Lowku

Obamacare…….NOT your Magna Carta

Don’t take a rock
scientist look under one
to find fossil poop.

fossil.poop

~ ~ ~

Hurry Kane! winds devour
house, shed, outside chairs – come on!
Shelter – over there!

~ ~ ~

Tore Nado off map –
town too tiny to fend off
unforgiving winds.

~ ~ ~

Creek floods over bank
soaks basement carpet anew –
water sinks all hope.

.

>..

.

.

~ ~ ..

..

Brown tracks into house
mudslides never walk softly –
but carry big sticks.

(Revised: 01.03.12)

.

Lightning strikes up sky:
golfers with no common sense
sizzle under elm.

(Revised: 01.03.12)

Photo credits: Lightning, Susan Strom, Logs in home, The Oregonian,

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Responses

  1. Mud never sleeps, always on the move, as we keep chopping down trees and clearing brush and pulling those life-saving erosion controlling roots to make way for our fancy homes and better views–or sometimes we are just unlucky and are doing all the kind things to the earth, and mud finds us anyway.

    Nice poetry–it certainly puts the fear of wet dirt into our viscera.

    Glenn

    Top of the afternoon to you, sir! Thanks for your eloquent response to my lowkus. I’ve a handful of lowkus that might actually be bookus, Glenn. I love what you wrote, “mud never sleeps” which is so true. There’s mud somewhere in the world right now serving up mischief! And dang if you’re not right about our part in causing massive erosion from our deforestation of large plots of land for our castles. Speaking of trees [it’s a stretch, I know], I just got my 10 flowering trees from the Arbor Day Foundation. The crape myrtles I had been growing for 5 years died last Spring while I was stuck in MichiganSucks! for 6 months. The foundation sends little stick trees anywhere between 6″ and 36″ that I plant in 6″ to 8″ pots and keep them close to the house until they’re large enough to plant out in the back 40 somewhere. I like knowing I do some small part towards preventing erosion by planting my little trees on our property.

    BTW, I love what you’re doing on your blog, Feel Free to Read, Glenn! The marriage between poetry and song lyrics is harmonious and gives those lyrics a home for closer scrutiny. Some of those songs take on an entirely different feel and meaning when read versus hearing them sung. Plus you come up with some really stunning photos to accompany your poems and lyrics. Please, my dear readers, go check out Glenn’s blog for some real in-depth coverage of poetry, movies, songwriters and whatever moves Glenn’s fancy. I can spend hours there reading about Joni Mitchell, Billy Joel, Dylan, The Doors, and now a whole slue of quotes by celebrities. Too kewl, Glenn…:)

  2. Put a lot into your tornado lowku. (Is lowku, like jestku, another form of haiku?) The midwest and central to northeast of the vast country are becoming tornado alleys, and you are so right, the winds, nature herself, or itself is unforgiving; tearing, ripping, scattering, destroying, shredding, even killing all in their path. I have only been near, like 5 miles, from a tornado once in the spring in Louisiana, and it became dark at noon, and deathly still, and then a thunder and lightning storm lit up the sky, and it felt like a great demon was stirring somewhere near, a giant with blazing red eyes and lethal talons. Living in the northwest where such acts of nature are non-existant, I was terrified. Hard to believe that some folks get “used” to it.

    Glenn

    Well, since I coined the word “jestku” years ago, I can only give you my definition, Glenn. My jestku can be loosely based on the 3-line, 5-7-5 traditional haiku except that it’s written in jest, or humor, sarcasm, and silliness. My lowku is lowbrow haiku. Hope that makes sense:-)

    I know what it’s like going through tornado. One went through our subdivision in Upland Crest Northeast outside the Twin Cities, MN. I was very young then and was scared to death. Our house had stuff torn off of it but the houses across the street, further down, were almost obliterated! I also was inside a small scale tornado when I lived in Reston, VA. I actually saw the funnel before driving into it. It was pretty scary and I think it was probably an F -1, as in F minus 1 *laugh* But it rocked the car back and forth and the trees were bent over and crap was flying all over the place. And I think we were on the hip of a tornado passing along the Shenandoah River last year. I thought maybe our roof would lift up and off the house. The windows actually rattled for the first time that I could remember. This house is so sound and airtight that we can’t hear wind from inside. It’s an earth/berm house and only the front is really exposed but it felt like the wind was coming up from the front and would catch under the very long eaves and tear the roof off – sort of like our house being scalped. ha ha

  3. Thanks for the blog plug there, sweet lady. I am going to get some of your lowku onto FFTR soon. Coming in to work this fine Friday at 4:30am, I had a peek of the first red rays of morning. I love summer. It stays light up here until almost 10pm, and one can get so much done. Anyway, a haiku, or a hai-lowku came to me:

    Ride the white mare
    through the dusky doorways of dawn,
    to greet the smiling fireball.

    That kept just rattling around in my brain pan. Thanks for giving me a place to deposit it.

    Glenn

    Omgoodness, Glenn! I just noticed your comment here (after all this time gone by) and I’m so sorry I didn’t see it earlier. I must remember to check these “back” pages more often, you know..?!

    I truly love your highball for the senses, i.e. hai-lowku above. The images are so intense and sear my brain, Sir. Truly gorgeous ku – and a perfect companion to my “Middle of the Night Haiku 4 U” –

    Earth bids day goodnight –
    as red lips kiss fading light
    veiled by lacy woods.

    – don’t you think?

  4. On the heels of that little haiku, a poem came to fruition as well. I would like to share it:

    Friday’s Song

    Driving
    into the office
    at 04:30am
    this morning,
    the northeastern skies
    began to lighten up
    already,
    and those first
    tentative reddish rays
    of day
    began to stain
    the horizon,
    and tinge
    the few clouds,
    still hanging
    puffy and low.

