handed down, a pearl in a deep dark shell that opens when the time is right and the dark pearls become rainbows. ” That is such a wonderful line – the imagery it conjures up is mystical!

    1. Thank you, Jo. I feel like a bit of a fraud writing generalities when so may of you have written, very personal poems. I liked your story very much, and I think many of us echo your thoughts that writing poetry is a way of expiating or at least understanding deep emotions. I couldn’t log in to leave a comment, so here it is.

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