We had gotten a great response to our call for Mother’s Day tributes. And it was an unofficial start to our “planting” season. Today we begin in earnest with our first form exploration of the re-boot. Today we fete: the Boketto!

A while back, our friend Meena Rose wrote about the idea of boketto. Boketto is a Japanese word that really doesn’t translate into English very well. The concept of Boketto is akin to staring at the sky or into the distance without a thought… Getting lost in one’s own self; removing the self from a place mentally. There is no regard to the past and no connection to the future. There is only THIS moment.

From this thought I’ve experimented with incorporating boketto into a poetic form and thus the Boketto was born. The Boketto can be a very personal poem, or can be one of a random observation.

The Boketto consists of two stanzas, One of five lines (30 syllables – 7,7,7,4,5) and a three line (17 syllables – two seven syllable lines and a three syllable line which becomes a refrain if a string of Boketto are written). It expresses a single moment in time!

A variation of the Boketto makes use of two (three) ancient Japanese forms, the Tanka and the Haiku (Senryu). The moment of which you write will determine the choice. (Haiku – nature; Senryu – everything else).


Sara’s Boketto:


My mind is a roulette wheel,
black daydream fears spin through red
Grandfather clock ticks off time
The world is still
Am I fulfilling

my life? Will seizures that plague
my dog ease? I have always
found life hard.

© Sara McNulty

**I was sitting in my “writing corner” of the living room, dogs asleep in a stream of sunlight. Prevalent sound was the ticking of the clock, and the sense of my thoughts whirling.


Walter’s Boketto:


The air is filled with static,
a bombardment of senses
meant to irritate; annoy.
There is no joy,
this moment must cease.

I must escape in my mind,
hoping to find inner peace.
No relief.

© Walter J Wojtanik

**WHITE NOISE was a restless night with the television on. I’m not sure if the TV kept me awake or if I hoped it would soothe. It did not.

…and the variation…


I am imprisoned,
lost in this moment in time.
I am writing rhyme
hoping to vacate this shell
and become one with my words.
not a sound is heard
silence becomes an ally
setting the soul free

© Walter J Wojtanik

**SOLACE IN SELF was a bout of writer’s block that plagued. The silence of this night filled my head with words.