Tag: haiku

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Gratitude for Marshall – Slice of Life Challenge Day 27, Stafford Challenge Day 71

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers
My son (r) with hunting face camo, and his buddy (l)

My middle child of my gas station Octane Trio, the one born in 1989, turns 35 today. He loves hunting, fishing, Nascar racing, and spending time with his family of 7, plus 3 labs. I’m proud of him – he makes good choices, and I was even fine with that mullet he had going on for a couple of years. He and his good buddy recently sent me the photo above, smiling and proud of the tickets they’d gotten for not having the proper number of life vests in their boat while they were out duck hunting (turns out they were warnings – which explains the smiles).

I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, and our conversation went something like this:

Screenshot

This got his attention. He knew I’d find a book about how salt marsh species cooperate to survive the harsh conditions of the marsh. I learned it throwing quadrants in the marsh when I took marine biology at University of South Carolina, where he also graduated years later. Spartina marsh grass survives in extreme salty conditions because the periwinkle shells attached to the base thrive on salt and take it in. In this way, both species can survive.

There is a story there for another time, but I guess he didn’t want to learn more about the marshgrass in his back yard. He replied, thoughtfully, moments later:

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Since I haven’t physically seen him since Christmas and know my own battles with quick weight change, I asked about the size. I decided on the medium, but wanted him to know to be on the lookout for the gifts since sometimes with prankster kids (who learned it from him), a box might disappear off the front porch before anyone knew it was ever there. I put him on alert:

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I am so proud of my son and wish him the happiest birthday ever. His family loves him too!

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Birthday Surprise Haiku

he's getting a shirt
and a camouflaged fan cap
but not a surprise.
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The Power of Connection in a Slice of Life Neighborhood- Slice of Life Challenge Day 22, Stafford Challenge Day 66

Special Thanks to Two Writing Teachers
The windows should all be open, but Gemini didn’t listen.

A week ago, Lainie Levin posted an announcement that I wish could be reposted every day. Below, she states that engaging with others is the single most powerful thing that builds community during this challenge.

I emailed her immediately to ask if I could repost this announcement. She readily agreed.

Which brings me to a connection that stopped me in my tracks. I was having a conversation with the Poetry Fox as we were working out the details of his visit to Georgia from North Carolina. I asked him to describe what his events look like, and he told me that he sits at his typewriter and writes on-demand poetry for people who give him a word. He said, “And really, it’s not even about the poem. It’s about the connections I make and the people I get to meet. Those moments of connecting with someone are what it’s all about.”

I’ve thought about this again and again as I have returned to the conversation and the blog announcement and reflected on the power of connection. This community would be nothing without it. I realize that when I wake up during March and get to open the blogging windows and drink my coffee with an entire community and we’re all talking to each other about the slices of our lives and what is happening, there is power in these moments. We may all be tired and worn thin some days, but I know things about you – the people in my community – and I know many of your family members and how you spend time.

I know Paul likes to cook and actually likes Brussels sprouts (I thought I was the only one), Glenda likes to travel and has a voracious appetite for adventure (and will be having quite an adventure today – – I won’t spoil her surprise, but be on the lookout for something uniquely and colorfully …..uplifting)! Denise hikes in the desert and has a stargazer window in her house, Fran watches birds and is teaching her little granddaughters to love them too, Maureen also has two young granddaughters who love music and art and the outdoors, Peter is beginning to grieve the loss of a loved one and many of us are keeping his family close in our thoughts, Barb loves poetry slams and art exhibits and spending time outdoors, Sally checks in on her mom and has a granddaughter with new shoes, Margaret lives on the bayou and has the cutest ducks that jump into the water on jump day, and Joanne loves flowers and gardening. And I’m getting to know each of you, too!

Even though we all live in different places across the nation and beyond, I imagine a high rise brick apartment building where we’re all sitting in an open window chatting, waving, greeting each other at the start of the day, and smiling, rather like we might look from windows on the cover of the New Yorker if someone illustrated all of us in one drawing. We’d see floral window boxes for the green thumbs, cats and dogs with the animal lovers, and food cooking on the stoves of the culinary artists. We’d see children playing with grandmothers and, in a Paul Fleishman Seedfolks-ish kind of way, we’d all be connecting, contributing in beautiful ways to the community vegetable garden and sharing what we have to share, helping as we can, reaching out as we have needs that others can help meet.

Connection. Conversation. Sharing. Caring, Responding in kindness. Giving. Living.

Because that’s what community and connection are all about, and it’s also what writing is about – – reaching the next person. Not the word choice, not the capitalization of proper nouns, and not the run-on sentences (which, like Brussels sprouts, I love, by the way).

