Issue Five May 2016
Gogyoshi Monthly Issue Five May 2016
Declaration of Gogyoshi
What is Gogyoshi?
Gogyoshi is a poem written in five lines. Writing a poem in five lines is its only rule. The content of gogyohshi is free, its themes are chosen by the poet. There are other five-line poetries in the world, for example, gogyohka, tanka, cinquain, and limerick. These poetries have certain rules such as number of permitted syllables, line lengths, and rhyme. Gogyohshi has no such rules. It is the freest form of five-line poetry in the world. But gogyohshi doesn’t permit to be written in 4 or 6 lines, though gogyohka occasionally permits this. Gogyohshi is written only in five lines. If the poem is written in four lines, we should call it “Yongyohshi”meaning a poem written in four lines. If the poem is written in six lines, you should call it Rokugyohshi” meaning a poem … written in six lines. As for a title, some Japanese poets add it to gogyohshi and others don’t.I will always add a title to my Japanese and English gogyohshi because I can’t tell one gogyohshi from the other. If I add it to my many gogyohshi, I will be able to tell them apart. I will write a short title in all capital letters so that readers don’t misunderstand the title as one line of 6 lines poetry. Gogyohshi is for me 5 lines poetry with a short title. But it isn’t the same as cinquain because it has no syllabic restraints unlike cinquain. While Gogyohka is trademarked in Japan, gogyohshi is not so. Because Gogyohshi doesn’t belong to any special person but to everyone. Most Japanese gogyohka poets belong to gogyohka groups and follow the leaders of such groups. Most Gyohshi poets do not belong to any group and write as they please. In conclusion, among world five-line poetries, gogyohshi is closest to gogyohka in form. The primary differences between them lie in gogyohshi’s adherence to the rule of 5-line. Adding a title to them depends on the poet. A gogyohshi poet has no rule except writing a poem in five lines. This is my Declaration of Gogyoshi.
Reproduced with the permission of Taro Aizu
SANJEEV SETHI CUE I can’t trap my tears like atomizers. I’m not on hold for an eulogy on television.
WINTERS Others doff greatcoats in the comfort of a warm chamber, you unhinged your hurricanes on the hanger of my heart. For years my head was your home. Why did I shelter the one who wasn’t homeless?
LIVING You have to search your syllabary to write your own welcome and valedictory speech. My poems are certificates to myself: for being. CODA The good Lord has been largehearted with my love handle, still I’ve a long face. Homo sapiens, ah? POLITY If you want to see a frown on a man’s face give him power. Take it away. His smile will return.
Joann Grisetti
this old road the rain-spattered dustiness as if he cares through summer heavy trees a stoic crow nods to me
the dune engulfed in golden glow and fragrance as evening sage brushed by two fawns
deer stalker decisions to be made six am telephoto for the rack wide angle for the herd
poems sprouting feathers with each reading wings unfurl into mists of emotion
mere words shoulda, coulda, woulda puffs of air we breathe aloud on melancholy days
Mark Gilbert
stirring the sky with a teaspoon in the late afternoon it suddenly clouds over when I add the milk
today I see the kindness in your eyes whereas yesterday I was afraid to look dragonflies
like dark matter we can't see the wind but we know it exists the branches of trees waving in the breeze
rain sun sleet sun chrysalis
Pat Geyer
Tree leaves wailing to fall in Spring. Will they?
Buttercup fills with golden dewdrops. At last, my favorite cuppa Spring,
Her red poppies string in out up down. Wafting through the Spring garden allegro assai vivace.
Black crows conference in the yard. Take a vote for Spring.
Blue eggshell under the pine tree. Bluebird or just blue eggs?
Steve Black
my room with a view at the halfway house in the distance the unfinished road that was meant to go somewhere
when the sun shines it really shines when it doesn't she prefers not to talk about it
for whom the gods wish to destroy the queue from the tv room to the dispensary then back again
the light shines on the photo of our mary a small town stigmata who in the end forgave everyone but couldn't forgive herself
the neighbour i never see but occasionally check upon his books stockpiled against the door and windows
Ed Bremson
a flowering field… a bath in which to bathe in the sight and scent of lavender
the breeze has scattered them everywhere… flowers of the wind with their pearly blossoms swaying
from early spring to late fall the scent of ambrosia lingering on the wind…
a sweet green spot where lilies bloom in snowy hues with indiscernible charm and a soft perfume…
its appearance modest its fragrance exquisite… a treasure divine from the elegant honeysuckle vine
Joyce Joslin Lorenson
sea glass catches the eye of a gull napping on the beach he dreams of being rescued
noctiluca tiny bodies sparkling in folds of the sea falling stars illuminate dark watery spaces
whirring stars asters at evening ruffle in the wind a red fox slipping behind the hen house
in warm wind heady summer scents moon glow on mock orange marauding deer enter the garden
summer grass grandfather's hayfork hanging on the barn wall oil of his hands still on the handle