I usually write haiku, and not very often only when I sit on twitter . I have friends there who twit haiku very often. There are some peoples who make online tanka. I know about tanka few years already and for me is very interesting that some people including me promote those old styles of writing poetry on twitter.  O.K.

What is #tanka?

Something that is not haiku, sedoka, choka, onji, renga, senryu, … [this was the hard part]

• Tanka is a classic form of Japanese poetry related to the haiku with five unrhymed lines of five, seven, five, seven and seven syllables. (5, 7, 5, 7, 7)
• (the other one) Tanka, the oldest Japanese poetry form, was often written to explore religious or courtly themes and had a structure of five lines with a  5-7-5-7-7 syllable structure. One person would contribute the first three lines (5-7-5) of the tanka, and a different author would complete the poem by composing a 7-7 section and adding a pivot point such as in this tanka from George Knox at Aha! Poetry:

In the check-out line

a worn face ahead of me

turns tentatively…

Realities of desire

fade in final reckoning.

-tanka by George Knox

• From tanka’s long history – over 1300 years recorded in Japan – the most famous use of the poetry form of #tanka was a secret message 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 pleasure of the hospitality. Stylized into a convenient five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 onji, the little 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 messenger would return to his master. - Jane Reichhold
  

One of the trademarks of a tanka (besides the traditional five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 onji — syllables) is a short poetic statement depicting nature (here it may seem much like something you could call a haiku) which is linked to a designated feeling or emotional attitude of the author. This latter aspect is a basic one dividing the two forms today.

By expressing emotional feelings tanka affirms a connectedness between something unseen but real — our feelings — with the observable world around us. Tanka gives the mind a picture which can, if it is successful, joins for and evokes a felt emotional state.

Tanka have changed and evolved over the centuries, but the form of five syllabic units containing 31 syllables has remained the same.Topics have expanded from the traditional expressions of passion and heartache, and styles have changed to include modern language and even colloquialisms.

Characteristics of #tanka

• 31 syllables, 5 lines;
• Write the first section of a tanka (5-7-5), similar to a haiku;
• Another person picks up the first 3 lines and writes a response (or continuation) by composing two lines of 7-7 syllables;
• Can reflect nature or lean toward senryu;
• Emotional, contemplative, imaginative, reflective, written to be chanted.

Many clouds unfurled

rise at cloud-decked Izumo;

Round you spouse to hold

raise many folder barriers

like those barriers manifold.

(old tanka)

For me one of the most important thing for writing East forms of poetry is to follow your heart, to open the doors for the words that show emotions, to catch moments from your happiness between the lines, to make pictures from the nature…while the ants prepare for the next winter.

newborn winter sky ~
inexorable darkness ~
earth’s dream pervades ~
night sylph slips through my window ~
cool air caresses my hands

Never have so
Many men berated a
team for winning.
But Forest Green Rovers
Are still in it, somehow

WHEN I SLEPT WITH YOU

When I slept with you
it was like a dream come true;
my arms wrapped around
that soft, smooth, youthful body,
breathing the life that was you.

A.J. Chilson
27 November 2009
5:27 AM

My tired fingers
Dream of resting on your skin,
My head on your chest.
We’re sleeping off busy days,
Forgetting tomorrow’s work.

Ice creeping inside
Inch by inch from the wall.
The cold is coming,
I can feel it in my bones,
Slowly taking me over.

I felt within me
A prism of light shatter
Spreading colours
Of creative desire
To write of all things.

one warm smile from you
sprinkles my bleeding meadows
wooden hues, playing
swirling through forgotten howls
hidden in unknown valleys

opening my eyes ~
forgetting, floating away ~
a river of thoughts ~
awakening once again ~
i find that i am drowning

Recalling last night,
All smiles, photos and stories.
Did i dream them all?
You filled my curiousness
And fired my writing power.

A headless morning,
Football filled afternoon
Poor old Wigan,
As night time hits me,
So does some inspiration.

thirst for pure water ~
I am the receiving cup ~
pure receptacle ~
struggling to banish poison ~
even as I taste its sweetness

Future dreams
Hang around my time caught frame
As days fly past
My bubble wrapped prison.
I’m waiting for a chance.

Autumn wind blows in,
chases me like children tag.
She adores playing.

I won’t stand still and get caught.
She can not blow out my flames.

Even today when tears slip between tears,

when the river ice welds its long chill to the banks

and will not melt till one hundred more mornings have come,

even now the only thing that makes sense

is to fall more deeply in love.

When the highway vanished beneath crusted white

and the windshield was plastered with broadcast ice

and my hands gripped the wheel

as the tires slipped,

even then I thought of you.

Starved of cash
I went cap in hand
to the dole office,
whereupon I waited
and answered for an hour.

*

Walking home
I passed a posh family
their son said of me:
“Probably a student
walking home.”

Wrath James White lays out his thinking, in terms of the book he’s writing for Bandernatch. You can’t link to individual posts on his blog, so the entry being referred to is titled “In Verse.”

Even today when tears slip between tears,

when the river ice welds its long chill to the banks

and will not melt till one hundred more mornings have come,

even now the only thing that makes sense

is to fall more deeply in love.

Misty mountain tops,
Wet hair and cotton socks,
A falling sun lost.

Gazzoline Deluxe är ett spel där man ska driva en bensinmack och ta hand om sina kunder på bästa sätt. När det kommer kunder så gäller det att snabbt serva de med det som de vill ha. Det gäller att snabbt se till att kunderna kommer snabbt till en ledig bensinpump och sedan sätta i gång och tanka pumpen. Vissa kunder vill dessutom ha nånting från mackens affär så då får man springa och hämta det snabbt. Skulle kunderna få vänta för länge så kommer de att bli sura och kan köra därifrån. Mellan varje dag så kan man uppgradera sin bensinmack med bättre pumpar och mycket annat som gör kunderna lite nöjdare.

Gazzoline Deluxe

I wanted to know how it worked:

splayed its legs, pressed its wings,

and in my effort to dissect joy

I killed it.

Oh please, please forgive me.