English Haiku

The form of the English Haiku is 6 - 8 - 6. These were written for the We Write Poems prompt this week.


Happy twilight shadow
swings and sways on my bedroom wall
together we tango.

The cardinal crashes
into my family room window
stunned but flies on its way.

Self-assured pelican
plunges through slick of murky Gulf
snatches a poison fish.

Endangered Ridley turtles
corralled into BP burn fields
heartlessly are slaughtered.

How long before calamity
diminishes into old news
and mankind forgets?

Will I sleep well tonight
or be trapped by relentless dreams
that will not let me rest?

Contemplation

This poem was written for the Writers Island prompt "Imagine" and for my writing group's prompt "I look at the sky." The two prompts combined well, I think.


Contemplation

I look at the sky tonight,
the moon, innumerable stars,
imagine you in your distant place
gazing at the same night sky.
I focus on the North Star,
envision galaxies beyond,
know despite our separation
we are neighbors on our
small planet Earth home.
Our distance apart is
infinitesimal compared to
the immeasureable vastness
of time and space. I am
glad we share our moon.

Front Page News

I wrote this poem for the Big Tent Poetry prompt "I want to write about ___." I struggled all week to write about the oil spill, but words eluded me until this morning. For me, I think that's the point. It is too big for words. I also thought about other disasters, such as the earthquake in Haiti, which were for a while front page news. The Haitian situation continues to be tragic, but it is no longer front page news. I found myself wondering how long the Gulf Oil Spill will be front page news, though it will have tragic consequences for decades. The fight against it sometimes seems so futile as oil continues to spew day after day. I also find myself wondering what will be the next event that will be 'front page news.'

Front Page News

Gulf Oil Spill
too big for words
front page news.

Pipe spews venom
out of control cancer
spurts, spreads, sickens.

Unquenchable black slick
loss of life, habitat, jobs
environment devastated

beyond repair, agent of
Satan changes Gulf
forever, not finished yet.

How long will the futile
fight against evil continue
to be front page news?

The Meaning of Adoption

This was written for Poetic Asides prompt: The Meaning of ___.

The Meaning of Adoption

My six-year-old grandson said to me
Adoption is when a man has a baby.

Hmm, I said, where did you learn that?
In school he said, but I doubt it.

I said, No that isn't exactly right.
Only a woman can have a baby

but a man or woman can adopt a boy
or girl who didn't come from their tummy.

I said, You came from your mother's tummy.
but did you know your mother was adopted?

He said No, so I explained, which interested
him. He said Whose tummy did she come from?

Another mother who loved her but couldn't take
care of her but wanted her to have a good home.

I'm glad he knows the meaning of adoption now,
but still wonder where he first heard the word.

Birthday (a Wordle)

This poem is a wordle written for We Write Poetry just for fun.

Birthday


Birthday
unexplainable circle of sorrow
thick as glacial ice
drought drained her demeanor
she felt bad, almost mad
nervous
obsessed
one less year to live
one year closer to death.
it would be over soon.

Alone
she struck a match
lit the birthday candle
looked into the flame
saw her future flare
engulfed by a carbon sea.

Boy and Frog

This is in 'diminished hexaverse' style,

Boy and Frog

There is nothing like
a walk with a boy
around a small lake
when we discover
frogs are everywhere

so the boy tries
to catch a frog
which is not hard
if he grabs fast

but frogs can't
be held long
they wiggle

away
quickly

spring

No Change

I wrote this for the prompt for Writer's Island. The prompt was "Change."


No Change

Some things never change
I resign myself to that.

I can hope for change.
pray for change, convince

myself it is possible you
changed your former ways,

but today I realize my hopes
were based on sleight of hand,

something you wanted to
believe yourself for a time

but more important wanted
me to believe. Sometimes

I am gullible. I did believe
you until last week. I asked.

You denied. But he told me
what he saw. I believe him.

I cry now, not for you, I'm
over that, but for him.

Looking for Love

This poem I wrote for a Big Tent poetry prompt which was a wordle. A wordle is a collection of words that you try to fit into a poem. I managed to fit all the words into the following poem. Actually this is the first wordle I have ever done using all the words. The last time I did a wordle I used only a FEW of the words. Here's the poem:


Looking for Love

Hungry for praise and love,
flirting with the dangerous she
rewrote and resent the letter
he told her he’d lost. In return,
she anticipated, awaited words
of comfort and care and more
than that, an invitation to prison.

She dreamed of meeting him,
(and secretly wished never to part)
her fantasy love, the chain-smoking
dark source who swore he was
framed, forgetting the astrologer’s
warning that her stars foretold
the milk of her dull existence would
be wiped out by one with a cough.