Thank you for these marathon days in March where we build our own neighborhood, and the Tuesdays throughout the year where we keep in touch! And to the owners of the Slice of Life apartment building for letting us move in for a month, rent-free, a huge debt of gratitude is owed for all of your hard work in keeping the lights on and the water running.

You each make a difference!

Slice of Life Challenge 

Slice of Life Challenge
community connections:
open your windows!

pour a cup of tea
share family recipes
show trip photographs

compare hobby notes
reveal hopes and dreams
share fears and shed tears

open your windows!
connect with fellow writers
plant seeds. water them.

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March Open Write Day 5, Stafford Challenge Day 64, Slice of Life Challenge Day 20

Special Thanks to Two Writing Teachers
Photo by Daniel Reche on Pexels.com

Shelley of Oklahoma is our host today for the final day of the March Open Write, encouraging us to write poems to help us relax. You can read her full prompt here. I have one of those conferences today – the kind in a town with a gas station and a stop sign and maybe a hot dog in the gas station and nothing else, and I’m driving in with coworkers from an hour and seven minutes northeast, and I’m not overnighting so I have to leave early and get home late and I know the coffee’s gonna suck because it always does when they have those plastic canisters of powdered creamer and only pink-packet off-brand sweetener.

But I’m trying to relax.

Really.

Frumpy

Relax - no one cares
whether your pants match your shirt
or that they're wrinkled

Relax - no one cares
that the tops of your feet are
white as unbaked bread

Relax - no one sees
you picking at your fingers
of chipped nail polish

Relax - no one knows
your Odor Eaters are now
expired by three months

Relax - just because 
you forgot to tweeze your lip
doesn't mean don't go

After all: you're the 
driver....others are counting
on you to get there

Relax - your oil got
changed, your gas tank's full and your
car is vacuumed out

Relax - your riders 
might find your car is cleaner
than theirs (not driven)

Relax - wait, is that
.....is that a seam coming out?
It's right on the butt

Nope, don't relax.  Go
change pants. Nothing clean? That's what
long sweaters are for.

Heck, grab a blanket
and wrap up like a student
.....relax for a change!




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March Open Write Day 2, Slice of Life Challenge Day 17, The Stafford Challenge Day 61

Special Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Slice of Life Challenge!

Katrina Morrison of Oklahoma is our host today for the second day of the March Open Write at http://www.ethicalea.com. You can read her full prompt here. She explains that misheard lyrics are called Mondegreen. I’m a fan of Coxy.Official, and when the whole bed is shaking with my laughter at night, my husband knows I’m watching Nathan Cox on Tik Tok. He’s the king of music Mondegreen, and so thanks to Katrina, I now know this misheard lyric genre has a name. Coxy’s short clips are for adults, and it’s not the words as much as his reactions that get my tickle box turned over. Now it makes me want to go find the exact lyrics for all those songs I often mis-sang growing up. I was never sure whether Clapton was saying she don’t ride, she don’t ride, she don’t ride cocaine or she’s alright, she’s alright, she’s alright cocaine, but either way you sing it, it works in the song.

My poem is about a text that became our own new phrase shortly after we married.

Photo by Torsten Dettlaff on Pexels.com

Loyding On Purpose Now

notification
his familiar text ding~ I
knew what it would say

same time, each morning
and his words never get old
or lose their meaning

I pulled up his text
unaware it would become
our new word for love

his ear-clogged iPhone
or else his autocorrect 
sauced up his message:

I loyd you, he’d sent
over and over I laughed
trying to respond

in all-cap letters
I replied: I LOYD YOU, TOO
we’ve been loyding since

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The Quarreling Songbirds – Stafford Challenge Day 40

Today’s poem is a Haiku, inspired by the footage on my Netvue bird camera. We always seems to find such joy in watching birds, but the truth is that they argue and antagonize each other as much as people. Perhaps we laugh because they help us see the humor in human nature and how ridiculous we look.

The Quarreling Songbirds

quarreling sparrows
bicker, spar over birdseed
like squabbling siblings
Chipping Sparrows spar for the Johnson Funny Farm Birdcam
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Redbird Greeting Haiku – Stafford Challenge Day 39

As our birds return in greater abundance making their way back from their winter in the south, I again find the deep peace of birdwatching on my front porch in the early hours of the day. It really should be called birdlistening, I’m convinced, as the sound leads the way to the sights. The breaking sunrise that shows up for work each day, combined with the gratefulness of birds singing praises, brings joy! 

