Choka Thread

[SmilingLez]

In Japanese poetry, the longest poetry form is "choka," which consists of alternating lines of 5 and 7 syllables, and can continue for many stanzas. There’s no strict upper limit, but traditionally, they can reach over 100 lines.



Jasmine tea wafts slow,
Soft notes dancing in the air,
Petals whisper sweet,
Warm steam curls around my heart,
A calming, fragrant embrace.

Moonlight spills like silk,
In the quiet of the night,
Thoughts drift and entwine,
Each sip a gentle caress,
Lingering whispers of bliss.

Sip by delicate sip,
Memories steeped in warmth's glow,
Laughter fills the room,
With jasmine's sweet, soothing scent,
Time slows in this precious space.

 

[SmilingLez]

Kinbaku

Silk-rope whispers fall,
slow as dusk on bare shoulders—
a patient twilight.

Hands speak in patterns,
quiet geometry drawn
against open skin.

Breath deepens, trembles,
the hush between heartbeats shifts,
a tide pulling in.

Rope tightens, then waits,
a question shaped around flesh,
answered by stillness.

Surrender like smoke—
soft, rising, inevitable,
curling into trust.

Balance of power,
a fragment of lightning held
in deliberate knots.

You lean into it,
the gravity of restraint,
sweet as drifting snow.

In the woven pause
two bodies find a language
older than desire—

a slow binding hymn
sung in rope, breath, and tension,
unbroken, alive.

 

[Tzara]

Her poems—short, spare—
resemble the gray stones set
in the raked gravel
of a Zen garden, islands
of stability
in the emptiness of life.
I cling to her words
as I would to her body
if I were able
to reach across the distance
of country, of time,
of diverse experience,
of simple yearning
for a stronger connection
than the smooth, scentless
flowers of her written words.
Still, I am grateful
I can at least read her thoughts
if not trace her pen's crisp stroke.

 

[Tzara]

Winter Trees

now barren of leaves
which, fallen, litter the ground
remind me of how
our love was once vibrant, green,
and growing daily.
But that was all long ago.
Now I look out on
a landscape empty of life,
yet still beautiful
even if no other Springs,
their renewal, their new growth.

 

[Angeline]

Perspective

We nearly were lost
on the way to the city,
turned off by a sign
heading to New England States.
I'd think about it later,
four women waiting,
four fantasies about you,
three of which would die
there at JFK Airport
when she leapt into your arms.
Forty years later
I spotted a photograph
of the two of you
smiling and still so in love.
i don't hold any rancor:
time gave me the gift
of perspective. I'm alive
and I wasn't lost
after all. Another road
led me to a better place.


ETA: just realized I did the form wrong. It should only have two seven-syllable lines at the end. But I like the poem so I'll consider it a variation!

 

[SmilingLez]

The title begs, "Forgive."
Words are rinsed of all their blood.
Desire, neutered, safe.
Disclaimers seal the story shut.
Creativity, a strangled breath,
The work: Dead on arrival.

 

[_Land]

Choka
By Bear Sage

Fingers at my throat
pressing where the pulse jumps wild
breath caught like a fish
thrashing silver in the net
your thumb finds the hollow
choka me until I see stars
white sparks behind my eyes
your grip loosens, air floods in
gasping like I've surfaced
from some dark and sacred lake
then tighter, knuckles white
the room narrows to your hand's weight
my throat a crushed flower
petals bruising under pressure
release—I'm sobbing air
each breath a small resurrection
you ask me what I want
choka me harder, make me earn it
your fingers close again
the world goes soft at all its edges
I'm climbing toward nothing
my body a lit fuse burning down
choka, harder please
the word itself becomes a prayer
everything disappears
except your palm against my windpipe
I'm breaking open now
then mercy—you give me breath
I'm gulping light, shaking in your arms

I died in your hands
and you breathed me back into
this new body, born
from the edge of everything
soft and raw and wholly yours


(Edited to add traditional Choka ending )

 

[_Land]

Appalachian Spring
By Bear Sage

Spring sun burning through
fog lifting off the holler slow
warmth on my bare arms
world sharpening into view
dripping, waking up

Mud giving under boots
creek voice getting loud again
ice memory melting
water finding its old path down
roots drinking it all deep

Bloodroot splits the ground
petals pushing through the dirt
trillium unfolds slow
three white petals opening wide
green pushing out now

Redbud shock of pink
breaking through the gray ridge line
dogwood buds cracking
each small fist opening wide
white blooms everywhere

Blacksnake on the rock
soaking up what heat there is
bee stumbling through air
drunk on the first pollen found
everything hungry

My chest opening
lungs pulling in the warmer air
skin remembering
what it means to feel the sun
I'm thawing out too

All that's died in me's let go
ain't got no claim on me now
the ground's still soft enough for seed

The ridge holds it all
every death and greening over
watches me stand here
mud on my boots, sun on my face
just another thing come back

 

[Angeline]

Awakening

I won a contest
in an afterschool program.
I can't remember
what for or why I was there
but I loved the prize,
a color-by-number set
with bright tins of paint,
two brushes and canvases.
I was very proud,
but when I showed my daddy
he was furious!
The smiling man in long robes
and the fancy cross
made my daddy so angry
that he took that set
and threw it in the garbage.
That's not who we are!
This was my gentle father
who taught me to dance
the Lindy Hop and read me
stories at bedtime.
The man with the cross looked kind.
He seemed gentle too,
but if that's not who we are,
someone tell me who I am.

 

[Angeline]

@SmilingLez many, many thanks for introducing us to this terrific form! I'd not heard of the Choka before. It's such an easy one for me, especially because it's all about telling a story and my poetry style is narrative. I'm starting to play with the form (as is my wont lol), trying different line break choices and adding space to see where it takes me.

Poets if you haven't checked out the Choka form yet give it a try. We all have stories to tell and this form is made for that!

<Throws at Lez>

 

[SmilingLez]

Simile taps my shoulder.
“Like” this,
“as” that -
all comparisons
with training wheels.


Metaphor kicks the door.
No warnings.
No “like.”
Just is,
even when it clearly isn’t.


Analogy strolls in late.
Long explanations.
Charts.
Diagrams.
Everyone pretends to follow.


Language watches them.
Shrugs once.
Eats a donut.
Calls it poetry.