    The shiny hood
    on my cherry-red
    Isuzu pick up
    caught a bit
    of the light
    as I moved
    from lane to lane
    dodging
    the 18 wheelers–
    those garulous giants,
    those arrogant behemoths
    lit up
    like holiday porches;
    flying high
    and rolling tall
    in the crisp air–
    pounding pavement
    with their fat radials;
    beating out
    a jazz bass
    and a blues riff
    as I streamed past
    fastly.

    So now
    from my office window
    I can witness breathlessly
    American Lake turning
    to gold,
    and Mt. Rainier busily
    pouring raspberry bisque
    over its fat glaciers.

    I can hear
    an eaglet scream
    and a gull’s reply,
    as snow geese fly
    past the slit
    below the gray steel
    of my sill;
    and the sun
    leaps high,
    even burnishing the rust
    on my window screen
    into lopsided
    smiles.

    Glenn Buttkus May 2008

  5. Oh gosh, there was another little gem that sprouted in the mud that I would like to give the blog light of day:

    Mud Never Sleeps

    Mud never
    sleeps,
    always on the move,
    as we keep chopping
    down trees
    and clearing brush
    and pulling up those
    life-saving
    erosion-controling
    roots
    to make way
    for our fancy homes
    and better views–
    or sometimes
    we are just
    unlucky,
    and we are doing
    all the kind things
    to the earth,
    and mud finds us
    anyway.

    Glenn Buttkus May 2008

  6. More, more she cried, I need more poetry, more musings in the morning–and I complied:

    Sky Demon

    Deep we were
    into southern
    Louisiana,
    one spring,
    marveling at the dense
    darkness at noon,
    that was deathly still
    for a tiny moment
    just before
    bellicose bellowing of thunder,
    torrents of rain,
    and the terrible beauty
    of God’s viens
    turning electric
    as crackling shards
    of jagged lightning
    lit up the sky–
    and it felt
    like there was a
    great wind demon stirring
    somewhere near–
    a towering swirling monster
    with sythes and talons
    and flashing
    white eyes
    blinking death
    and daring us
    to tred within
    its alley.

    Glenn Buttkus May 2008

  7. Your flood haiku is also good, needing to be nodded to, and patted strong on its shoulders, and stroked behind the ears.
    /Creek floods over bank/ and it is always the innocent looking creek that swells up and becomes a river, pregnant with mud and branches and the innards of septic systems, pushing its way past your porch, and into your basement, making the wet bar even more so, burying the stumpy legs of the pool table, napping on the used couches and over stuffed chairs, soiling, and spoiling, bringing its ooze, its stink, and its sting to the knees of your stairs, or even into your house, God forbid.
    /soaks basement carpet anew/ cuz it has happened before, and somehow you peeled back the muck, and shoveled the shit, and hauled the ruined furniture to the land fill, and found clean and dry to replace it; but to no avail, for here it is again, smiling muddy, making dirty gurgling deep within the bowels of your basement, daring you to come down. /water sinks all hope/ or so it seems, even though midst the despair, the tears, the exhaustion, plans begin again, and out comes the shovels, buckets, pick ups, and friends to clean up, to buck up, to hold up, and to start again and again.

    You stimulate me to do some haiku too:

    We live with water,
    our bodies are mostly liquid;
    yet we can’t breathe it.

    Glenn

  8. Your LIGHTNING haiku strikes up a response as well, but not a critique. I am just getting to know an energy healer, Judy, who was struck by lightning when she was 4 years old. It left her very own to the psychic world, and the ability to “heal” people. She doesn’t like the word, healer, prefers energy therapist or facilitator. When you mentioned that you had fibromyalgia, I was struck with yet another thing we have in common. My sister suffers with your ailment. I, too, have a rare autoimmune disease, CIDP, and I take medical treatments for it. But also I am looking for an opportunity for some self-healing by co-creating a situation to make that possible. CIDP stands for chronic inflamatory demylonating polyneuropathy, whereby the immune system attacks my peripheral nervous system. Check it out.

    Glenn

  9. “The transfigured Christ is seen in His glory by His disciples “as far as they could see it” (there is only so much the human eye can bear). But this glory is revealed so that when they see Him crucified “they would understand that it was voluntary,” that is, they would understand that the crucifixion is nothing other than the love of God. The Crucified God is the Beautiful God Who has entered into suffering freely on our behalf. Our words may say this, but they cannot speak with the eloquence of the Word Who was both transfigured and crucified” (Father Stephen, August 6th 2007).

  10. Glenn – Another number of poems and comments from you that I was going to come back to, and clean forgot – again I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve let you down again. I just can’t seem to catch up to your energy level and feel I need to come back to these again – later – when my mind is fresh with creativity. I truly hope you understand..:)

    Steven – Although I agree with the insight/knowledge of your words, I honestly don’t know what you’re responding to, in particular. Can you help me out here? I’m in a fibrofog flare presently and am particularly dense right now. Is there a particular Lowku you’re referring to; or are you merely chastising me for the “lowkus” in general? :) I’m interested in what you have to say and welcome any criticism you may have. So have at it..:)

  11. lowku–interesting concept! i love the tore nado one!

    I’m so sorry to be so late in thanking you for your comment about my lowkus, art predator. Welcome to Poetmeister and I do hope you’ll return some time. BTW, I’m partial to the tore nado lowku, too. It’s hard for me to believe I can actually be that clever sometimes. Wishing you a great New Year! And hope you see this reply, too!

  12. I’ve been writing lowku since 1995 and am curious how you first heard that term.

    Larry

  13. Appropriately Lowku content! Well done!


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