Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Tangent. Process. Renga.

I haven't said much lately.
This is mostly due to the unfortunate preoccupation of over-commitment, but can be partially explained by another writing project I've been working on which I'm excited to share with you - eventually.

But for now, I have an idea.
It's not original, but neither am i.
It is unique however, and so am we.

It's called Renga.
It's a traditional form of process poetry which is responsible for what we now know to be the Haiku, and this is how it works:

Person A writes a Haiku
(a short poem consisting of 3 lines with syllables counting 5-7-5).


Person B writes 2 addition lines of 7 syllables each to tag on the ending of the first Haiku.


Person C writes another Haiku, drawing primarily on the last 2 lines for inspiration.


Person D writes 2 more lines of 7 syllables..and so on and so forth.




And seeing how i only affiliate with quick-witted, well-learned, articulate and creative people, i think this could go somewhere..

Or it could just be me ending a post with 17 strangely organized syllables. Either way, I come out looking more inspired and poetic than i really am, which i'm obviously OK with.

therefore...

Fading yellow leaves
Form ranks in Color's last march
Against coming clouds


*idea taken blatantly and without apology from http://www.soulpancake.com/view_post/1498568/i-see-your-haiku-and-raise-you-a-renga.html (which is a great blog you should all follow)

10 comments:

  1. Assemble just to retreat
    Bombshells beneath children's feet

    ReplyDelete
  2. Leafy landmines fail
    Crumble without explosion
    Their only sound: *crunch*

    ReplyDelete
  3. Still only to be revived
    With the turning into fall

    ReplyDelete
  4. While enemy clouds

    Triumphant only some time

    Crash into the sea

    ReplyDelete
  5. The sea opens up it's mouth

    To swallow season's retreat

    ReplyDelete
  6. upon coming home

    they kissed deeply, thanking God

    a moment of peace.

    ReplyDelete
  7. they regret ever leaving,
    sick of selfish apathy

    ReplyDelete
  8. Lips no longer lone

    Ignore the branches above

    Twigs becoming homes

    ReplyDelete
  9. The scent of past passions strong
    Seem surprisingly cliche

    ReplyDelete
  10. For what lies ahead
    Mystery to the unknown
    New scents to unfold

    ReplyDelete