I started doing a podcast last year of the new poems on this site. I thought there might be some interest in listening to the poems and occasional additional information. Podcasts are very popular (again – it’s a kind of revival)
These episodes are very short. Some are under a minute. A few are a few minutes in length when there is some explanation I want to include. Would those short lengths make a podcast more or less popular? I suspect it is the latter. People seem to love long podcasts, particularly ones about true crime.
There is none of that on WRITING THE DAY, so who would be the audience? I suppose readers of the blog and maybe people who like to binge because you can consume the entire Season 1 with its 22 episodes in less than a lunch break.
I am way behind on doing these audio versions of the ronka poems, but I have resolved to improve and plan to queue up ones for the rest of the month with at least one per day. If I can catch up with myself, then I’ll go back into the archive and do some of the more popular ones too.
The haiku I would write for you were illustrated with my sketches, watercolors or Japanese prints I found in magazines or postcards from that used bookstore that we would browse, buy poetry, and read aloud.
I thought of you as my muse. Eastern and yet so Western. Younger but also older than me in some ways. The poem you left on the bed with an erotic print which I misinterpreted.
Your side of the bed was still warm, then cold all morning, afternoon, night, like the Moon
Looking at the old photo of you taking a photo of me hasn’t faded though we separated five hundred Moons ago. Thinking of you with each daylily bloom. Flowering, falling, returning anew and yet old.
traveling a circuit from place to place,
not dropping haiku gently in cold snow,
white spring petals or the whispering river.
A knight-errant journeying home and neighborhood on walks
and tossing poems up into the air.
Here. Now. At the mountain’s highest point,
surrounded by snow like the poem’s white
unwritten page, I stand with my staff,
a sunlight shaft through the highest tree
pierces me with the knowledge of myself.