A few new: Tanka 263: Tanka 264; House Guests

Here are a few recent poems.

Tanka 263.

Saltwater wrinkles
mark the tired fingers that grasp
the slick black rocks who
wait it out with no bets placed
either side of the outcome



Tanka 264

an afternoon find
a crushed carton tossed away
across the sidewalk
a scatter of cigarettes
spilled out by a careless hand



House Guests

You brought the problems back here
Or perhaps they rotated around the circle and
returned on their own.
But why not? Our hospitality is well-known
Everyone brings a lot of baggage
when they come to our house.


5 thoughts on “A few new: Tanka 263: Tanka 264; House Guests

  1. I like the dual meanings of baggage in that last poem and the way in which particular hosts might be helpful with both. The first poem seems to communicate (to me anyway) both a sense of desperation (the “grasp”) and resignation (“no bets”) which I think must be a terrible circumstance to be in. I am wondering whether the middle poem was inspired by something you observed because it strikes me that cigarettes are too expensive to discard so there would have to be a story behind how so many are on the ground.

    • You are right about the cigarettes – I did see a whole pack of them silled out on the ground and I could not believe my eyes. As you say, we are talking expense! The finger one, I was thinking of how it feels when your grasp is just about to go – and how the world is just not interested in your little problems…And baggage, I have always had such a liking for the idea of us all carrying baggage, of our various types, and I can imagine so many kinds – expensive suitcases full, or over stuffed plastic bags…

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