My Green Mug
Haiku #1
This is my first in a series of haikus that I will be sharing with you from my writing notebook. If you have not already, I encourage you to read my simple reflection on poetry as resistance.
If all goes according to plan (when does it ever?), I’ll be pairing each haiku with a subsequently brief post in which I will be reflecting on the the thoughts and experiences which gave birth to each poem. My hope in doing so is to aid you, dear readers, in the simple but gladsome journey of uncovering poetic meaning. Some of you will not need much assistance in that regard, but I nonetheless hope that my more intimate insights into the lifeblood of each poem are gladdening to you. For the rest of you who may need or want the assistance, I hope my insights can help you more readily encounter the joy and beauty of poetry.
Lastly, I am obliged to express my sincerest apologies to all of you for having so long delayed the start of these poems which I was due to post about three (more?) months ago per my own announcement. Better late then never, I suppose.
Anyhow, without further adieu…
I begin with one of my favorite haikus which I wrote about one of my favorite possessions…
My green mug
Mud-brown skin dressed up with class in grass-y tweed fit for kings and nobles.
