I suppose it is all in the intended mode of delivery of the haiku; spoken, or read. If it is intended to be read aloud then that seems to me to change things. When I say "prayer" it rhymes with pear, or bear. I suppose however depending on accent, inflection, etc. It could completely alter the number of syllables.
Since I brought up "prayer" as on eor two syllables, we kinda decided whoever wanted to use a contested word in a haiku here could decide what suited/fit their haiku.
@motie2@mfresa Thank you both for the kind words. I'm glad you both enjoyed the poem. I do want to go back and tinker with the poem a bit. I forgot to add a few lines to it, but I also don't want to over complicate what's already there.
@pipeman83 That means a lot to me to hear. You're more than welcome to print it out and do as you with to it. I'd consider it an honor to have my work on someone's wall.
@mfresa That is a good point. However, there were a few lines I meant to add, but forgot to due to changing the structure a bit midway through, which threw my plans off. There were supposed to be two more examples of pipe smokers in the past, but it slipped my mind.
Comments
Seen the fading embers glow
and fade to cold ash
Sweet smoke wafts softly,
My pipe in hand like a hearth,
Burns worries to ash
Sweet smoke wafts softly,
My pipe in hand like a hearth,
Burns worries to ash.
Match over the bowl,
The lit baccy reminds me,
Life is but a flash.
We are both the same,
So may my life please others.
From ember to ash.
War being waged temporal
Pipe contemplation
(Fire has both 1 or 2 syllables, being Texan, it only has 1 for me
Thought I would try my hand at haiku as well! Seemed like too much fun not to join in!
Tension rose above the norm
The pipe aided me
With a special formula?
Really want to know...
She wafts softly across my memory
like smoke from fine pipe tobacco.
Lingering just a moment
before fading on a breeze.
by TheBadgerPiper
With lit match in hand,
I place it over the bowl,
Gently puffing smoke.
My pipe is alight,
After tamping I recline,
My evening is set.
Just me and my pipe,
My mind wanders to the past,
And of days gone by.
In the wisps I see,
Companions of long ago,
That I've never met.
The hourglass slows,
For this ghostly communion,
Of like-minded souls.
Brothers of the pipe,
Briar, clay, corncob, and meer,
All joined together.
The weary sailor,
Battered by the wind and waves,
Puffing at the wheel.
He mutters a prayer,
For clear skies and a calm sea,
To reach a safe port.
The tired soldier,
Clenching his cob for comfort,
At camp far from home.
He writes to his bride,
Letting her know he's still safe,
And thinking of her.
Also the scholar,
Wrapped in his smoking jacket,
Pipe and book in hand.
He ponders myst'ries,
In his chair by the fireplace,
Into the wee hours.
The late night writer,
Rewriting his manuscript,
For the umpteenth time.
His bleary eyes squint,
Smoke from his pipe in his eyes,
He waits for his muse.
Their images pass,
As I puff and tip my cap,
To those long since gone.
I, too, will join them,
A ghost among the pipe smoke,
One day far from now.
'Till then I will smoke,
And honor their memory,
With this tradition.
Passing my knowledge,
Of pipe smoking to pipers,
Who heed the pipe's call.
Though odd we may be,
We've found contentment and peace,
Through briar and leaf.
@pipeman83 That means a lot to me to hear. You're more than welcome to print it out and do as you with to it. I'd consider it an honor to have my work on someone's wall.
We will. That's what the "Best of..." button will access...... in time. Allegedly.