Stuck

This poem I wrote using Robert's prompt from Poetic Asides. We had to write about being stuck, something stuck, anything stuck. I decided to write a pantoum.



Stuck

In your existence I am stuck
trapped I cannot escape your fate
ambushed by life run amuck
please lead me to the exit gate.

Trapped I cannot escape your fate
my body is tense, teeth clenched
please lead me to the exit gate
thirst for harmony cannot be quenched.
.
My body is tense, teeth are clenched
I try to slog through mud at my feet
thirst for harmony cannot be quenched
independence has become obsolete.

I try to slog through mud at my feet
I’m ambushed by life run amuck
Independence has become obsolete
In your existence I am stuck.

That's Life

The prompt for We Write Poems http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/ this week was to write from a position of a member of a group we find distasteful or holding opinions or living in ways unlike our own. Here's mine:


That's Life


There is much to be said for sitting around.
If you sit around long enough someone else
will do what needs to be done. If you don't
work, someone will take care of you. That's
the way it's always been. That's life.

Someone will give you a place to live. Then
perhaps you'll try a job for a while. If you're
late a few times you'll be fired. Then you have
more time to play video games again. That's
the way it's always been. That's life.

If you say you are going to do something, others
will get off your back. If you drive without license
or insurance and have an accident, you don't
worry, there'snothing for creditors to get. That's
the way its always been. That's life.

If you buy things you can't afford, let the bills
come. You declare bankruptcy. You can always
feign sincerity. Never mind you never follow
through. You'll get by. You always do. That's
the way it's always been. That's life.

If you proceate and have no money, you don't
have to feel guilt about paying your share,
someone else will give and pay and do. You've
learned irresponsibility well. That's
the way it's always been That's life.

It doesn't matter if you have intelligence and
could work to pay your own way, you use it
for talking fast, fooling women for a while, your
children for a while, but hopefully not forever.
I pray. That's life.

Blessings to you, Isaac

Blessings to you, Isaac

My grandson of love and delight,
may you always dream large and find
fulfillment in all you imagine.

May you play hard, work harder,
choose wise mentors to learn from,
see through tricksters or fools.

May you develop your inborn talents
as well as learn new skills, make new
and good friends wherever you walk.

May you stay strong, but unafraid of tears,
follow an honest path, keep a chaste mind,
choose what is right above what is easy.

May you resolve to walk in the light
but find a safe path through the dark
my grandson of love and delight.

Blessings to you, Isaac.

Blessing Mya

Blessing Mya

Blessings to you, Mya, only
granddaughter, wearer of pink.
You climb high, run fast, set
your own course among boys.

You always have a gleam in
your eye, love to joke and have
fun, let no one rule you. You
have your own mind. You listen to

what is said, but want to do it
your way.You test limits more
than once, try to wear me down,
but I don't give in, though it would

be easy to give in to you with
such a smile on your face. But
you must know limits and learn to
follow before you can lead. You

have to hold my hand in the
parking lot, cannot run free
as you'd like. Not yet, dear Mya,
not yet, but someday you will

set your own course, do it
your way. You will buck the
tide in a gentle way with
your disarming smile. But not

today when you're in my care.
Today I'll bless your spirit,
your spark. Blessings to you,
Mya, today and all tomorrows.

The Gift

This poem is written for Writer's Island ( http://writersisland.wordpress.com/) where this week's prompt was "the gift."




The Gift

I get up each morning
an empty page to fill
a new day to live once
never to be lived again

one more opportunity
to take a walk
read a book
paint a picture
write a poem
have a conversation
help someone
share a life
accomplish or enjoy

one more day to smile
make someone laugh
learn something new
lend a helping hand

one more chance
before the moments
of today become
unchangeable past
frozen forever in what
was done or not done
said or not said
gained or lost
fixed forever,
irrevocable yesterday.

one more day to live
before the sun sets
before the page is turned
before someday the
chapters are complete
the last page is written
the book is closed
bound and sealed
unchangeable eternally.

Without Consequence/Person of My Bad Dream

The Big Tent poetry ( http://bigtentpoetry.org/ ) prompt for this week involved anger, and the suggested poetry form was the pantoum. I wrote two poems about things that make me angry, enjoying this form: "Without Consequence" and "Person of My Bad Dream. "


Without Consequence

No consequences for your acts ever befall you
you successfully make excuses or fabricate
you seek women , then entreat and woo
you take, never give, deceitfully substantiate

You successfully make excuses or falsify
you drive without a license, don’t pay a fine
you take, never give, deceitfully substantiate
leaching off others is your purpose divine.

