Haiku

One two three four five
He thinks he’s written a poem
Instead, it’s just words

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Geoff Hoff is co-author of the best selling satirical novel Weeping Willow: Welcome to River Bend

6 Comments

  1. Vin
    Posted April 25, 2008 at 2:08 pm | Permalink

    Dear Geoff,
    your haiku seems a commentary about both the difficulty of writing a good haiku as well as a writer’s possibly misplaced certainty of his own competence! I offer you in return my own haiku about haiku, entitled “Haiku Haiku”:

    Five short syllables
    Seven more for good measure
    Then! a surprise

  2. Posted April 25, 2008 at 2:23 pm | Permalink

    Vin,

    I thought of mine as a satirical haiku about haiku writers who think proper format equals art. Yours is much more artful than mine, I must say. The surprise in the third line more in keeping with the tradition of good haiku and also wonderfully self-referential.

    My father, a fairly accomplished poet, has also written many haiku, some about the writing of haiku. Perhaps we have all created a sub-genre! I’ll ask him permission to post one or more of his efforts here and we can all admire each other’s wit and sophistication, which is what the Intenet is for, after all.

    Geoff

  3. Posted April 25, 2008 at 2:50 pm | Permalink

    Haiku, haiku, It’s
    off to work I… goo. Damn! This
    happens every time.

  4. Posted April 27, 2008 at 10:54 am | Permalink

    I’ve gotten permission from my father, poet Rowell S. Hoff, to post his poetry, so here is one of his haiku about haiku. (There may be more, and I’ll do some digging to find them.)

    My mind will just fit
    in seventeen syllables.
    It’s haiku for me!

    There is another, which isn’t quite haiku, he reminds me, as each line is one syllable short. (Part of the point? I will assume so and give the benefit of any doubt to the subtlety of the poet’s mind.)

    Haiku don’t rime.
    This is a haiku crime,
    not worth a dime.

  5. Posted January 30, 2009 at 12:39 pm | Permalink

    How about a limerick:

    A very sad poet was Jenny.
    Her limericks were worth not a penny.
    In technique they were sound
    but often she found
    whenever she tried to write any
    she came up with one line too many!

  6. Posted January 30, 2009 at 1:58 pm | Permalink

    That reminds me of one that an old boss used to love. (I’m probably misquoting it a bit):

    There once was a poet named Stan
    Whose limericks never would scan
    When people asked why
    This would he reply
    It’s because I try to cram as many syllables into the last line as I possibly can

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