Note: The following post relates to the project requirements for my Foundations in Creativity class.
Originally posted to the creativity blog on October 28, 2015.
Homeward Bound Haiku
I detest smoking.
My mucus membranes. On FIRE!
Sick lungs. Cancer. Death.
Haiku is poetry you create while you are walking in a hurry because you don’t necessarily have to stop to write it down. You are inspired or motivated by a stimuli, in this case being stuck behind a smoker who was walking surprising quickly. The haiku begins as a mass, a lump, blobby.
I visualize someone who is whittling wood. The idea is rough. I am annoyed by smoking, which is nasty. I also realize that I haven’t done a single creative thing today so I consider poetry, on the go, therefore it must be short. I am motivated by adversity. I can’t get away from the smoker’s downwind. I start whittling away. Smothering… gross… cough… hacking… irritating… My words are like cuts of the knife. Chip, chip, chip… eyes are watering.
Haiku allows one to get right to the point, which I do. Then it’s changing a word here or there, always counting and counting again to confirm the proper format. Mucus membranes was not my first choice but what consonance! The haiku is taking form. It would now be recognizable to a passer-by if it was material.
I’m talking to myself, chanting really, and waving my hands like a conductor as I walk down Pine Street. These days, passers-by just think you’re on your phone, which is preferable to crazy. Doesn’t matter. By the time I get home, I have my haiku and have managed to fit something creative into the day. Normally, I’m just exhausted by the time I get home and making dinner is torture. Today, I approached dinner assembly happily.
It’s worth mentioning that today is my husband’s one-year anniversary of quitting smoking.