Petals floating down

Dancing, swirling as they fall

Softly to the ground

 

Heavy with perfume

From the honeysuckle vine

The wind is stirring

 

I have a new name

It settles like the spring dew

On my wakened brow

 

What’s a girl to do?  I keep grabbing at the little bits of poetry that run around loose in my head, and turning them into haiku lines rather than lose them altogether.  It’s pretty perfect for the times when I’m thinking but don’t have the time  or brain power to devote to working through a longer poem.  Other than having a flower as the subject, this photo has nothing to do with the haikus; I just really like it for some reason.

I have not been writing a lot for the last few weeks.  My life, just like everyone else’s, occasionally blows up, and I have been a busy beaver with work and church projects.  In the last month, I have learned more about Server 2008 than I ever wanted to know, I became a certified advanced light duty tow operator (my guys are just as surprised as you are, but I can now flip a car right side up in a single lane of traffic…), I discovered that spirit gum and spirit gum remover qualify as a HazMat shipment and it is possible to order pre-made “scab blood” (it may look as gross as it sounds, but it’s for a good cause – see the next note), and I’ve been learning a monologue and working with the drama part of a VERY exciting Easter program we’re doing at church next week.  If you are in the Birmingham, Alabama area, check out the Journey to the Cross information on our church’s website: www.gvbc.org.  It’s a walk-through program loosely based on the stations of the cross, and at each stop on the Journey to the Cross, there is a video from The Passion and then a live action monologue that’s an eyewitness account of some aspect of the events leading up to the crucifixion.  It’s a unique look at the life of Christ leading up to Easter, and I’m excited to be a part of it (in case you couldn’t tell…)!  And I’m still cramming for our music program on Sunday morning.

So, for the last few weeks, I have alternately been singing, practicing my monologue and composing haiku verses during my alone time in the car.  Why haiku?  Doesn’t everyone compose haiku verses during their morning commute?  I’m not sure I correctly adhered to the rules, but I did get the syllable patterns right, and they do all have something to do with seasons or nature.  I leave you with my efforts at haiku and the promise of a real blog entry to follow soon.

 

With ev’ry rain comes

Spring – deep, rich, magnificent

Colors of new life.

 

 In a quiet field

We’ll lie down on a bed of

Fragrant blooms and grass.

  

And in the summer

With warm sunlight all around

You will come to me.

 

 When the morning breaks

Clarion, dewy, and pure

I will see your face.

And there is peace –

                the quiet rest of a sheltered heart.

There, on the face of a well-loved child asleep.

And there, reflected in his mother’s silent gaze,

an ocular caress only tangible in her son’s joyous dreams.

And there is peace –

                the earned repose after hard-fought battle.

There, in the weary look of a soldier ending his watch.

And there, etched in the lines that define a lifetime

of laughter and worry and work creasing a father’s face.

And there is peace –

                the calm that follows every torrent of pain and loss.

There, in the eyes of a husband facing a new life alone.

And there, in a daughter’s resolve once she realizes

her father’s life was well spent.

And here, in my heart, as I slowly accept

through grace that another child

now stands before the throne of God to wait for my return.

I want to quit – to give up and surrender.

But my soul fights for more

breath, more life – more.

My body lies beaten

and broken by grief;

my mind fractured by despair.

No amount of paddling

can keep me on the surface,

and drowning would be so easy.

Exhaustion and turmoil push

and pull in roiling battle

with hope so that

in spite of the weight of angst

my spirit rises up

to float in search of redemption.

There is nothing sweeter than to watch

A dog

Riding in a car with his face out the window

Jowls

Flapping in the wind

Coat

Rippling with the air stream

Mouth

Spread wide in contentment

Head

Held high barely buffeted by the breeze

Tail

Wagging in time to each rhythmic quiver of

The nose

Inhaling double-time to take in all of life passing by his window

Some day, when I am your mother,

I will hold your hand in mine,

And we will walk together,

And you will tell me about your day.

Some day, when I am your mother,

I will sing you a song,

And we will laugh together,

And you will tell me I am old fashioned.

Some day, when I am your mother,

I will teach you how to draw,

And we will paint together,

And you will create beautiful pictures for me.

Some day, when I am your mother,

I will touch your face,

And we will smile together,

And you will show me all around heaven.

Come and lie down in my field,

And tell me what you dream.

Lie down in my field,

And let your body rest between the furrows,

While your gaze rests upon the clouds.

Do you dream of adventures and fame?

Do you dream of Technicolor love?

Lie down in my field

With your bones stretched out on the earth,

With your mind floating above the sky.

Come, and tell me what your soul sees

When you lie down in my field of dreams.

**As proof that context is everything, I put two photos with this poem.  This has been floating through my head all week, and when I finally got it on paper, I started looking for a picture to post with it.  The first one, with the flower, is what you would expect, but the picture at the end (from the Alabama National Cemetery in case you wondered) fits this poem in a very different way.  It gives it a twist I wouldn’t have in the writing.  So, think of the two pictures as a choose-your-own-adventure illustration, and read it with the one you like best in mind.**

A note before you read: this poem is a walk on the lighter side, and the photo is one of my favorites.  I shot it outside the Alabama Theater on a weekend stay-cation with my sister.  We happened upon a ballet recital, and I fell in love with this shot with the little girl posing for her reflection in the window.  I hope you don’t find the poem too cheesy because I kind of like it, and it’s fun to read out loud.  :~)

“She Has Poetry inside Her”

 She has poetry inside her-

She is grace personified.

She has poetry inside her-

Her every move is rhyme.

Hyperbole becomes her:

Her eyes contain the sun.

Mere quatrains cannot hold her;

Syntax has met its match.

She laughs in staccato iambs;

She cries in falling meters.

Her voice is an apostrophe to beauty;

Her very smile connotes paradox.

She has poetry inside her-

Her mere expression its release.

thousands of whispers in my head

all talking at once

all pointing and accusing

some pronouncing unsolicited advice

none offering consolation

they all speak at once so I can’t make out the words

but I know without hearing them what they say

I know so well that within seconds

they merge into a single scream

my shame at their pronouncement is complete

my rage futile