[stylist] Sharing a tankabun similar to a haibun

[Jacqueline Williams]

Myrna,
This is  a beautiful poem with a unique metaphor.
It caused me to go into my folder of Form poems to review the Tanka. Though
I could not open your attachment, I read line by line and it met the
syllable and line requirements with no adjusting. So however you are sending
it, it is working.
I love your having combined it with free verse following the Haibun
principle.
I will enclose my article as an attachment, on the Tanka for it is so clear
cut on the form and the approaches one can take to help in the writing of
one. 
I have a Tanka, I believe, in my files, and will send it very soon.
I love your work.
Jackie

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of KajunCutie926 at aol.com
Sent: Sunday, April 22, 2012 8:15 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Sharing a tankabun similar to a haibun

At our board meeting tonight I said I would share a  tankabun, a poetry 
form developed by myself and a writer friend and collaborator  on one of my 
books, E. W. Richardson.  We named it so because it is  fashioned after the 
haibun, which is  a mix of haiku and prose.  In  this version, a tanka is
used 
followed by the prose section which is the  'bun'.  Tomorrow I will go in 
search of the specific instructions we had  written up for it and send it to

you... but for now here is a tankabun written  to honor my father and the 
first incident that truly let me see that he  understood my blindness.   I
have 
attached it as well as put it in the  body of the email. If you have 
trouble viewing the attachment I can send using  an older version of Word.
Myrna
 
 
Icicles 
Just  one icicle
Laid across her tiny hand
Taught her about life
Her daddy  placing it there
Let her understand his love

He had been watching. Her  little face was serious, eyes squinting, looking 
out the window and trying to  see the icicle things. Taking her small hand 
in his, he brought her outdoors,  broke an icicle hanging from the eaves, 
and placed it across her palm. He  remained silent but she knew he watched
her 
still. It was cold, this icicle, and  wet, as it melted within her hand's 
warmth. 'Do you see it now, mon petite?' he  asked after a moment. She 
nodded, awestruck, realizing for the first time that  Daddy did understand
her 
need to see. "It's dying, Daddy," she said as  she sadly held out her nearly

empty hand. "No, mon petite, icicles do not die," Daddy  said as he held her

icy hand.  "They just need to change clothes  sometimes and this one is 
saying 'thank you' for undressing it."  She  smiled at him and for both it
was 
enough. 
C  mdbadgerow  2008