Have y’all heard of quaranpups yet? It’s the latest thing. The perfect marriage of all the dogs who need rescuing and all the people suddenly stuck at home, just waiting to train and love and feed and spoil them?
Well…
Wait.
You didn’t quite get that?
I KNOW!
OK, the truth is, she’s our daughter’s pup, not ours. But, hello, quarantine — our daughter suddenly lives with us! She’s been methodically preparing for a dog for a long time — getting landlord pre-approval and what not — and everything fell into place today. I am, for a moment, feeling pretty ok about staying put. We all are.
Oh, anyway. My haiku.
It’s about her — the pup — officially known as Goose Alfafa Rugbaby the First. Haiku 8
April 8
Jessamine and phlox
growing wild like puppies
and this one is, too
It’s Sunday. The rain stopped.
We played a parlor game with friends over Zoom.
And I just had leftover birthday cake for dinner.
Not all bad!
And yet, this is just the most baffling time, isn’t it? I know that ‘puzzle as metaphor’ is a little on the nose, but we’re quarantined and it’s what I’ve got. So, here goes…
Haiku 5
April 5
Who cuts up pieces
of sky, hill, road and pasture?
Who knows the way back?
Hi, you guys. It’s my birthday. What a weird way to walk into a new year, huh?
We’re all in our own taped-off bubbles and yet, somehow, more connected — and more aware of and grateful for connection — than ever. Don’t you find it kind of amazing how quickly we missed what we had, how quickly we shuffled our priorities and returned to simple basic things like (no, not sourdough, but that, too) old, practiced, trustworthy friendships. Via Zoom, but still.
I’m super lucky and I have a bunch of those old, practiced, trustworthy friendships. And because of them, texts and emails and flags and scones and art and tinctures and cake arrived for me all day today — sometimes dashed to my door by a mask-wearing pal. You can’t imagine how lucky I feel. In the midst of everything, which is kind of a miracle that I hope to ride, at least for a little bit.
I’d like to share that feeling with you all. If only it were pie or wind, I could. Instead it’s just a wish that you feel both appreciated and appreciative tonight. And safe. And well. Goodnight. Haiku 4
April 4
Friendship flags waving
bright orange as butterfly wings
Birthday migration
I am not a believer in burying feelings, but I am a fan of re-framing. I mean, look. There’s no way around the fact that this is a colossal and traumatic thing we’re navigating right now. We can’t imagine that away.
But sometimes (like, approximately 100 times per day) (whatever a day is), I’m finding the need to re-set my expectations, articulate something in a new way, look at a situation differently.
Thus this poem, right?
Haiku 3
April 3, 2020
This thing we’re doing,
scary and isolating?
Let’s call it nesting.
Be safe and well, friends.
Breathe. Settle. Nest.
#NationalPoetryMonth #30DaysofHaiku #LizSharesPoems
It’s day two, folks. Is it just me or does every day last a very, very long time now?
I’m realizing that my haiku are going to have a decidedly quarantined flavor this year, but ok. This is where we are.
Speaking of which, this morning I felt just impossibly jittery and pent up. What to do? Well, I set off on a such a long walk that my dog looked at me over his shoulder several times in utter confusion. But it was all worth it because I felt way more myself when I landed back at home.
Plus, I got this picture and this poem out of it. So. Not a bad morning, all in all.
Haiku 2
April 2, 2020
Seen from a distance
everything is like a dream
I want to get close
No matter what is going on in the world, it is STILL National Poetry Month, starting right now, and I don’t know about you, but I need poetry like I need oxygen at this point.
For one thing, it means that March — that godforsaken, endless, Groundhog Day-of-a-month is finally over. But also, poetry. Poetry! Validation, empathy, connection and the balm of beauty. Thank goodness.
This will be the 11th year in a row for me to write and share a haiku every day in April. I would love for you to join me if you’d like. No pressure to share publicly, but you’re welcome to. I plan to post on facebook, Twitter, Instagram and my poor, abandoned blog, so you’ll be able to join me anywhere.
I will always use three hashtags — #nationalpoetrymonth #30daysofhaiku #lizsharespoem — feel free to use them as well, along with your own. Or not. Whatever.
