Hello! My name’s Laurel.
I’m glad you’re here.
Here’s what I’ve noticed:
Bits of poetry can be found almost anywhere you look. In a sunrise, a forgotten garden, in your mother’s laughter and her tears, between the pages of that book you were reading, in the spring you spent in Prague, or in the winter of your own discontent, in a glorious summer, or the odes of autumn, in a baby’s hand, a grandfather’s wrinkled brow, in peanut butter sandwiches, in life and death, in war and peace, in sickness and health, and pretty much anywhere else your eye happens to gaze. And haiku are no exception, of course. It’s just that they are so small, so seemingly shy and retiring, that we don’t always see them. Many of us have even trod on haiku unwittingly, which is an uncomfortable experience for all involved. (There are some haiku with such sharp edges they can pierce a foot, or a heart, quite easily).
So, here’s what I do:
Collect haiku that I find ’round the traps (of my mind), and then I make little suits for them. Kind of like high-visibility clothing, but prettier.
Here’s what I don’t do:
Trap or ensnare haiku, or collude with other types of poetry in order to force the haiku to participate.
Here’s what I’d like you to do:
Read! Enjoy! And pass along to friends who might also read and enjoy!