Haiku in my hand

In which I five, seven, five.

Of all the forms of writing I struggle most with poetry. I can be handed a book onnpoetry and be told “hey this stuff is amazing” and I’d have to take your word for it. I have the same problem with art, I have no concept of good or bad just what I like. And how do I know if my own taste is right?

As I cannot determine the merits of a piece of poetry I find it tricky to write it as well. The only rule I have is that it should rhyme because all the poems I read as a kid did. My poetry preference is rooted in the artistic sensibilities of an eight year old.

So for the next two weeks I am going to follow in the footsteps of Keats, Tennyson and Ayres. I’m going to write poetry, and I cannot promise it will be good. In fact I guarantee it won’t, I have a set of rules to write to and will be following them rather than doing it from the soul or gall bladder (wherever it is prose cones from). To begin…haiku’s.

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