Senryu

Stereotype
The pitter patter of tiny feet, running on wooden floors - my cat. I've decided, belatedly, to make up for my long near-absence on Vocal by writing 365 stories this year (0-100, that's me). I'll need to catch up, which probably means a lot of short poetry for a while. This one wasn't thought up at all, but popped into my head from life, with a miaow.
By TheSpinstress about a year ago in Poets
Without Warning
Substances, smoking Adult language, nudity Two, free range humans
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
The Demagogue
He knows how we feel! He does not ask us to think! He must be our friend!
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Fitness
Fitness instructor leading a class on zoom, from pastry bakery Senryu: a 3-line unrhymed Japanese poem structurally similar to haiku but treating human nature usually in an ironic or satiric vein
By Andrea Corwin about a year ago in Poets
Bit Parts
Know the difference Between doctor and patient Is temporary
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Bouquet
Slender is the rose That sashays in its clothes Wonder is the lily Who’s existence thrills me A blossoming ranunculus
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Crocheted to Death
I crocheted a loop Stitching with needles of pain My noose of yarns spun
By Andrew C McDonaldabout a year ago in Poets
Bye,Bye Blues
Crush the blues Clean away the tears Bring in the yellow sun Finally, Joy have begun
By L.I.Eabout a year ago in Poets
Do Everything in Joy
Walk in joy Dance in joy Love in joy Live in joy
By L.I.Eabout a year ago in Poets
January's Rose
In winter's icy grip, a blossom so fair, January's child, beyond compare. With skin so soft, like a velvet touch, A token of love, a gentle blush.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Poets
Screw You. Content Warning.
You know what? Screw you! You took what wasn’t even yours. Do you think I don’t know? I see you as something to abhor. 🖕
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Poets
Through the peeking window of 2025
To dive deeper into the yearnings of tomorrow, Or to be ruminating in the pleasures that forbade yesterday’s sorrow In the silent rumblings of my piercing soul,
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets