Renku
Renku is a Japanese form of popular collaborative linked verse poetry. It is a development of the older Japanese poetic tradition
of ushin renga, or orthodox collaborative linked verse. At renku gatherings participating poets take turns providing alternating
verses of 17 and 14 morae. Initially haikai no renga distinguished itself through vulgarity and coarseness of wit, before growing
into a legitimate artistic tradition, and eventually giving birth to the haiku form of Japanese poetry.
of ushin renga, or orthodox collaborative linked verse. At renku gatherings participating poets take turns providing alternating
verses of 17 and 14 morae. Initially haikai no renga distinguished itself through vulgarity and coarseness of wit, before growing
into a legitimate artistic tradition, and eventually giving birth to the haiku form of Japanese poetry.
Checking My FlyBy William Dennisand NIKA (aka Jim Force)
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at the brass door-plate checking my fly
lingering heat motionless the cat waits the sea the great still silk body of the sea a crescent moon sails west the milky way Taliessen returns with the Rule of Love and a Tartar slave water witch finds freckles below the line of her blouse rising from the well the copper’s splash left handed officer a right crank Ramadan in Abraham’s Cave the sudden rush of angel wings scattering the crumbs offered the ant’s heavy load washed away by the rain fat legs in a storm of sheets frantically pulling clothes pins a circle of boys ejaculate railroad dick with a sore gut growls Off jerk! a silent murphy brings relief garden gate long rusted shut yet the flowers all look loved beneath her amour of chastity beats a tender heart bittersweet or milk which has the soft center? melts in the mouth not in the hand silty river pearls dark tear drops on the fingers black-veiled women mourn the soldier of peace after Everest the first tea shop widow’s cupboard an empty cup fills with dust his peaked attic full of useless stuff children dressing-up in old clothes deja vu everybody listens to Pops at the ballpark not a single dandelion escapes the gardener’s hoe a blush hides his bruises red marks all over the paper SWF seeks SWM for lasting relationship salmon tasting fresh water by-pass the shy brown trout piling out of the Japanese tourist bus smile after smile tear drawn beneath each eye how quickly the moist ink begins to fade flakes on the anchor chain last link but one the end so hard to find |
Rumors of RainBy William Dennisand NIKA (aka Jim Force)
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and the men sit drinking coffee rumors of rain
old grounds stirred up again spent tea family reunion buried bones faded photos with presents only one still comes with a husband Grand-dad encircled by boys stories of war half afraid yet to sleep in bamboo practicing Kaddish in the Bug one-eyed monk mantras to the virgin Knave of Hearts romancing tarts my ran-tan-lie-do plum wine penetrates the night intoxicated crows startled by the moon mockingbird clears his throat sunrise dew-covered morning glories awaken by noon their near relation bindweed sets its caps what little there was was eaten boxes stacked for Harvest Home raising Old Hundred a roasting marshmallow bursts into flame brightening sumac changed in the dark the closet queen paints his nails spachtling over cracks it’s sanding he can’t stand three days without a word then roses horse-bit shrub under the window sunlight on the barn floor cobwebs covered in dust dos-a-dos waiting for the Great Chain to join us allemande circling the block wall mart’s opening-day crowd smudging his face with her chalky hand the circle squared driftwood drifting back to shore salt-cured black curled Manonna keeps well wrinkles hide her smile an errant lock escapes the bobby pin bloke in Broadmoor cufflinks waltzing away from the nab the flicker of neon lights offering promises... breathing bubbles from the ring one by one garden-pond carp stir the summer moon bogs pink with floating berry the last crane dances alone construction crew boasts another highrise and as he counts his pay the fat man smacks his lips blue cigarette smoke lingering in the truck-stop cafe dieseling down the dotted line trailing clouds of lyrics |
Shadows at NoonBy William Dennisand Dana Garrett
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goldfish
turning peer through one another’s tails just then the lost ring gleams, retreating shadows at noon from deep to great deep following her glimmer off the ten meter board inside the pile of photographs the old man finds grandmother rocking and creaking creaking rocking complaining --hawsers at full moon waving before sailing leaf after leaf this time apart will it help? a dark mobius of starlings alive at her throat light hair tangles to hooks in chill air between the trees, geese a sudden V-- panties on the line season free the spayed spaniel sniffs at hydrants anyway suddenly alone the tricked boy frees his tongue from a pole with tears he’ll give a cold reception to Polish jokes this winter on her vanity among the Christmas colors --polish remover by light of the slivered moon he only finds forks for ice cream stretched to cut a Y from witch hazel--threads of bloom smelling of snow hornedskull broken arrowhead --workmen uncover the hunt crabgrass a condom for mulch--ONE WAY points the sign bent over its base ignoring a preacher’s dogma sinners sun in a park Mama’s dog wouldn’t drink-- after three days we found it dead beside the lake old gal sure counted on that St. Bernard to keep her cool unfit to protect Mr. Christopher settles under mantles of leaves from a thin wallet food stamps drift onto the moving belt there, in the dead fall stripped of money and charge cards-- her butt bag in the park shank end in a pot with beans steam drives wind from the kitchen cook book chemistry turning cabbage water blue for her Easter eggs the old cracked pot leaks the brew of hops on his seeds for planting and talks about Armed Forces Day alerts received on dental bridgework shrined high on the trellis above new vines, his twined ribbons a moon white circle on the left hand--untouched yet by any sun hopsage shudders on the rim of a steaming volcano the trapped girl shatters a window amid the pomp of Independence Day dangling in the fly paper a beautiful pair of wings scrawled in new concrete FRANK LOVES CHERI on both ends of the hospital on the bottom of the box a sign--THE OTHER END UP no note, no reason --only red mums he planted before his suicide mockingbird drops his last note then sits mum in cold weather |
One-Handed RenkuBy William DennisHer Big Eye
Struck by her big eye, he does not conclude his thought. How well she listens; it’s a complicated point great Everest reaches; careful pyramids are by hand assembled on their central stone. It was his idea to build; she lent him her deck of cards. Let’s play carpenter. You hold the nails; I’ll hammer. My hammer is where? Casually he mentions her tax liability; more precious than pearls, the glitter of fine rubies, subject to tariff. Think what pearls cost oysters, who know how to value them best; within its stone coat the shellfish is soft of heart, an inner beauty. On dates, through the haze of bloom, he tried to see her clearly. When the eagle flies – the which, now days, weekdays, not– he circles the nest; is the peacock’s train only a thing of use for dusting? She was carried off by the fins of his Edsel, long since turned to rust. Wheeled out in his chair again, he sits straight for his daughter; then on her way home she remembers to adjust the side-view mirror. The syringa hedge is tall that once she helped to set out; now the pond is old, but many young frogs are there to make it a voice. Weak hands also inherit five-needle pines in a dish. Penetrating rains, which deer and rabbits out-face with a casual hunch. Believe in porcupines – they used to look for antlers. Water in winter turns black and moves twice as fast, when it moves at all. The jaybird forgot his hoard, but a mouse had corn for months. pocketbook pictures, children are missing again, lost in the deck; mild autumn's blandishments, *** Tricks To Be Learned There are those tricks to be learned; there is that which is not to be taught: building with toy blocks, carving in cheese, welding soap, engraving in steel... Children of elves and lampreys, carried off by those tall birds; such well-worn carpet at the air arrivals gate-- we all stand to wait dining by myself— some wilted asparagus and the elephant after years living next to the cemetery finally he weeps two hands cold alone-- heart-to-heart we make one kiss one heat four warm hands now-days when he shaves the wrinkled wash-cloth hangs out a map of his face |