National Poetry Month — Haiku 29

Posted

So much to say today, and hardly a hint of oomph with which to say it.

I’m in Chicago.
I arrived this morning, which feels like about three mornings ago. 

I would like to write about my school and library visits this afternoon.
(Funny)
(And cute)

And I would like to write about the warm and gushy way Greg shared my poem today at Gottabook.
(Warm and gushy)
(And blushy)

And I would really, really like to tell you about being here in this city and space with my agents and about 20 of my agent mates, talking about books and schools and blogs and editors and, oh, chocolate and yoga and stuff.
(Funny)
(And cute)

But I’ll have to wait and share some of that over the weekend. 

Right now I just want to say that today is my husband’s 46th birthday.

He is currently in between feeling "bad" and feeling "worse" thanks to the curse of dividing cells and the wonders of modern medicine. But nonetheless, he is at home celebrating his birthday by taking Small One to gymnastics and helping Tall One learn a mariachi tune on her violin and just being the all-around good guy that he is. 

All the things I’d like to say about him right now would sound a little sappy and sentimental and starry-eyed. 
So, instead, here’s his birthday haiku.

And thanks, Honey, for everything….

Haiku 29
4/29/2010

You leave breathing room,
space for birds to sing, and fly.
So of course they do.

 

National Poetry Month — Haiku 27

Posted

This is from this morning but I’m just getting around to posting it now.
I love mornings.
I know lots of folks call that certifiably crazy but I just plain do.


Haiku 27
4/27/10

Toast and marmalade
and a wren at the window.
What does today hold?

National Poetry Month — Haiku 26

Posted

When you have a house full of kids and animals, there’s always something new, something happen’.
I’m beginning to think that’s kind of the point of having a house full of kids and animals.
Y’know?

Haiku 26
4/26/10

hermit crab molting
a new shell and skeleton
a new joie de vivre

National Poetry Month — Haiku 24

Posted

We went to the dreamiest wedding on Saturday evening.

I love weddings. 
I always cry (which is one of the things I love)
and I get both nostalgic and happily expectant at the same time.

I especially adore outdoor weddings. 
I had one, so I’m biased, but I think there’s nothing so conducive to a big, beautiful, expansive marriage as gathering all of a couples’ friends and families together with the bugs and birds and wind and sky, in recognition and celebration. Really, I think it’s a visceral way to say, "Yes, we’re ready for everything, bring it in and on…" 

And this is never truer than when rain taunts (which, as a rule, it does).
You’ve planned an outdoor wedding and rain taunts and you have to be both flexible and hopeful,
both prepared and willing to be surprised. 
And not to oversimplify life or marriage or anything, but what else is there?

For this wedding, all the rain (and threatened rain) of last week went away.
The sun came out, the fields dried up, the hoop house at the farm was laid with long, simple tables
and strung with tiny white lights.
Charley and Sarah were married.
Happiness and mazel tov.

Haiku 24
4/24/2010

crops in sunset fields
bride and groom under chuppah
what fine promises

National Poetry Month — Haiku 23

Posted

I know you don’t think "lush" when you think of Texas, but I’m not kidding you when I say that spring here is positively spongy and fragrant and green.

I’ve always really like all the pagan-naturalist messages of spring — the rebirths and possibilities — and there are flower buds and baby birds enough to believe all that right now.

But, also, there is something about spring that is so … transitory.
I mean, really, not to be a downer but the buds are so brief and the cool evenings will be steamy soon and the greens are likely to get a little brown around the edges.
And that’s all okay, I guess. 
There’s some sort of maturity that comes with the next seasonal change, and with accepting the next seasonal change.

For now, though, for a little while longer, it’s still spring.

Haiku 23
4/23/2010

butterflies migrate — 
a world of orange in the yard
momentarily

National Poetry Month — Haiku 20

Posted

Way back when, before life at our house got all crazy and cancer-centric, I was invited by a couple of folk to do some National Poetry Month thing-a-ma-jigs at their blogs. 

One of those people was the inimitable and delightful Jama Rattigan.
Saying no to Jama would be like saying no to the Queen — you’d never say no because you’d never want to.

So.
I sent her a poem.
And a recipe (that I made up. which is hilarious. because I’m not that great a cook.)
And some photos of barley and stuff.

I’d since forgotten about it to focus on bigger, harder things than acorn squash.
(As most of you know, I’m writing a haiku a day right now and that’s about it, blog-wise.
I’m barely reading blogs and, although I relish every note and comment I receive, I’m barely responding.
All of this makes me sad, but it’s about capacity and mine seems to have shrunk something fierce.)

So suffice it to say that today’s post on Jama’s blog surprised me.
A friend, in fact, had to tell me it was there. 
It’s that poem I’d sent her.
And the recipe.
And some photos of barley and stuff.

And, well, a lot more. 
The thing is, Jama does not approach the world with garden-variety loving kindness.
No-sirree bob.
She is all about seeing the world at its best and saying so, and honestly, it makes the rest of us want to live up to that.

At least that’s how I felt today when I read her post. 
Well, first I felt like blushing and then I felt like, dang, I better go do something good to deserve this.
Y’know?

The world we live in is a funny place. 
So much to worry about and be frustrated by.
And then there’re folk like Jama, who can turn a bad day on its ear just like that.

I’m grateful to her, and to you all for stopping by even though I’m sort of barely here to pour the tea….

Namaste.

Haiku 20
4/20/2010

each night the moon shines
even when you can’t see it
you just know it’s there