Recap of Parz's Livestream, 26 Jan 2025 (Haiku as Observation practice, The Joy of Doing Nothing)

 To dive straight into the Livestream, click the link below:

The Planner section of the video centred on using haiku as an exercise in observation (it being part of my creative process: observation, scribing, editing).

I first showed off my writing for 80 Degrees magazine (issue #13). (If there's an interest in learning more about this issue, click this link: https://www.readeighty.com/issue-13).

And then we used this image to explore ideas to write haiku:

Some ideas I came up with:

• A description of the overall image (this is usually the first haiku I write - it allows me to then focus on different details)
• the vivid colours of the grasshopper and the leaf
• the textures of the leaf and the woven fabric underneath
• the upright antanae
• is the insect real or is it a robot?
• the rippled edges of the leaf
• the blurred green background - why's it blurred
• is the grasshopper a pet? does it have a name?
• the leaf - food? furniture? a decorative piece?

And then I expanded on a few of these ideas:

I watch in wonder

at an insect's wonderment

we're all curious

wall hanging

or free-standing sculpture

upcycling

plant skeleton

grasshopper CPR

futile endeavour

Frank seems surprised

upraised insectoid eyebrows

or simply drawn on

In the Pantser section, we explored the joy of doing nothing. 

Remember that before the creative process where you observe, scribe, and edit, you first need to be present to do those things. If you aren't there, then maybe it's time to rest and allow yourself to be yourself. (Which harkens to the quote by Georgia O'Keefe - "I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again.")

A quick haiku

 It's been a challenging time in my house this week due to some health issues. But I thought I'd post something that finally percolated today.

I've been watching my cat play and attack my duvet day after day - but there's nothing there! So as I watched, the following haiku bubbled up

today I attacked

the ghost of what I attacked

yesterday

Aleesha and Parz shared art time

 We started with the same picture prompt:

Aleesha drew this:

And Parz wrote this:

eager beaver fish

ready to take on the day

right after coffee

so adorable 

his eyes are dreamy and

fish lips are a thing

all his enemies

kept at bay in the bay by

the anemone

does a clown fish dream

of one day becoming a

mother to babies

babies swimming

or adults served with lemon

fry

finding Nemo

a rare success story

most are never found

I see you

camouflage isn’t your forte

or is that the point

how does a clown fish

keep their whites so bright?

reef-safe bleach

group indecision

fins can be a challenge for

rock paper scissors 

*****

“This is our little Morris. He was last seen in the vicinity of a friend’s house just a short swim from our anemone. If you have any information leading to the safe return of our precious child, please call your local authorities. You’ll have our undying gratitude.”

This plea from Morris’ parents echo that of so many fish who are bereft of family members. It’s heart-breaking to those affected by the recurring tragedy that so few take an interest in finding the missing fish. 

The casually callous reaction of “If they can’t be bothered to care then why should I?” upon hearing that pictures of the missing aren’t published on the sides of milk cartons ignores the fact that watery environments aren’t conducive to advances in printing technology. But it’s the deliberately mean-spirited placement of those same pictures on packages of frozen fish sticks that really twist my gills the wrong way.

Let’s all work together to defeat this scandalous treatment of all fish. And to overcome the enormous coverup of this situation by the fishing industry. 

Tea set inspired art and writing

 Aleesha and I started with this photo prompt:

Aleesha drew this:

I wrote the following haikus:

mat unrolled

well-patinated tea set

ritual ready

East meets West

tea ceremony and

duck duck goose

attendees wait

for the tea to steep

no steam - cold brew

twisted stick

decorative?

or fuel for a fire

tea and hot water

and the deeper taste of

yummy patina

twenty cups made

before pets and children

only two survived

poor sprig

out of focus flowers

clearly seen stem

barbie and ken

items sold separately 

Japanese tea house

this presentation

when I asked for a cuppa

is unexpected 

ancient feeling

timer on my smartphone 

offscreen binging

savour the tea

time should pass unnoticed

the world falls away

savour the tea

time should pass unnoticed

gulping is gauche

nature’s artistry

biological sculptures

and patina paints

and then wrote this - perhaps a prose poem?:

Tea may be the focus but without wood the peaceful setting isn’t possible. The branch knows; it sits, crooked, with fire-hardened ceramics and cast pot nestled in. Lumber fashioned into the supporting table, twigs woven into an underlying mat, stick carved into a scoop, and makes ready the hot water. Savour one but appreciate both.

Winter Wonderland Writing

 The freeXpressions prompt was Winter Wonderland:

which prompted the following haikus:

cottage nestled

wood stove heat within

fresh water outside

brick ground floor

large open windows

fresh frigid air

figure arriving

chimneys smokeless

keep your coat on

I went for groceries

on a pleasant sunny day

and return to this

a tree trunk diverged

two paths it could follow

Robert Frost, it chose both

elaborate fence

guards an elaborate ditch

river guards itself

riding inner tubes

could be fun

with enough beer

with the freezing cold

I think trees respond to it

they stand more erect

blue skies of winter

look much colder than

blue skies of summer

off-grid living

wood-powered snow blower

a creature comfort

cold lonesome cabin

be bold! be adventurous!

grow wings and migrate

nice picture

now to recover

the camera

trees don’t follow

(including limbs and branches)

the straight and narrow

and then I wrote this microfiction:

A cabin in the woods - his first architectural commission. When it was done, the customer complained and demanded a refund.

Lumber harvested onsite made it a cabin near the woods. Lack of a front door made it an unusable stone and wood box. 

He replied that the trees he’d planted would grow well after the snows melted - that climate change would make the coconut palms thrive. And that entry to the structure was easy - just climb through one of the windows; given how uneven snowdrifts could be, why lock yourself into a single entrance? He even offered to pay for a step ladder - an expensive metal one that could be stored outside.

The customer, for some reason, wasn’t mollified. He reasoned that there was simply no satisfying some people. 

and then this prose poem:

Three seasons cabin stands starkly in the fourth. No sanctuary, this, ‘gainst howling storm, but edifice enough to persevere through blinding snows. Even Dorothy’s tornado would admit defeat to the stolid lodge. Only the most stubborn of residents, survivalist pests, eke out a meager living. 

It shivers alone.

The stream burbles on.

Prompted by the Mist

 Last week's freeXpressions prompt was Misty:

which prompted these haikus:

a road to nowhere

doesn’t exist, except to

the town of Nowhere

cloud sits on mountain

gingerly, cautiously

the peak is pointy

cold rocky shoreline

overlooked by stark mountains

topped with mist

slow moving black flood

green grows up in the sun

black oozes down

Bilbo, use the road

travel hours, not months

to misty mountains

get in the water

you’ll feel more numb than cold

trust me

enter the mist

alternate universes

may be beyond

dank, drear, heavy

grey, overcast, cold, and wet

a sunny day here

road follows the coast

power lines follow the road

what’s the coast follow?

and then I wrote this microfiction:

Archibald Simmons von Smith was once asked to write a symphony that would set the landscape of Moldovania’s coast to music. Getting on in years, he was unable to compose on location; a series of reference photos were provided instead. He studied the photos intently, wanting to express, above all, truth. 

The first movement was for the mountains and the cloud-covered peaks. It soared and towered, and yet was also mysterious and airy. Listeners agreed it was a masterwork.

The second movement described the waters, the waves, the storms. You could feel rains pouring down, lashing the unmoving cliffs, and yet also the nurturing of lush vegetation. Listeners agreed it too was a masterwork.

The third and last movement described the scar of a road that cut through the coastal beauty. Coming in at roughly four and a half minutes, listeners agreed it was four and a half minutes too long and described the road too well.

The road was torn out and nature allowed to repair itself. 

Archibald’s top student was then commissioned to write another version of the symphony. After being paid fully in advance, he took the original symphony and ripped up the third movement, leaving everything else intact.

While the music is a masterpiece, the lawsuit concerning the artist’s fee is still being adjudicated.