I ordered a vintage bird ornament earlier this month. When I opened the package, I found this delightful little treat from the seller:
I offer some accompanying haiku:
I said to myself:
Self, what shall we write today?
Myself thought a bit.
Let’s not overthink…
we know we got this. Just write
something short and sweet.
That’s all for now, folks…you and yourselves have a sweet day.
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
On Monday, Dave Wooley hosted the March Open Write at Ethical ELA. He invited participants to compose small ekphrastic poems inspired by art, “to capture essential moments that are reflected in, or alluded to, in the work of art. Or, perhaps, how in reflecting upon a work of art, that might become a spark for a related idea that could be explored in the burst of a short poem.”
The key, of course, is selecting the artwork. Dave chose statues.
I chose a work of art in progress…
Envisioners
Segmented cardboard
pulled from a shipping package
is now repurposed
by the magicians
(known as my two granddaughters)
with markers in hand
a dragon rises
from their creative efforts—
Franna provides eyes.
The masterpiece in the making
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
Lines of an old hymn often play in my head:
Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
Passing from you and from me…
I hear it while I get ready for work each morning, where, of late, there’s a heavy atmosphere of uncertainty and despair.
Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
Passing from you and from me…
I hear it while having to drive through town instead of the scenic route by the pond, where the great blue heron lives, because a bridge is out, I’m told, for maybe a year or more (how can this be?).
Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
Passing from you and from me…
I hear it while noticing and grieving dead animals by the roadside… beaver, groundhog, opossum, squirrel, cottontail rabbit, white-tail deer, dog, cat; a hawk that flew too low at the wrong time, its wide pale wing, patterned in distinctive dark-brown bars, angled up and over its body like a shroud; and so many skunks, their beautiful black-and-white fur rippling in the wind…sluggish from hibernation, they wandered into the road, never to wake again.
Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
Passing from you and from me…
I hear it when I’m running late and traffic in the heart of town is backed up to an absurd degree (of course), making me turn off the main road for a side road, to save a few minutes…
That’s when I see the mural:
An ethereal moment calls for an etheree…
Breathe
deeply.
The moments
are soon passing
from you and from me…
let’s use them, not lose them
for every precious minute
sings unwritten song within it.
Breathe, and appreciate the moment.
Each, in itself, a sign of the divine.
Funny thing…I see the “Breathe” message on a most difficult morning; on the drive home that afternoon, just past the mural, a great blue heron passes overhead, strangely low and close. I have never seen one here before. It looks otherworldly, ancient, sailing along serenely, impossibly, with barely a beat of its wings.
great blue heron glides
on slow wingbeats of wisdom
breathing the moment
Great Blue Heron in Flight – (Ardea herodias). Milazzoyo. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
*******
Composed for Day 14 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers
Do you remember
riding around in my car
singing gospel songs
the old ones you loved
since you were a little kid?
Folks always told me
you have an old soul.
I said you were seventy
the day you were born.
Yet you’re still so young.
I wouldn’t trade anything
for hearing your voice
singing harmony
on those beautiful faith-songs
my own Granddaddy
would have known and loved.
Here’s another thing I want
you to remember:
I am forever
proud of your talent, your heart
for other people
your service to God
and the comfort you’re giving
to those suffering
their greatest losses.
You are a gift to us all.
And now, a blessing
comes to you straight from
Heaven, another of my
prayers answered.
I worried that you
wouldn’t meet anyone while
working funerals.
Me of little faith.
Never expected a girl
driving the hearse to
the crematory
would find you there and begin
a new life story.
As the families make
preparations for your day
I can’t help hearing
your voice echoing
from long ago when we rode
in my car, singing
that old-time song called
“Wedding Music” and you said
“Mom, this harmony
is so beautiful.”
It’s what I pray for you now
my beloved son
and your bride-to-be:
beautiful harmony for
your life together.
My son and his bride-to-be. Photo: Kailey B. Photography
The referenced song my musican son loves:
*******
Composed for Day 4 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers.
Tip: Try writing a story-poem in haiku syllables.
The Birdbath
We built it, we three
my sweet granddaughters and me
fountain birdbath, see
spray sparkling in sun
although birds have yet to come
awe, already won
My little bird-girl Micah, 20 months
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge
On Ethical ELA this week, host Dave Wooley invited VerseLove participants to compose blackout poems: “Find a piece of writing that you want to use as a source, grab a black sharpie and start redacting. The words that are left will be your poem.”
Basically, a blackout is a found poem, with chosen words and phrases remaining in original order. Examples can be found here: How-To Blackout Poetry.
Great! I thought. This will be easy.
It was not.
The problem: First thing that came to mind was a new poem that completely awes me…
Amy Nemecek, The Language of the Birds, 2022.
I started blacking out lines and stopped, because a thing happened.
I just couldn’t reduce this stunning poem. It felt like…desecration.
Instead, I lifted a few words out that especially sang to me. They brought with them their own images, forming something new and other.
Thus was my “found-story haiku” born (not sure if that’s even a thing… I guess it is now):
History of Ideas
from firelight, a spark
illumination flaring
then dying in dust
from the river, song
improvisational joy
free and beckoning
from the silhouette
of trees against starlit sky
infinite longing
from the heart crying
against its impermanence
a reliquary
from calloused fingers
a hieroglyph on a wall
before papyrus
from the weightless bones
a shell of structure is formed
the embryo stirs
out of the static
spark, song, longing are harnessed
the fragile thing lives
For the record: I finished blacking to reveal the words I pulled, although this in itself is not a blackout poem.
It is my seed-bed of ideas.
The nest is finished
for new life to begin there
this bright Sunday morn
*******
Backstory/timeline:
March 1: Auspices – discovery of an unusually early nest and eggs laid in February (with photo)
March 5: Eavesdropping – audio of the parent finches’ joyous chatter
March 14: Nestlings – likely hatched during a snowfall (with photo)
March 27: Finch elegy – sad discovery
March 28: Finch fortitude – beginning anew, so quickly (with video of the parents)
March 29: Blessing – the gift of carrying on (with photo)
March 31: For my finch followers – Day 4 of nest rebuilding, softly and tenderly (with photo)
Remember these days
write them on your hearts always
little beloveds
Sunday Friends, painted by my daughter-in-law, on display at the local art gallery.
My husband purchased it for his study at church.
Our granddaughter is on the right.
******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Writing Challenge
haiku story
gray Sunday morning
in spite of springing forward
it begins to snow
first time all winter
big white flakes now descending
on riotous blooms
purple-pink redbuds
bright yellow forsythia
pollen-laden pines
suspend certainty
while birds rush in, unafraid
of crystallized grass
momentarily
melting away in soft earth
—seems a sheer delight
to countless robins
hopping with newfound vigor
and the cardinal
on a blood-red blaze
toward the bare crape myrtle
where his mate awaits
and dark-eyed juncos
living up to their nickname
ground-flitting snowbirds
while papa house finch
forages in the clover
on the old dog’s grave
for seeds he’ll carry
to mama finch on the nest
incubating eggs
bluebird on the gate
ruffles his blue-flame feathers
in exultation
two crows come and go
strangely silent, for they know
the benediction
Carolina wren
hidden somewhere in the pines
sings Holy Holy
the earth’s aflutter
with myriad wings and things
returning blessing
in spite of the snow
life springs forward, brightening
gray Sunday morning
2020-0417_CentreCoPA_WestMain_Eastern Bluebird in the snow -01. amOBX. CC BY-NC 2.0.
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge
Dennis says it’s true:
no one tops Santa Claws for
pawsome taste in shoes
lit bits and pieces 