Janet (j4) wrote,

No blossom / The I of the storm

This LJ haiku generator is strangely addictive: all the fun of fridge poetry without any of the effort. I'm quite fond of these ones:
a common spoken
language well okay sharing
a handful of words

fresh lemongrass in
arbury fortunately
we've all been students
It's interesting to see which posts are immediately recognisable from their fragments and which leave me feeling as though I've looked in a mirror and not recognised the person who looks back.
heart in the mirror
without looking at the blank
page in front of you
But it's not really surprising that this poetic pruning (or perhaps topiary) results in something we may barely recognise; our stories are given shape by where we choose to begin and end them:
glimpses of a life
i don't remember having
there's one scrap here
There are sections of my life which feel like scraps of paper that I can't piece back together into one coherent narrative. It's not that I can't remember what happened; it's more that I can't work out how the events that I know -- or think I know -- happened all fit together. From time to time I stare at the pieces and wonder if the jigsaw's complete, and whether there are in fact several jigsaws here whose pieces have been mixed together.

Advice on how to "de-junk your life" suggests that a good way to deal with clutter like this is to put it in a box in the loft for a year, & if at the end of that time you haven't needed anything in the box, you should just throw it all away. Part of me would love to be able to practise this sort of ruthlessness; realistically, though, I'm more likely to keep all the bits until I have time to make a huge glitter-sprayed collage out of them. In the meantime, I'm enjoying the present too much to sit around sifting through piles of the past; but every now and then I use a scrap of paper as a bookmark, or I write a shopping-list on the back, and so another fragment is blown away in the wind.

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