CHERITA

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CHERITA [1--2--3]
[pronounced CHAIR-rita]

Cherita is the Malay word for story or tale. A Cherita consists of a single stanza of a one-line verse, followed by a two-line verse, and then finishing with a three-line verse. It can either be written solo or with up to three partners.

The Cherita tells a story. It was created by ai li on the 22 June 1997 in memory of her grandparents who were raconteurs extraordinaire. It was also inspired by Larry Kimmel's sensitive recognition of a shorter form contained within the opening three-verse stanza of ai li's LUNENGA, which had been created on the 27 May 1997.

EXAMPLES :

ai li's collection
The Larry Kimmel Collection
Four Cherita by Anthea Arnold
One Cherita by Richard Cheevers
Three Cherita by Michael Meyerhofer
Two Cherita by Felicity Brookesmith

__________

ai li's collection of twelve cherita

old woman at the door

collecting for
hungry ghosts

the shroud
she wears
for shawl

_________

drifting paper boat

the rain
on banana leaves

indoors
by an open window
poet

__________

black limo on a wet day

passing
the empty florist

colours
deepening
on stone

___________

christmas eve...

the presents wrapped
a cup of camomile tea

anonymous call
your eyes
avoiding mine

__________

a passing phase...

the drawers full
of lingerie

he orders
by phone
asking for black lace

__________

loveless

under
a stingy moon

the cotton sheets
between my legs
are wet

*************************************************************************************************************************__________

tiara in a pawn shop

the missing ticket
with the sacked companion

autumn dusk
she sits in a ballgown
fraying at the hem

**************************************************************************************************************************_________*

the hush in a library

a fly
on the woman's nose

to sneeze
or not
to sneeze

**************************************************************************************************************************_________*

gemstone on her fat finger

the colour of
dark ocean

her face
in the obituary column
lost at sea

**************************************************************************************************************************_________*

4 pm

a cuckoo clock
bringing forest into afternoon

the crumbs i leave
sitting on
their own shadows

***************************************************************************************************************************________

missing child on a sunday morning

the priest
finds a clean frock to visit in

shadowed path
the broken doll
no one sees

************************************************************************************************************************_________*

another rainbow

this one is quiet
for the hospice

the face
at the window
already not there

The Larry Kimmel Collection of Sixteen Cherita

Thanksgiving Day

candles and wine
a 3lb turkey

snow falling
through maple trees
a man and a woman...

tangled sheets

tainting the walls
a neon's pulse

by the window
the glow
of a cigarette

it's her wedding tomorrow

she comes to me in the night
saying

      "this
        will have to last
        for a long time"

hoarfrost

10,000 apple drops
lie in the untended orchard

in the kitchen
a floor board
chirps

the radiators bang

cod liver oil washed down
by fresh squeezed orange juice

he sits by the oven
warm on one side
shivering on the left

power outage

no candles
can't find the flashlight

the copper tea kettle
lit
by a ring of blue flame

beyond the window, a bony dump*

as late as 1946
each classroom heated by a wood furnace

in summer
from the mine's maw
cool scary air

*slag heap

a table set for two, a roast in the oven

the phone rings
in a white dress she goes out

whether by choice
or chance, she steps
into traffic

storming out of her home

in night and blizzard
getting as far as the bachelor's house

staying all winter
and never going back
having the last say

two moons too many

turning a deaf ear
living a life of braille

fussing
only makes the macrame
more tangled

"danke schoen"

shying away
she leaves her sly smile

where she stood
a twist of blue smoke lingers
in the misting air

family barbecue

burnt offerings
the 'chock' of croquet balls

old, her eyesight gone
she sits apart
faintly smiling

"oops, sorry"

me on the can
she in my lap

what
a
party

six months missing

anonymous phone call
"your daughter's at the train station"

crippled and mute
she rocks
the years away

cherries ripe

"those aren't yours to pick"
"me thinks this free country"

after three days
frothing at the mouth
the poisoned cow dies

they'd nothing for christmas that year

a cut spruce by the side of the road
the luck of a pheasant to run over

not a tale
to tell
at a New Age gathering

Four Cherita by Anthea Arnold

One little boy sulked, sat silent,

another shuffled food round his plate
complained he was tired, cold, bored;

a third drank too much fizzy drink
made rude noises, had to go home.
They were all over sixty.

I peer at the mantel beam

for marks to intimidate intruders -
the devil, witches, posing as birds.

There they are. Vs, Ms, Rs.
My black cat watches, tail curled over his back.
He too keeps birds away.

He never ran his bath away.

Green as the Thames,
it remained...

Other things seemed strange later,
not to a child.
He was my grandfather.

It's not a violin..

you don't put a voice away.
Worse than a baby, a Siamese twin,

always to be considered,
always there,
never leaves you alone..

One Cherita by Richard Cheevers

Drinking wine

she mentions her fiance
in bed with flu

Avoiding eye contact
discussing
cures . .

Three Cherita by Michael Meyerhofer

i pretend not to see.

in the shopping mall,
a blushing child

trying to hide
that he has just
wet himself.

a mother breastfeeding

bare infant and breast
in the summer light.

so beautiful
i try not to stare
but she winks at me.

i cook the broth myself.

when last i caught the flu
it was a year ago . . .

we stayed in bed
for days,
making love.

Two Cherita by Felicity Brookesmith

I did not see you.

I heard your footsteps
when you passed my door today.

I tell myself I'm foolish
to wait in all day for you
and I wait in all day.

seeing you again

you saw me first and followed me
I turned to your hello and saw

your dark glasses through my own
and I knew, as our hands touched,
our eyes were on each other's mouths.

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