Redbird Song

redbird song greeting

farm morning praise at sunrise

my mother is near

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Haikube Dream Travel – Stafford Challenge Day 17

I bought a set of Haikubes a few years ago for a middle school poetry group, and I still find I love to pull them out of the box and give them a roll to see what the universe brings. Today’s haiku had journey and travel, so I rerolled other dice, slowly adding to the poem until the one in the picture was born. 

These dice come in a love set, too, which would be perfect for Valentine’s Day poems. 

For today, the travel bug bites. The Aurora Borealis is calling to me even through the dice. I’ve always wanted to see the hems of angel’s gowns in emerald and amethyst dancing through the heavens at night.

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Melatonin Dreams – Stafford Challenge Day 2

Photo by Vladimir Gladkov on Pexels.com

melatonin dreams

sweet sleep or nightmares?

milligrams matter

It’s always a coin toss. Do I want to get some sleep even with disturbing dreams, or do I want to wake up at 2 a.m. and try to suffer through the day?

I chose the sleep with dreams last night. Ten milligrams brings nightmares, but a five milligram dream is not all that terrible – usually.

In my 5 mg dream, I had been on a cruise ship with my husband’s side of the family, and we’d just returned home when some of us fell ill. And by family, I mean all of the Thursday night dinner crowd: Briar, his dad, his brother and sister-in-law, his son, and me. When two of them tested positive for the flu, some guys in white coats showed up at our door and put us in a van and took us to a medical testing lab to see if we had it, too.

We did. 

They took us into a hall, where everyone was lying on the floor waiting on a bed. All the cruise baggage was still there, and each person was lying next to the luggage they brought. I took a picture of this, because I wanted proof they were making us get on the floor.

One by one, each person was taken down the hall when a bed became available.

I pointed to the copy machine I’d brought. Our office really did get a new one recently, and we’d all had to attend the 15-minute training on how the new one works and what not to do to break it. So it seemed logical that I’d taken the new copy machine on the cruise and now had it with me, rolling it around everywhere, even here in the medical facility.

The doctor came to tell me I’d tested positive and that I was being admitted to the hospital, and he had a little laptop that had my entire history on it. ”Well, if I’d seen that you’d taken pain pills when you had your children, I’d have never prescribed them for you. You’re probably only here for the prescription pain meds,” he accused.

This sent me into a fiery rage, and I unleashed on him. I screamed and caused a scene, right next to my copy machine I was pulling around.

“You %@$&@%^,” I yelled, pointing my finger an inch from his nose, making sure everyone in the building could hear me. “Yeah, you in your professional lab coat. I am not here by choice. Your people came and got me and accused me of being sick, and now you’re falsifying documents to say that I am and you’re forcing me into the hospital against my will when I have to go to work tomorrow. I am NOT taking your medicine.” 

I find myself so satisfyingly bold in dreams, yet never enough like this in real life. 

With that, he motioned to a nurse to come start an IV on me, and I started kicking and flailing my arms. 

“What exactly do you do?” he asked.

“I make sure people can read so they have sense. Something you skipped in school. You have no sense. You did not ever get the help you need, and all these people in this facility think you’re a real doctor, but you’re not. You’re here to try to trick us, and you’re sending us to another planet.” 

Everyone was staring at me, dumbfounded, and my family was all in a deep sleep, too deep to care. They’d already gotten their IV medicine and were being taken away, one by one.

I moved over behind my copy machine, but suddenly it sprang a handle and wheels and started looking more like a wagon, and one of the male nurses pulled it off to the side where I couldn’t get behind it. I was scared my school was going to charge me for it, and I threatened to sue the nurse for damaging this high dollar equipment.

The nurse didn’t care. No one cared.

They put me on a bed and wheeled me to a chamber.

They made us all get into hyperbaric pods so they could monitor us to be sure we were sleeping the fevers off. The chambers slept 4, with beds all around the edges of a capsule shape. Two kids’ beds were at both short ends, and regular twins were on the edges. You had to step up into the chamber on a little step that dropped down, and it looked a lot like a cross between an Airstream camper and a silver space ship. There were even lights on the thing.

They tried to put me in one with an old lady and a young child, and I saw them asleep and started screaming to wake them up. I screamed in the child’s ear, directly in the ear, thinking the child would cry, but she didn’t. 

The door sealed shut like on an airplane, and an engine started revving, and I was beside myself with fear, knowing I was headed to Mars and that no one on this ship knew how to fly it. 

I woke up in a sweat at 5 a.m., more ready than ever to go to work.

I didn’t have a copy machine to lug back to the office, and I was not headed to Mars.

I’m cutting back to 2.5 milligrams of Melatonin tonight. I’ll cut the gummy in half and see if I can get to a more manageable and more normal nightmare.