war on the way I pull enormous weeds from my tiny garden —Margarita Engle
This haiku is the fifth place winner in the April 2003 tinywords haiku competition, winning the author a copy of John S. O'Connor's book, room full of chairs, from our sponsor, Deep North Press.
From the judges' comments: "The enormous weeds attempting to overtake the garden enhance the ominousness of the approaching war mentioned in the first line. The action seems natural and the two elements that are juxtaposed work together to create a single impression/mood."


What a wonderful poem... thank you for sharing it!
no comment, yet...
possible appeasement
overturning ground
I would normally find 'enormous' too ponderous a word for haiku, but here it speaks eloquently of the enormity of the contrast between the individual and the apparatus of the state. The poet's tiny garden tells of the unevenness of that match yet her action witnesses her steadfastness in the face of such overwhelming odds. But those enormous weeds will grow faster than she can pull, as we all know (I guess that's democracy)
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Nicely presented. It seems to encompass the situation quite well.
well, well, well...
yes, there is something special about this moment, but knowing me, you are bracing yourselves for my "however".
however, it imprinted my mind as a two lines haiku.
even though we have a second and even a third line, as i read them, they suddenly became one; as though we had a complete sentence.
"i pull enormous weeds from my tiny garden" seems a tad bit frivolous.
hmmm, a possible remake:
war on the way
enormous weeds i pull
tiny garden space
norman, "democracy"....i don't think so, the match doesn't reach that stately level, perhaps a bullying; what about dictatorial...
war
still this
muslim thing
veteran's day service
the explosions on the beach
recalled in sign
ongoing war --
seasons come and go
no one to tend the garden
this pioem is even more powerful when one
considers that bush and his cabal cooked, twisted
and downright lied to pull this war off. even
more powerful when one digs down to the roots
and finds oil as the reason. great poem ms engle.
confederate cemetery
the sky above
half grey half blue