More poetry: Can you try your hand at kwansaba?
OK, I’ll grant you that we’ve had our fun with poetry in the Talk of the Day — as recently as yesterday’s posting for the current events limerick.
But now I’m asking you to take another turn. Our story for Sunday by Doug Moore profiles Eugene Redmond, an English professor at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, and the EBR Writers Club. That’s the group that created a relatively new form of poetry called “kwansaba.”
According to Doug’s story, “It’s half the size of a sonnet, a cousin of the haiku, but clearly its own style of poetry. And now, at age 12, the kwansaba has grown from a writing exercise for a local writing club to a style that is catching on around the country and some parts of the world.”
The crux of kwansaba — seven — comes from the seven principles of Kwanzaa, celebrated over seven days. Kwansaba is a truncation of the word Kwanzaa and the Swahili word saba, which together come to mean first principle. It represents the first distinct mark that African Americans have put on poetry, Redmond said.
Doug’s story goes on: “To be a true kwansaba, the poem must contain seven lines. Each line must have seven words. And each word must have no more than seven letters. Exceptions to the seven-letter rule are proper nouns (and) some foreign terms…”
Here’s an example, from this web site:
His-Story, By Diondra Humphries
What would history be without your words?
His story can’t be told unless chanted
in our blues as yours. Only you
can tell how it swells falls swells.
The truth sits on your tongue, ready
to be spat out into the world
to change it for all its worth.
Hear Redmond talk about it, and read an example, here for Windows Media or here for RealPlayer.
So our Talk of the Day challenge: Write a poem in the kwansaba form. Show us what you’ve got.
Kurt is the director of social media for the Post-Dispatch, where he has worked since August 2002. He's been a journalist since 1982, covering municipal government, courts, education and two hurricanes as a reporter before becoming an editor. 
My brain hurts…
All this poetry to prove our smarts.
This form doesn’t even have to rhyme!
Poetry with out rhyme seems poor indeed.
Perhaps Kwansaba is more prose than poem.
To me, six word stories are better.
Papa once wrote one, here it is:
âFor Sale: Baby Shoes - Never worn”. Wow.
Maya in Dream Time
At first, the words wash over her,
envelop her mind… but quickly desert her,
depart like tide water into wet sand.
Patient, she remains in poet’s dream time.
And soon, the surge returns to her:
words, with images, and cadence with meter.
She cups her hands and falls awakeâ¦
Typing the Poem
I don’t write no poems any time.
I don’t pen no poems, no way.
But I type, yeah, now and again.
I strike the keys, wait and watch.
Watch letters appear and form a word.
Cool, dude. Now I move the mouse,
Arrange those words, and make my poem.
wrinkle your nose against the wind, breath
walk back into a new time space
handle each care as an old friend
marry the time, begin a new life
what was started can become new dreams
the dream doesn’t end when eyes again
the magic still dances on the wind
A Kwansaba to a Hero
Norman Seay, my friend, did his thing
After serving his country in army rank.
He wanted to march with Doctor King
But waited in jail after Jefferson Bank,
Working long for every mother’s son,
Since justice is meant for every one,
When all can hear King’s âfreedom ring.”
donald347@aol.com
I ask you what is the point
Of a way to write that limits
Our vocabulary to under seven letters per?
Should not we be stretching our way
of working with words to include precision
of usage, not limits to small size?
The desire to begin a trend abounds
in all of us. Let’s be certain
each new thing profound and of worth.
Ok. You asked for it.
Kwansaban Lists of Nothingness
Kwansaba, Kwan’s abba, Kwanzaa baja, Kwa NASABA.
History mystery, hickory pickery, liquory vicary chicory.
Hama mama, Rama llama, atoma bomba Osama.
Luvian Lillian, Latvian Vivian, Flavian bavian Damian.
Hideous abacus, odious veritus, piteous gluteus maximus.
Crystal epistle, postal pistol, distal pastel pestle.
Truthy Ruthy, lefty Lucy, toothy couthy youthy.
Limited by a lack of good choices
Of words, I struggle to finish lines
Does this form have many who follow?
Or is this some silly English drill?
So many good words can’t be used
Even a made up word like Kwansaba
Does not follow the seven letter rule
what a laugh we could all share
if someone gave these rules to W
and asked him to pen a poem
he’d tell us about an OBGYN’s love
how he talks to family’s that die
then he’d share with us his best
“I like to google the inter nets”