The Four Elements
Earth, Air, Fire, Water… (My research shows Fire can be pronounced with 1 OR 2 syllables and in one line I’m using it as 2 syllables and in another only 1)
Earth is a planet!
Soil is an element too….
We’re ALL made from soil.
The air element…
Deep space has no oxygen!
Neither does water!
The first energy?
Fire was the first prana! (Fire as two syllable)
Fire is pure chi/prana. (Fire as one syllable)
Fire uses air. (Fire as two syllables)
Two elements combining!
That’s metaphysics….
(SEE how the word “fire” even acts as a creative changing element in this haiku?!?)
About the Creator
Christopher “CJ” Herring
Poetry from a Black gay male poet about the alternative lifestyle experience and life in general. Also, creative writing… I enjoy writing challenges!
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Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
By Hannah Mooreabout 8 hours ago in Poets
The Reluctant Reporter
"You can't send me!" "There is no-one else. It's you or no-one, and that is not an option." Ameera looked at the fat paunch and florid face of her boss, a man who lived for the story and the kudos it brought him but who rarely gave consideration to the people behind the drama. When had he become so hard? She reckoned that by the end of the year, he'd be dead, collapsed from a heart attack and she struggled to conjure any sympathy in that moment and instantly felt ashamed at displaying the same lack of compassion that he had.
By Rachel Deeming7 days ago in Fiction
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