Billy Collins on haiku

4 thoughts on “Billy Collins on haiku

  1. From someone who has seen your decidedly non-athletic (OK, football) self complete a perfect three-man ground-weave drill around a banyan whilst keeping ONI’s van’s headlights ‘twixt our smouldering selves and perdition-for-sure, the Billy Collins essay is most illuminating and I flung it up on my wall with your latest leftover grass-wrapped beisbol, mi amigo. Write On! I get closer to pressing my word…but, HARK, ‘lectricity leaps both ways by my perch beside Lake Monroe, after a long week of broiling in palmetto patches avoiding spotted skunks in search of Cibola-in-the-guise of gopherus polyphemus and found en route to Mims near Kennedy’s once-named cape: Sea Horses contend/in clouds above The Playa:
    Early August morn!, or its bookend about which I find myself in usual amazement over your eye-and-pen: A shorthand snapshot of the universe by eye is your haiku poem. My admiration and love: J

  2. Yes, I remember that course on escape and evasion… Should be a bronze marker on that tree…and I still possess the grace of a teen grizzly with a broken leg… Yes. Yes. Billy Collins nails it about the 17 syllables madness…

  3. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master J… nothing can take that away from us though many a time I wished to give away the misspent youth we shared… My love and three Yankee dollars will get you coffee at Charbucks… Don’t forget to wear your helmet when RPGs are roosting nearby…

  4. A-the-fornicating-men your sensi-ness. I found a nice Kona roast in a former trodden-down bare-brick inside shop-of-coffee and vinyl and 45s records here in Snaffurd away from the higher-end mud served in the bottom floor of a riverside romance tower that’s good but leveyed with hallow- and hollow-eyed tassle-topped dowagers and dowager-wannabees and sometimes real interesting series of smarms and sequins but this other place rabbit records and coffee comes with its own West End (located not curiously at all on the East side of town) Trading Company which serves Anchor Steam from the tap 2-for-1 along with Bushmills at the same rate daily from noon through the evenings scare called news. I eschewed the wearing of tin atop my pate there and then and often left the required element (else they’d not let you ride the Valkyrie into the land of that Polish writer of English whose movie more likely might engender puke and not more Conradian prose and thus have learned to savor the sound of a safety latch on a B-40 going snarkishly “click” and to my wonderment sending me soaring all in white noise and dark like bathed like some fecal sacrifice atop a C-141 riding Slim Pickensly in a lysergic rewrite of the last bombing. But, then, long ago I had learned how much I wished I had met you and Roger in a land that we were not The Owned and could find our own way…but that reality really rather escapes us, no? And so, escape-me-not, cowboy. We never did go ti-leaf riding nor did we eat enough malasadas nor sai-min and Alexandra The Great ’48’ was my only (no: it was twice) ever I encountered the great unwashed at the Kaneohe Bay E Club.

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