I'll be the first to admit that I am not a poet, at least not the way that people normally associate with the word. I've never really been good at rhyming, or at doing the sonnet thing, or even a brief, Ogden Nash-style quintain. I hated it, when in school, English teachers insisted on imposing poem assignments on me. Prose-only, thank you very much. I rarely ever rhyme. Metaphor instead of meter. Style versus syntax. Alliteration instead of assonance.

I grew to hate poetry, partly because of being forced to read it, but mostly because I tended to take things literally. When presented with the imagery, of say, a rusty old wheelbarrow leaning against a barn, glistening in the dew, I tended to see a rusty old wheelbarrow leaning against a barn, glistening in the dew, instead of the grander view of the transitory nature of life. Meh. My philosophy was that if one was to go back in time and talk with the long dead guy who scribbled the verse, he'd probably tell you that there was no ulterior motive, other than writing about a rusty old wheelbarrow leaning against a barn, glistening in the dew.

It really didn't help that by some terrible oversight I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet three years in a row, 7th, 8th, and 9th grades, which ruined Shakespeare for me, much less iambic pentameter. It wasn't until Junior year, when exposed to American poets such as Whitman (I too am not a bit tamed--- I too am untranslatable; I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.) that I actually found something interesting, something I could relate to. Shakespeare came back to me Senior year, when we read the "Scottish Play," which filled me with awe. Ms. Barr, the slathering feminist, required us to memorize:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

To this day, more than a decade later, I remember. It still sends shivers up and down my spine.

Ms. Barr taught Masterpieces. Under her pedagogy, we were introduced to many other great poets, including the like of Tennyson (The Lady of Shalott), Herrick (To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time), and Mallory (Le Morte Darthur). Barr none, (hah, had to fit that in there) the most fun I had Senior year was in that class, even if the teacher and I didn't exactly get along.

The point of all this being that by the time I had graduated high school, I had shed my intense dislike for poetry, and shifted into tolerance.

I still prefer essays.

Then why, of all things, do I find myself writing, nay, churning out poetry so often lately that I purchased a journal to scribe down my thoughts before they could be forgotten?

Shifting gears here, every elementary school child knows that haiku is a three-line Japanese poem, where the first line is composed of five syllables, followed by a line of seven syllables, and finally, a line of five.

Every elementary school child has been lied to.

Merriam-Webster defines:
hai - ku noun
Pronunciation:
..ˈhī-( ˌ )kü..

an unrhymed verse form of Japanese origin having three lines containing usually five, seven, and five syllables respectively; also : a poem in this form usually having a seasonal reference

Not a bad definition, but not exactly correct, either.

Bedford/St. Martin's defines haiku:
A style of lyric poetry borrowed from the Japanese that typically presents an intense emotion or vivid image of nature, which, traditionally, is designed to lead to a spiritual insight. Haiku is a fixed poetic form, consisting of seventeen syllables organized into three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. Today, however, many poets vary the syllabic count in their haiku.

A better definition, but again, this insipid, incessant, insistence (ooo, alliteration!) upon the five-seven-five structure!

I first encountered haiku in the fifth grade. I know we were taught about other types of poetry, but oddly enough, I only remember haiku. Naturally, we were told it consisted of the five-seven-five syllable structure, but were given free rein as far as subject and style. For years, this has been my understanding of haiku. Thank you Mr. Oakes!

For some reason haiku has always had a sort of draw for me and I never knew why. Perhaps it had something to do with the prosaic nature of the style, but I think it is deeper than that. Actually, I know it is deeper than that.

You see, something was missing from my haiku. I would compose and fret and edit my poems, but they never really seemed to have that je nai se quois that I was looking for. We are, after all, our own worst critics, as I have oft quoted. In order to improve my composition, I went looking for answers, and was amazed at what I found.

I wasn't writing haiku! Bollocks!

Granted, what I was writing was poetry, but not actually haiku. No wonder it seemed pale and empty.

Haiku is elegantly simple, and yet complex: A paradox on ink and paper. There are rules, forms, *ahem* guidelines, that must be satisfied.

1) Haiku is in the now. This is not to say that one cannot compose a poem inspired from past events, however it must be phrased in present tense. Spontaneity is key.

2) Somewhere in the poem must exist a seasonal reference, or "kigo". This grounds the reader with a time-reference, as well as possibly reminding the reader of similar poems.

3) Haiku presents two images, both related and contrasting. One image comprises one line, where the other uses two. Rarely ever should Haiku present three images, as this muddies the boundary between them, and makes things needlessly complex.

4) Simplicity is best. Never should flowery language be used. Present the reader with only the text they need in order to understand.

5) Haiku should allow the reader to form their own emotional response, rather than reading about the poet's emotional response, therefore the poet should refrain from offering one.

6) Haiku need not be constricted into 17 syllables. Poems usually range from 10 – 17 syllables, however, I have seen as little as four used.

7) Avoid using verbs. If they must be used, try to limit it to one per poem.

Obviously, poet's discretion can be used in the interpretation and use of these guidelines, and things can be a bit more complex, depending on how deeply you want to delve into style. I find that the present tense, a kigo, two images, and one verb tends to work for me.

Thus armed, my creative energy flowed:

a warm evening
poems made easy
scribbles on paper

Not brilliant, no, but my first, official haiku. Huzzah!

Perhaps, in time, I may share more, as I grow in confidence.