At some point during my sleep I briefly woke with the day’s poem all neatly configured. But I didn’t sit up and write it down then and there. So the poem was a dream. The dream was a poem…or poetry writing. It drifted back into morpheus.
I have a demanding ten days ahead. So today is my day of rest. I need reading. I am being fed by friends. But I crave a deluxe Sunday breakfast first. So I am keeping poetry practice short and sweet. Also, I am saluting the latest accessory to help me move through the next ten days. You know how there are shoe women or handbag women? Well, now you know which one I am.
I used the tanka for a writing exercise on trees with the school group on Friday. It has been awhile since I turned my pen to writing one. So for this restful Sunday the Poetry Daily gives you a tanka on a handbag. My new one is the colour of Colman’s English mustard. I was calling to me like a siren from high up a shelf in the shop. It has mock tortoiseshell handles. I am completely infatuated.
It’s my day of rest. I am feeling a bit frivolous.
The tanka is essentially a haiku or senryu followed by a couplet of seven syllables each. Like haiku there is no rhyme.
I carry sunshine
zipped up inside my handbag
along with these things -
hairbrush, hankies, compass, pen,
pebble stones. Forget lipstick.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.