pesbo since 2005.

Pearl Pirie’s book lists, interviews, event write-ups, poems and more.

hirsute suits her suite

each moment a culmination, concepts thaw on paper, food can’t help but taste, retract, not detract from, attract to, proactive dews, dusk at the due time, protractors scribe, you have arrived to describe John Deere tractors arc, slipping even with chains, rutting, unstucking, traction lost is not inaction gained, pulled on the pavement to action, arch of protracted effort, dervishing, extract from fort of another era’s bones, arrows, fortitude, fortunate, tune nit, picked a knit cap, throw that into the ring, ola.

Tanka vs Haiku

Source: Jane Reichhold at Aha Poetry has a lot of food for thought at the comparison. Some seem to write tanka if they overflow on syllable count for haiku but they are different beasts.


13 centuries———————–3 centuries


Social Background
courtly —————————-merchants and lower class
literary—————————–part of a game

to savor beauty ——————–to open the heart
contemplation———————-quick and direct
emotional —————————aim to have no emotion
uses imagination——————–senses with concrete images
written to assigned themes ——-based on an experience

Tanka for the Memory by Jane Reichhold (same source)

From tanka’s long history – over 1300 years recorded in Japan- the most famous use of the poetry form of tanka was as secret messages between lovers. Arriving home in the morning, after having dallied with a lover all night, it became the custom of well-mannered persons to write an immediate thank-you note for the pleasures of the hospitality. Stylized into a convenient five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 onji, the little poem expressing one’s feelings were sent in special paper containers, written on a fan, or knotted on a branch or stem of a single blossom. These were delivered to the lover by personal messenger who then was given something to drink along with his chance to flirt with the household staff. During this interval a responding tanka was to be written in reply to the first note which the messanger would return to his master.

Canadian as rhubarb pie, tart pucker sweet stale

Canadian as rhubarb pie, tart pucker sweet stale

there’s no trustworthy holding pattern for happy
veined bluebells timbales evicerate sun
at each unseen dawn they will leak dew

feeling unaccountable well I had an urge
to dock ears, make prosthetics for sows
from the many fine purses of last season

passing graves I stop in, not to stay,
(wrong denomination of death)
behind the sturdy wrought iron

some flush, some mound, some cave
buried under the lisp of wind licked grass
let’s make sexual this teensy death of strangers,

drab: the almost unreactive
silk flowers fade, petals drop
more forlorn for no good rot

judging by what passes as evidence

I browse titles of how to manage toxic people
poetry of skill and terrible import(ance) and think
the solution in my hands,
the books read each other and self-annialiate,
leave me to cleaning the floor in peace,
with time leftover to have friends at tea.

O’Hara wrote
Why I am Not a Painter, which you can hear at pō’ĭ-trē