The Haiku

Words on a page,
Reading aloud,
Counting syllables,
Structure across lines.

When I was nine,
My teachers said, "This is what poetry looks like,
Pay attention,
Because your art will witnessed and criticized,
Compared against a rubric,
Its magic unseen,
Its song dissipating in the smog of judgment."

The only format I can remember is the haiku,
But who honestly cares?
My little big heart wants to dance,
To shape itself the way it wants,
Propriety be damned.

So here is to my song,
The one that only I can sing,
All the other boxes can shoo,
My words are play,
My message alive.
(With a side of sparkles.)

Let's write.

ArtCherry Rose TanComment