Wednesday, May 31, 2017

small poems written (mostly) in the month of May

for many days
no haiku . . .
my thoughts filled with
tulips and birdsong

visiting the tulips
red on red on red

some days
only my socks
make me laugh

ocean morning
stuffing my bathing suit
with sea shells

all flowers are

talking with you
dear old friend
the comfort of silence

the long memory
of a red mountain —
each rock, each cloud

where do fireflies
go to nap —
this perfect morning

not yet ripe 

we don't care —

a day with my wild friend

under honest clouds

your winter hands

unbroken lines

heavy with secrets

you fly west . . .
i walk
into the rising sun

the used bookstore
so many
old friends

a disturbing dream
about punctuation . . .
i wake up laughing

my neighbor's peonies
rain-battered and weary —
kindred spirits

in the middle of the night
i wonder —
what if i were named iris

in the pause
between thunder claps
the faint tinkle of wind chimes

teasing dad
about his ratty old slippers —
we laughed but he didn't

this morning
waking up thinking of you
2 hours behind —
time zones do a number on my head

bored with the neighborhood squirrels
— oh! a chipmunk! —
the day brightens

my neighbor's lopsided house
even the irises

-- -- --

These were written on May 19, 20, 21 at Light on the Hill Retreat Center:

entering the labyrinth
who am i . . .
exiting the labyrinth
who am i . . .

haven't i seen you
here before . . .
white butterfly

walking the labyrinth
each rock
its own haiku

each in our own world
two early morning poets
side by side

i am here
you are there
dandelion fluff

an open window
my fear

--- --- ---

These were written from late March to mid-May, as I explored my connection to my child-self (inner child):

morning walk —
my child-self greets everyone
(and everything) . . .
kids waiting for the school bus
2 trash collectors
the shy teenager with purple hair
forsythia! forsythia!
a cardinal
and the two upright daffodils
waiting for us
when we return

walking with my child-self
at the corner
we look both ways

hurry hurry —
my child-self pulls me along —
baby irises

my child-self and i
see an odd-looking mushroom
on the road —
we take a closer look
and realize it is
just a piece of candy —
we encourage each other
in our delusions

after a hard rain
with my child-self

dressed in black
except my socks —
green, purple — mismatched —
my child-self's idea

nestling between
my child-self and my grandma —
afternoon nap

my child-self reminds me —
this one prayer —
exhale . . .