I had to do just one more poem for the contest.
As I was sitting at my commuter this morning with my window open to the bliss of little birds singing, the roar of the suburban summer machine drowned out my joy just as I was reading about jazz on Tweetspeak.
This tanka has nothing to do with jazz, but it speaks to obsessions.
Verdant soldiers fixed
at attention. August lawns
a suburban obsession.
in delight, nature’s passion.