Haiku : Mourning the loss of Spring.

3 posts
User avatar
Gender Male
Points 1172
Reviews 112
***Hey everyone - first of all, you know that I have never written a haiku before ( Or submitted one atleast), so this is kind of an adventure for me... So I've read up on the art form and stuck with a pretty traditional topic for now - Hope you like it. ***



Sweetest blossoms drift.

Sakura weep; taking flight.

Sorrow pours for spring.




User avatar
Gender Female
Points 1854
Reviews 78
it's good. But I really don't know what the back ground is. so maybe tell us what gave you the inspiration for this poem. It's just a suggestion. Hope it helps.
Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole. -Dean, Supernatural




User avatar
Gender Male
Points 4832
Reviews 199
I am no expert
but the first and second lines
are identical

***

I love Basho, but I regret to say that he is as far as my knowledge regarding haikus goes. But what I love about his work is that it seems to say something through osmosis, that there is little input from the poet- he merely relates what occurs, but in a fantastic way.

My house has burned down
Now I can better see
the rising moon

That's my favorite. It seems astounding to me how so much could be contained in such a simple statement. I mean, to pack such a profound statement in so little is remarkable. I guess, this is what I find absent in your poem. Not so say that you ought to write like Basho, or his contemporaries. But I dunno. Your poem sounds nice but it doesn't contain that extra spark. Why are we weeping for spring? Perhaps we're wondering why cherry blossoms fall during this time? I just wish it hit at the point more directly, your poem feels like it's skimming the surface.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Robert Frost

It cost $7 million to build the Titanic, and $200 million to make a film about it.
The plastic ties on the end of shoelaces are called aglets



One is not born, but rather becomes a woman.
— Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex