Friday, April 27, 2012
Haiku Friday: Posthumous Words
IPLawGuy sent me an idea for Haiku Friday this week: Write your own obituary... in haiku!
Don't ask me why he wants this, but I kind of owe him one after the whole "Vail Incident." I have to admit, there is probably a high probability that my obituary actually will be in haiku-- I'm kind of asking for it, I suppose, by doing this every week. Notably, several of my students wrote their evaluations of my class in haiku last semester (thanks, guys!).
So, here is mine:
Mark Osler sure had
Some crazy professor hair
And sometimes could cook.
Now it is your turn! The winner gets a bio here on Monday-- just make it 5 syllables/7 syllables/5 syllables. If is is just too hard to do your own obit in haiku, feel free to do one for IPLawGuy.
Comments:
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Christine T Swanson
Wanted to be a swimmer
now wears water wings
ps. off to a swim meet and hope that I don't drown....
Wanted to be a swimmer
now wears water wings
ps. off to a swim meet and hope that I don't drown....
New Christine is Hushed!
Life returns to words, not her
lengthy paragraphs.
Her heart mostly kind.
Could her purgatory, a
deserted isle be?
Life returns to words, not her
lengthy paragraphs.
Her heart mostly kind.
Could her purgatory, a
deserted isle be?
# posted by 
: 9:53 AM
: 9:53 AM
Robert was a good
bowler, and a good man. He
was one of us. He
was a man who loved
the outdoors… and bowling, and
as a surfer he
explored the beaches
of Southern California,
from La Jolla to
Leo Carrillo
and… up to… Pismo. He died,
like so many young
men of his time, he
died before his time. In your wisdom, Lord, you took
him, as you took so
many bright flowering young
men at Khe Sanh, at
Langdok, at Hill three-
sixty-four. These young men gave
their lives. And so would
Robert. Robert, who
loved bowling. And so, Robert
Randolph Little, in
accordance with what
we think your dying wishes
might well have been, we
commit your final
mortal remains to the heart
of the Pacific
Ocean, which you loved
so well. Good night, sweet prince.
bowler, and a good man. He
was one of us. He
was a man who loved
the outdoors… and bowling, and
as a surfer he
explored the beaches
of Southern California,
from La Jolla to
Leo Carrillo
and… up to… Pismo. He died,
like so many young
men of his time, he
died before his time. In your wisdom, Lord, you took
him, as you took so
many bright flowering young
men at Khe Sanh, at
Langdok, at Hill three-
sixty-four. These young men gave
their lives. And so would
Robert. Robert, who
loved bowling. And so, Robert
Randolph Little, in
accordance with what
we think your dying wishes
might well have been, we
commit your final
mortal remains to the heart
of the Pacific
Ocean, which you loved
so well. Good night, sweet prince.
# posted by : 10:14 AM
: 10:14 AM
I don't even think I can write anything I am so moved by RRL's entry. What a wonderful poem,even the style speaks to me powerfully.Although it is quite cheeky of him to quote Hamlet.
I tried to dump him into the Pacific once already. Wait, no... that was in Atlanta, but it was a large body of water.
This isn't anywhere as meaningful or inspiring as RLL's but Maureen's mention of shoes got me to thinking....
Family, dachshunds,
friends: Jill loved them all. But Coach
bags ranked up there, too.
This girl had mad skills
in choosing bags perfectly
styled for ensembles.
Wallis Simpson said
one can’t be too rich or too
thin. Jill knew better:
One can never have
too many Coach bags, and her
closet bore this out.
The bucket, the tote,
The duffel, the crossbody:
Now they sit, lined up
Like soldiers in a
parade. Empty. Just waiting
to be filled again.
One wishes humans
had as good a warranty
for our lives as Coach.
Family, dachshunds,
friends: Jill loved them all. But Coach
bags ranked up there, too.
This girl had mad skills
in choosing bags perfectly
styled for ensembles.
Wallis Simpson said
one can’t be too rich or too
thin. Jill knew better:
One can never have
too many Coach bags, and her
closet bore this out.
The bucket, the tote,
The duffel, the crossbody:
Now they sit, lined up
Like soldiers in a
parade. Empty. Just waiting
to be filled again.
One wishes humans
had as good a warranty
for our lives as Coach.
Died of a broken
Heart after witnessing the
The decimation
Of his personal
Collection of more than 2000
Orphaned brown bear cubs.
With his dying breath
He gently whispered the words,
"Sic semper ursidae."
Contact Mark Osler
If you are interested in
Contributing to
"Save the Baby Bears,"
A memorial fund set
Up to honor CTL.
Heart after witnessing the
The decimation
Of his personal
Collection of more than 2000
Orphaned brown bear cubs.
With his dying breath
He gently whispered the words,
"Sic semper ursidae."
Contact Mark Osler
If you are interested in
Contributing to
"Save the Baby Bears,"
A memorial fund set
Up to honor CTL.
She tried to keep doors
Open,threshhold blanketed
Welcome of red roses.
Heart cracked, thus open,
She tried to mend holes
Of hurt by listen.
Kept herself whole with
Paintings,rhapsodies,poems,
Eyes flew out to meet things.
Antarctic wind froze
Herself to solid ice;she
Forgot who she was,but...
Certain souls recalled
For her,miracles bloomed and
Spring returned.The End
Open,threshhold blanketed
Welcome of red roses.
Heart cracked, thus open,
She tried to mend holes
Of hurt by listen.
Kept herself whole with
Paintings,rhapsodies,poems,
Eyes flew out to meet things.
Antarctic wind froze
Herself to solid ice;she
Forgot who she was,but...
Certain souls recalled
For her,miracles bloomed and
Spring returned.The End
Seriously, I just revisited several hours (and a few glasses of wine) later, just to read RRL's haiku again. Still wonderful.
Renee your poetry is epic and Calliope just a humble muse. By the time I hit "Publish Your Comment" a tear that barely hangs is falling. Obit Haiku Heaven.
Don't anybody die...ever. I love you! It is astonishing that such a place as Osler's Razor,which really exists nowhere on earth except in an ephemeral zone,can so move us to appreciate one another,make us dear to one another. Among other things.
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