Un-Haiku
It’s times like this when I’m very glad I have more than one outlet for personal expression. I decided end of September that I would write one haiku a day during October in Blog of Funk #2. Only long-time regular readers will recognise that this is B.O.F. #2. The rest of the world doesn’t need to know that I stopped the blog, made changes, and restarted it, and I don’t care to concern myself with telling them. Compared to the mighty, sprawlingly ambitious Blog of Funk, DeekDeekster.com is a more casual affair with added podcast, and it mops up the remaining creative gravy.
As a result of the haiku writing, I became a member of this group blog where I am able to post haikus along with a bunch of other wordsmiths. I pledged to observe the American obscenity rules and avoid swearing, sexual references, Mexicans and Canadians.
But, fate plays its part, and while it suits me to stick to seventeen syllables per day – I enjoy the discipine, adopting a structure for a month is something I have done ever since starting to blog – things are happening which I want to write about.. long live Deek Deekster, he made me into who am I not today.
I lost my gold fish, and a haiku wasn’t enough. It’s a hollow antique from Kings Lynn, a fisherman’s charm designed to keep sailors from drowning. Hollie gave it to me, she the most tormented of all my lovers, the biggest and maddest of them all. She’s dead now – didn’t even reach 30 years old – and wearing that I felt somehow an element of her strong protection. I lost it sometime this morning, dressed in running gear, walking with GGF to school, then jogging back. The water was off this morning – I was torn between the need to get the supply re-established and wanting to retrace my 2 miles of steps in a futile search. I did go and look, but too late – if it was visible, someone picked it up. Gold and silver too attractive a proposition to ignore for a passer-by. It’s either submerged beneath wet leaves, or in a stranger’s pocket.
It is the end of an era. I am moving from this flat very soon, in a matter of weeks and this kind of underlines it. I keep reaching for my small fish, familiar on the chain around my neck, which now feels empty, like this home soon will be.
