
The odds are I won’t;
Yet, someone will die today:
I let the bones roll.
(November 16, 2020)
The odds are I won’t;
Yet, someone will die today:
I let the bones roll.
(November 16, 2020)
today is today;
only, today’s different:
today, I am here.
(September 11, 2020)
A little more than a month ago, one of my work mates proposed that she, a math teacher, and myself write a haiku a day for a month. After 37 haikus (I wrote more than one some days), I am going to stop the exercise. I think that my fellow English teacher proposed the undertaking in order to make her write everyday. I do this already, so it did not motivate me to write. I did find it a calming activity most days: a time to stop and think about what was in front of me either physically, mentally, or spiritually. However, it also deflected my attention away from other poems I had been working on. Usually I post about 15 or so poems a month (sometimes even pushing to 20). In October, because of the haiku event, I posted 38 new poems. I like haiku, and like writing them. Usually I make up parameters for my writing in an arbitrary and random manner. During the exercise, I used the traditional 5-7-5 syllable count, although I have in the past ignored that stricture focusing more on the brief flash of attention than on a numbers game. Figuring the syllable count is more of a guideline than a law. I don’t plan on giving haiku up; I’m just not going to sit down each day to write one. I have always written in small snatches of time, never having the leisure to write for extended lengths during the day. So, haiku, and imagism, lend themselves well to going from start to finish in the brief time I have to write. However, I also like spending time in my head as I go through the day, thinking about a longer piece. Therefore, as I stated at the beginning of this ramble, I am going to end my participation in the project. Thanks to all of you who read and liked the work I have posted over the last month.
(October 31, 2019)
then his breath expands
his silence into the room
nothing more to say
(October 31, 2019)
A cold morning breeze
curls through the sycamore’s leaves;
the sky’s a crisp blue.
(October 31, 2019)
My mind’s blank again;
the mirror reflects the room:
Another Haiku!
(October 30, 2019)
I am tired today,
as I am most days these days.
I’m caught in a loop.
(October 29, 2019)
Darkness is a balm
with early morning’s silence.
A cat prowls the room.
(October 28, 2019)
On the bookstore floor,
I sit and read poetry;
thus, my life has passed.
(October 27, 2019)
Bright fall light dazzles
the trees in fading green leaves.
Squirrels squawk all day.
(October 26, 2019)