Saionji Shonagon
New Member
One dreamed of becoming somebody. Another remained awake and became. (Found in a fortune cookie.)
Posts: 7,240
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Post by Saionji Shonagon on Dec 2, 2005 18:52:26 GMT -5
Storm stripped branches wave
Farewell as clouds dash eastward,
Hastened by winter winds.
Rain batters the roof. I think,
"Perhaps it snows where he dwells."
Saionji no Hanae
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Post by Noriko on Dec 3, 2005 19:33:09 GMT -5
Very beautiful, Saionji-hime. I read your poem and really got a very strong image in my head of what was going on. I wish I could write period sounding poetry but the following was the first thing to pop into my head.
Saturday Tanka
An evening with friends
Around the television
Munching on pizza.
But when the cartoons come on
All is silent in our dorm.
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Saionji Shonagon
New Member
One dreamed of becoming somebody. Another remained awake and became. (Found in a fortune cookie.)
Posts: 7,240
|
Post by Saionji Shonagon on Dec 4, 2005 2:11:09 GMT -5
I've been doing tanka (waka) for a couple of years now. While I often try to write in a manner that evokes a period feel (I am writing in 21st century English, after all!), I've been known to write about modern topics.
I've been in that dorm room - only we were watching "Battlestar Galactica." The old one with Lorne Greene.
(Zowie, I'm old!)
S.
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Post by Please Delete on Dec 4, 2005 9:26:53 GMT -5
Saturday Tanka An evening with friends Around the television Munching on pizza. But when the cartoons come on All is silent in our dorm. Sunday Tanka Snow falls in the night, Yet it is all gone by day, One fleeting moment. Like this dew-drop world of ours, Where all returns to the void. |
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Saionji Shonagon
New Member
One dreamed of becoming somebody. Another remained awake and became. (Found in a fortune cookie.)
Posts: 7,240
|
Post by Saionji Shonagon on Dec 4, 2005 13:23:39 GMT -5
Snow does not fall here,
Dead leaves rustle across grass
Gone brown and faded.
Fleeting and impermanent
As the snows that do not come.
Saionji
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Post by Noriko on Dec 4, 2005 15:51:52 GMT -5
Snow does not fall here, Dead leaves rustle across grass Gone brown and faded. Fleeting and impermanent As the snows that do not come. Saionji Alright, I'll give period poetry a try. On the Eastern shores The snow falls, all cold and wet. Outside my window, I see two young men on the path. Why are they journeying now? |
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Post by Nagamochi on Dec 4, 2005 15:52:57 GMT -5
Just back from archery practice Arrow flys through snow. Piercing dancing flakes in air, like a kuge ball slain by a fearless shogun. No blood stains these belle sleeves. God do I love my Sundays.  |
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