Well lookie here — dusting off the old blog for Poetry Friday!

(Truth be told, back when I was in the thick of blogging, Poetry Friday was always, always what I loved most. A simple celebration of language at its purest, of connecting to others through that language, of trotting about all Friday morning, from one spot to another, remembering old favorites, discovering new ones. I'm so glad to be a part of that today…)

So. Here's the deal. During those days, I met and grew close to a little clutch of very wonderful women and writers. We ganged up to work on some group poetry projects — a crown sonnet, for example — and called ourselves The Poetry Princesses. Because why not?

Recently, we re-connected and discovered we were all missing poetry in our lives so we decided to challenge ourselves anew. The result? Pantoums. With the unifying line "I've got better things to do than survive" — from an Ani DiFranco song — we each created our own poems and are sharing them today.

The prompt actually resulted in two pantoums for me, and here they are:

And This, and This
(with thanks to Ani DiFranco for the line “I’ve got better things to do than survive)

Appointments, bookmarks, lists
I’ve got better things to do than survive
Each moment is a chance just missed
I take off knowing that I won’t arrive

Yes better yet, from you, a kiss
Each moment something not to miss
Touch here, and there, and this, and this
Appointments, bookmarks, endless lists

The Food Movement
(with thanks to Ani DiFranco for the line “I’ve got better things to do than survive”)

Oh, please – the relentlessness of meals
The menus, so contrived
The local beets, the grass-fed veal
I’ve got better things to do than just survive

I want to cry, “Who cares?”
The local beets, the grass-fed veal
I take them in like necessary air
and say "Oh, please!" to all these unrelenting meals

Thank you to Poetry Princess and friend Laura Salas for hosting today — visit her here — and thanks to you, too, for stopping by. Enjoy your Friday!

I've been burning the midnight oil these last couple of weeks, thanks to a number of presentations and critiques that have required my attention.

Haiku 19

Lamp looks like the moon
Lopsided and barely lit
No one howls or bays

This week has been beyond the beyond.
Hard news.
Man-made and accidental disasters.
Political foolishness.

Meanwhile?
The sun rises and sets, rises and sets.
With beauty and intention.
So predictable, loyal, steady, sustaining….

Haiku 18

Don't leave a party
Stay until the bitter end
Kick up a fuss, Sun!

It is my greatest parental joy to watch as my daughters discover their own passions and act on them.
They have grown from tiny babies into really kind of extraordinary people.
I love and admire so many of their choices. So much of what they do.

And then every so often there are these things, like a 12-year-old hurling herself off a 7 meter platform into a pool, that put a lump in my throat. I actually still love and admire it, but often through squinted eyes with a lump in my throat.

Haiku 17

She's a flying fish
My daughter dives; my heart stops
Which of us is brave?

Not much need for extraneous explanation here, I'm afraid.
A busy Tuesday — plans and appointments — derailed when a 12-year-old bites down on a simple bagel…

Haiku 16

Today's best-laid plans
scuttled for a daughter's bite
and broken bracket

Today was a dark day that started brightly.
Or a bright day that ended badly.

Isn't that the way things like this go?

So often we don't know which miraculous or horrific things we'll meet on any given day.

Suddenly, a bright day in Boston — the streets packed with people from everywhere, celebrating the joy and determination, the strength and dedication, the deep tradition and utter wackiness that is a marathon — turns into sorrow and mayhem.

There's hardly a thing to say.
We have faith that justice will be served.
We have hope that goodness will prevail.
And we grieve the loss of lives and limbs and innocence.

I'm a runner of many, many years — too slow to ever make Boston but there in spirit.
This is wholly inadequate, but for now it's all I've got.

Haiku 15

Each time we lace up
it's a promise and a wish
to start and finish

My husband tries valiantly with his vegetables each year.

It's tricky.
We have a lot of shade trees.
We have a dog who digs.
We have hot sun and drought.

But he whistles and digs and weeds and whistles and culls until, inevitably, something always grows.

Aren't plants miraculous?
No wonder there are fairytales about them…

Haiku 14

My sweetheart is Jack
just waiting for his beanstalk.
The giant waits too.

When my sister and brother-in-law lived in East Africa, they had this awesome outdoor wok made for us.
It's called a marika and when we car camp (as opposed to backpack) we bring it with us.

It provides a lot of bang for the buck:
REALLY yummy easy cooking
A pretty impressive-looking feat
Fun

Haiku 13

Camping, end-of-day
Veggies on an open flame
Rainbow without rain

With a climate like ours, we can camp nearly all year round.
But, here's the thing. We don't.
We're busy.
Weekends fill up.
Time flies.

But this weekend we made it happen.
It was everything it was supposed to be.
Lucky us.

Haiku 12

Who needs the indoors
when it's spring time in Texas
and the trees are tall?

There was a time I could not believe I was buying a minivan.
What did it say about me, my life, my focus, my aesthetic, my rapidly-dimming hipness?

Nowadays, I just can't believe how old that minivan is.
How one of the automatic doors doesn't work anymore.
How full of dog hair it is, no matter the vacuuming.
How many many miles we've put on it driving across town and across country.

I think it's fair to say I'm fond of the dang thing and mourning her age a little.
There. I said it.

Haiku 11

So many long miles —
one hundred forty-six grand!
Maintenance required.