You drive without license, don’t pay a fine
you don’t hold a job, prefer to sleep late
leaching off others is your purpose divine
you irresponsibly unashamedly procreate.

You don’t hold a job, prefer to sleep late
but you seek women to entreat and woo
you irresponsibly unashamedly procreate
no consequences for your acts ever befall you.



Person of My Bad Dream

Her voice grates on me,
she makes me want to scream.
I want to find a way to flee
this person of my bad dream.

she makes me want to scream
though I feign a smile sweet
this person of my bad dream
with her cold steely conceit.

Though I feign a smile sweet
it is hard for me to deceive
with her cold steely conceit
she must think I am naive.

It is hard for me to deceive
I want to find a way to flee
she must think I am naive
her voice grates on me.

Things Close to My Computer

(Written in Response to Robert Brewer's Poetic Asides prompt)


Things Close to My Computer

At the moment my computer sits on the
dining room table with so much clutter
that I wouldn't dare share it all. My watch,
salt and pepper shaker, books I am writing
for my grandson and granddaughter, dark
glasses, a fish pen, my granddaughter's
princess doll plates, a matchbox book
a friend wrote for me, advertisements for a
local grocery store, my iPod, a hand sanitizer
pen, a thesaurus. Hmm, what did I miss?
The book I am reading right now, a pen, a pad
of paper. How could I choose just three of
these things to write about? I can't. In fact
when I am finished writing this poem I'm going
to declutter this table. Thanks, Robert!

Barefoot (To Mya)

Barefoot

I am glad it is summer now and you can go barefoot.
You fight with your shoes anyway. Sometimes your
feet don’t seem to fit in them easily, especially with
socks. And the straps of your shoes often come loose
as you walk. You trip. Or the shoe just comes off.
Somehow. It’s so much easier to go barefoot after all
when you walk inside the house, on the deck, or
in the soft grass of the front yard. Do you like the feel
of grass on your feet as much as I do? Do you like to
feel warm concrete beneath your toes? Do you like
your feet to be free and uncontained, nothing pressing
on them? You do need shoes when you walk to the car,
ride your bike, shop, take a walk down the street.
You know that, I think, but still delight in kicking them
off and pretending it was an accident. Sorry, Grandma.

Combing Your Hair (To Mya - age 2 1/2)

Combing Your Hair

Your fine hair is so soft, tangles easily.
I say Let’s comb your hair. You run away
I catch you, you scrunch your neck, put
your head down, make it impossible to
comb. I try. You resist. You say Water.
I put water on the comb, try again, work
on tangles, still not easy. I comb painless
parts, sneak back to tangles. Tricky.
You hate the combing routine, will not
let me part your hair. You shake your
head, so I give up. It doesn’t matter.
You’re cute anyway. Messy or not,
at least your hair is tangle free.

Drinking Green Tea

Drinking Green Tea

Drinking green tea makes me feel healthy.
antioxidants, no caffeine, does not stain
my teeth. I love green tea when I drink it.
Sometime I strive to make drinking green
tea a habit. Sometimes I keep this practice
a few days, but the habit never sticks. I
am lazy, regress, return to the reliable
coffee pot I can prepare at night. In the
morning I mindlessly turn it on, and it stays
hot as long as I need. If someone brewed
green tea in the morning I would surely
drink it, but for now I'll settle for my morning
jolt of java and savor lazy person’s green tea
later in the day, cold Lipton with Citrus. Yum!

Bangkok on the King's Birthday

(an unforgettable experience - December, 2009)

Bangkok on the King’s Birthday

I can't lose sight of my group
must keep my eye on the guide,
the man waving his red flag
above the crowd. Keep walking
no matter what. I can't get lost.

When the guide says cross the street,
I weave between cars driven by crazies
who follow no rules. I rebuff fear to
survive. My heart pounds, excitement
blends with fear. Don't falter. Move.

We sweep through the streets
with a throng that extends in all
directions and moves as a wave.
There is no escape from the horde
this day all Thailand celebrates
with fervor, especially here, Bangkok.

It is the King's Birthday, a national
holiday with parades and revelry,
Car horns blare. Bells ring. Sellers
hawk wares. Locals wear shirts
of pink, the king's favorite color,
wave yellow flags as they shout.

I stroll through the grounds
of the ornate Grand Palace with
its numerous elaborate structures
adorned with gold, red roofs,
ornate spires, but always keep
my eye on the red flag ahead.

From out of nowhere a group of
school children heads right into
me. They shove as they press
in the opposite direction. I resist,
use my elbows as ram, keep my eye
on the guide’s distant red flag.

