Japanese Form Poetry by SB Wright
The sound of water on tin draws me outside in the midst of a late autumn downpour. The split in the polytank, that I was leaving until term break to fix, is sending arcs of water into the air like an Italian fountain. Worried that the tank will split further under pressure, I open the outlet and flood the Bonsai garden, making it a temporary pond.
the sound of water
a frog jumps out of the
new pond
©️sbwright2023
My second school trip to Fuji and my colleague had managed to find a 3 star hotel with 5 star views of the mountain across Lake Kawaguchi. We arrived in the evening, Fujisan a deep blackness against the sky.
rising early
five star views
of fog
Nothing really prepares you for the immensity of a city the holds 30 million people. On the fifth floor of a YMCA building in central Tokyo, I gaze out the window, straining to find a feature beyond the mass of concrete and glass.
Tokyo skyline
as far as the eye can see
buildings on buildings
©️sbwright2023
The trick, I told myself, was to laugh at those embarassing memories of my teenage years that always seemed to ambush me unawares. Laughing at them, at myself, seemed to create some persepctive.
my teenage years
all the thickheaded things
not caught on camera
©️sbwright2023
giving up gluten
tasting all the subtle flavours
of cardboard
©️sbwright2023
autumn lingers
the tips of my fingers cold, still,
after washing
©️sbwright2023
Just a heads up to let you know that I have posted the commentary post on the last fortnight’s poems over at my substack here.
on the bank
of the Tenma River
giant oleanders
©️sbwright2023
Genbaku Dōmu
children’s voices carried
on the wind
©️sbwright2023
tearful hush
we shuffle past the
blast shadow
sbwright2023
鵲の歌 / Magpie Song 