One-week-old finches
sport mohawks with drowsy pride
in their tiny nest
There are actually four baby finches in the nest on my front door wreath,
one of whom was Little Blue Egg.
This photo was taken a week after they hatched on Easter.
with thanks to Tammi Belko, who encouraged teacher-poets to write on the topic of cheese today at Ethical ELA: “Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese” (G.K. Chesterton).
an extended haiku, of sorts
For Love of Grilled Cheese
Mama and Grannie
decide they want Chinese food
I don’t like the smell
they’re frowning at me
holding my nose in Kam Ling’s
ordering grilled cheese
—not on the menu
I’m confusing the waiter
Just take bread, I say,
two pieces, and put
a slice of cheese in between
and butter outside
fry it in a pan…
a loooong time later, it comes
miraculously
(was someone dispatched
to a nearby grocery
in great vexation?)
Not long afterward
Mama has a surgery
Grannie comes to stay
Daddy is working
and doesn’t cook, anyway
I ask for grilled cheese
Grannie makes the thing
in the toaster… No, I say,
that’s not how Grandma Ruby
makes my grilled cheeses
Grannie’s face goes Mr. Hyde
like on Bugs Bunny
she shouts—the house shakes—
I’M. NOT. YOUR. GRANDMA. RUBY!
Heaven help me please
I may not get grown
if grown-ups demolish me
for love of grilled cheese
Grilled Cheese Sandwich @ Thunder Bay Regional Hospital. istargazer. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Note: I love Chinese food now.
And my Grannie. Mutual forgiveness and gratitude, for so many things.
In honor of the day, an excerpt of “Jesus Makes Sin Forgivable” by Anne Graham Lotz in Just Give Me Jesus (2000):
The Pharisees couldn’t stand Him
but found they couldn’t stop Him
Satan tried to tempt Him
but found he couldn’t trip Him
Pilate examined Him on trial
but found he couldn’t fault Him
The Romans crucified Him
but found they couldn’t take His life
Death couldn’t handle Him
and the grave couldn’t hold Him.
*******
And a happy Easter haiku for you:
I have no more eggs.
As of this morning, new life.
Dawn exultation.
a story in haiku
As I drive to work
psyching myself for the day
I look up, and there
on the power lines
they sit, like kings or angels
the day’s guardians
watching as I pass
—oh, bestow on my spirit
creatures of the air
robins, your good cheer
occasional snow-plumed hawks,
fierce acuity…
it dawns on me, now,
that most of the birds I see
are doves, offering
the one thing needed
for the living of this day:
Look up. Claim the peace.
Photo: Mourning Dove. FotoGrazio. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
*******
with thanks to Chiara Hemsley, Monday host of Ethical ELA’s Open Write, for the inspiration to compose a poem around the phrase “look up”
with thanks also to Two Writing Teachers for the Slice of Life Story Challenge every day in the month of March
a sweet, savory, crunchy slice of haiku:
This is a real thing.
That is all for today, folks.
I know. You’re welcome.
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Slice of Life Story Challenge every day in the month of March.
Haiku in Honor of My Six-Year-Old Granddaughter
Whose Favorite Color Is Green
Riding in the car
I muse aloud: Look how green
the fields are today.
From the carseat: Yes.
Greenest green I’ve ever seen.
—Children are poets.
Photo: The sunset of the green field. Bardia Photography. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Slice of Life Story Challenge every day in the month of March. This is my sixth year participating.
a bit of haiku
My colleague’s great-aunt
had a phrase for anyone
with nose out of joint:
Oh, they’ll be all right
after the swellin’ goes down.
—you gotta hope so.
Pleasant evening drive
after a taxing workday
heading to supper
ahead, in the road,
a little creature trotting
like some kind of cat
I said, What IS that?
I can’t tell, said my husband
so sphinx-like, it was
long, low, and silver
big pointy ears, feline grace
canine whiskered face
—oh! we cried, a fox!—
as it vanished, phantom-like,
in the shrouding woods.
We’d have known it right away, had it been red. We see those occasionally. Gray foxes are actually native to the area, however; the red fox didn’t appear in this part of the country until the 1800s. I cannot recall having seen a gray fox before. It was small and lovely, with a grizzled silver coat so prized by hunters. These are the only foxes that can climb trees.
I wonder where our enigmatic gray fox was going on its jaunt along the woodland road just before dusk…and how many more of its kind are about, in the secret places…
Photo: Gray Fox. Keith Wescourt. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
She heard the same voice
before she ever arrived,
reading and reading
her big sister’s voice,
kindergarten booklover,
reading and reading
see how she listens
and looks toward the pages
—a reader is born.
My granddaughters: Scout, age six, reading Bible stories to Micah, age three months
Discouraging week
somewhat less than magical
suddenly transformed
by the appearance
of a tiny green dragon
and its paper tree
enchantment handmade
and proudly given by a
sweet student, to me
Created by a fourth-grader, the fantastic little beast lives on my bookcase now
lit bits and pieces 