I know I must not panic, wedge
my body between members of
the advancing throng, forge an
opposing path. If I fall, I’ll be trampled.
If I lose the guide I’ll never find him
again. I continue to push forward.

At last I outmaneuver the crowd
reach the peaceful spot where
our guide awaits. Safe. Secure.
We make our way to see the
gold reclining Buddha. Inhale
exhale, I relax in his golden calm.

A view of part of the Grand Palace in Bangkok - red roofs, gold, spires.

The Reclining Buddha

Tauranga Jet Boat Ride

Tauranga Jet Boat Ride

I forced my fear behind me when I
decided I really could do it,
take a jet boat ride in Tauranga,
New Zealand. If others could
experience it, I could too. It
had to be safe. If I was terrified,
I'd live to tell the story. At least
I was pretty sure I would.
I kept telling myself that.

There was nothing but fear
when it was time for me to
board the red jet boat, with red
life preserver. If others thought
this would be fun, not torture,
,I should too. If I was scared,
I'd live to tell the story, and it
would be a darned good one.
or so I told myself.

Twelve of us rode in the jet boat
which is a New Zealand invention.
I chose a position where I was
less likely to get wet. A picture
was taken of the group on one of
the eight 360 degree turns we
did on the Waituna River, and in
it I was smiling. Surprise! I loved it.
I’d do it again tomorrow if I could.


Moral: What doesn’t kill you can make you stronger.

Short Writings on Seven Virtues

SEVEN VIRTUES


Humility

I am a good
You are too.
I have talents
So do you.
Together we can
be excellent.
You lead.



Wisdom

I know what I can do
I know what I can try
I know where to look.
I know who to ask.
I know I cannot do all.


Justice

Justice is only as good
as the judge.

Justice depends on
facts revealed.

Justice can be too harsh
for a penitent person.

Justice often does not chastise
those who are above the law.

Justice should be
impartial but isn’t.

Even terrorists
believe in justice.

In wars both sides
believe in justice.

Without laws can
there be justice?


Courage

Mouth firm
eyes straight ahead
mind vigilant, body taut
I do not show fear
I do not look back
I have a purpose to achieve
I will.


Temperance

Just enough
of what I need
Just enough
of what I want
I do not overdo
or overindulge
I control.



Hope

I yearn for
anticipate
if only it will be
I wish.


Faith

I fold my hands
close my eyes
trust in God,
know it will be
good and right
as He wills.

To Diane Who Sometimes Does My Hair

To Diane Who Sometimes Does My Hair

I like it when you style my hair. You position me
in front of the mirror, comb my wet hair through,
part it in the right place, use the blow dryer to dry
it just right so it doesn’t fall forward. You are fussy
about how I sit. I have to turn my head just right,
tip it one way, then another. Head up. Head down.
You work a miracle with the blow dryer, then bring
on the curling iron for the final touches. Unruly parts
are turned under to make my bangs lay just right.
Then when my hair is perfect, you use one of your
sprays or a special shine and now I’m beautiful to me.

The Lavender Key

Written in Response to "We Write Poems" prompt: Doors.


The Lavender Key

Lost in the shadowy cavernous jungle of her mind
she wandered along the twisted overgrown
path of her jumbled present in search of the door
which would unlock her future. In her hand she

held a luminous lavender key which always felt
hot to her touch, which quivered in a demanding
way when she hid it deep in her pocket as she
tried to ignore its presence in her life. Which door

would it open? Where would the door lead?
Day after day she wandered, sometimes
aimlessly and sometimes with purpose. Oak
door, green door, silver door. Her lavender

key did not fit. She glimpsed other spirits on
other parts of the path, each with her own key.
They did not speak. Each journeyed alone.
Sometimes she would see another spirit try a

door with her key and find that it worked. Then
the specter would walk through the gateway
suddenly bright with light and disappear from view.
When the door closed behind the wandering spirit,

it would vanish leaving no trace behind. Gone.
Only one key fit each door. Day after day, door
after door she tried. Red door, copper door,
black door. The lavender key did not fit.

Dejected, she was ensnared in the muddled
corridors of the present, unable to escape,
her lavender key warm vibrating in her pocket..
At last in her weariness she leaned her head

against a lilac branch for a pillow. Lavender
lilac. Lilac lavender. Before her eyes a small
door emerged. Lavender. Barely noticeable
beneath the lilac bush. She grasped the key

from the depths of her pocket. It began to
vibrate stronger than ever before. She tried
the key in the door, and it opened. When she
walked through the door, she knew that her

life had changed. Instead of a twisted jungle
there was a direct path with well trimmed trees.
In the place of darkness, there was light. Before
she had been lost, but at last she found herself.