Now, about the form. Haiku are tiny, perfect snapshots of ideas or images or moments. They’re comprised of 3 lines of — at least in modern-day, Western haiku — 5 syllables, 7 syllables, and 5 syllables respectively. There’s a bunch of other stuff I can say about the form, but I’ll scatter those tidbits throughout the month, but let me just add here that I don’t care what rules you follow or don’t. The point isn’t to be obedient — it’s to be inspired.
Anyway, this has gotten ridiculously long-winded, which is the opposite of haiku. So let’s get to the poem-making itself. Mine will often be accompanied by a photo and will often be typed, like today’s. Here goes, enjoy, stay well…
Haiku 1
April 1, 2020
Volunteer daisies
spread like sun across the yard
Light can’t be contained
On the final Friday of February I ran on a busy trail, met friends at a coffeehouse, attended a political event.
Today — the final Friday of March — I’ll be at home in my very little bungalow, trying to work in that way we all try to work now, getting out to walk or pull weeds when I can, listening to my spouse and grown kids on their various conference calls and Netflix parties.
I know we’re hearing a lot about how people aren’t doing things right in response to this utterly devastating global health crisis, but what amazes me is how well people are doing. How schools closed and kids came home, how shops shuttered, how we stopped seeing grandparents first and then co-workers and then friends. How we are finding our humanity, our tenderness, our senses of humor. How, oddly, we’re deepening connections.
Poetry has been all about that forever, of course. We’re just clunky people and it takes us awhile to catch up. So. Here we are. I started last week posting online poetry prompts for teachers, librarians, parents and kids suddenly in the midst of a distance learning experiment they didn’t expect. My first lesson was on writing gratitude etherees. Then, just last night, I posted another one on cinquains.
Now it’s Poetry Friday, and my Poetry Sisters and I have a prompt to attend to. It’s a loose one — “classic” — no particular topic or form. So I built on the work I’d been doing for my video and I wrote some cinquains. (OK, they’re not technically classic and certainly not ancient — they were first seen around 1915 — but I used the word “classic” in that conversational way we do, so I think it counts? Anyway…)
In my video prompt I suggested folks use the form to explore things they’re a little afraid of, things that worry them or that they don’t like. I know this sounds glass-half-empty, but we’d done gratitude the week before and, hey, a person’s got feelings, right?
So as much as I’d like to say I used this exercise as an escape, here are my Novel Coronavirus Cinquains for your reading pleasure.
Classic
Quarantino =
Sourdough starter and
Clorox in toilet paper tubes
on Zoom
Classic
Disinfectant=
Wash your hands while singing
It’s the End of the World As We
Know It
Classic
Social distance =
Next door, across the street
Over the phone but still right here
Hi, friend
Classic
Insomnia =
Why can’t I catch my breath
Am I sick or well? Am I safe?
Oh, moon
Classic
Optimism =
We can do this, come back
Like wisteria vines in spring
Bloom. Heal.
For more classics, visit my pals here: Laura Sara Tanita
Tricia
Kelly
Andi
Rebecca
And you can find all the Poetry Friday posts at The Opposite of Indifference!
Enjoy, and please friends, be safe and well.
So, one of our assignments this year (2020) is to look back with hindsight. Get it?
We decided it would be fun to reflect upon old work, have a conversation with it, even.
So this month I chose the tanka we wrote in February 2018, which were actually inspired by sonnets our friends had written the month before. (One of those gifts that keeps on giving!)
Rather than edit or change them (I actually still quite like them!), I thought I’d add to my collection of organ tanka. So that’s what I’ve got here — three tanka inspired by the heart, the liver, and the kidneys. Enjoy!
The Heart
Oh, Bedazzled Heart,
drama queen of the body!
Beneath her make-up,
she’s just grit and elbow grease –
punching that time clock, thump thump.
The Liver
Lily-livered lobes
hiding behind the rib cage –
still vulnerable,
still within reach of ruin,
poor poisoned apples.
The Kidneys
Curled in on yourselves,
busy little kidney beans
working like cheesecloth
keep clean the blood, keep busy
the body for tomorrow.
