Christmas Morning

Although
there were only
two places,
first and last
it didn’t
matter now.

No,
it was
Christmas
Eve and time
for “The Night
Before Christmas.”

I was
so excited.
I was so very
happy but anxious.
Late that night
I became ill.

Santa
didn’t mind
a whit. I looked
downstairs.
Under the tree,
there they were.

Not just
a new pair of
skis but a
new pair of special
skis for me.
I was ten.

I went back
upstairs
and I was sick
I threw up
my dinner, I
was so excited.

A new pair
of Kastle Skis
the best skis
Was there a
Santa Claus? No,
but it felt like it.

My dream
had come true.
When I raced
now maybe my
skis would
win for me.

I felt
so proud that
day. I felt
loved, it was
a great
day for me.

little girl

A few things.
1) I am no longer getting new posts from my WordPress friends. Bummer. I attempted without success to contact WP. I have no idea what I did yesterday in my “reader” but now I appear to be getting some posts. So that is better.
2) I read a most amazing poem by “Laurie” yesterday. It prompted me to come home (here) and write this – I hope that I have not plagiarized Laurie! Her poem can be found here and is for me, simply brilliant. It is called Rusty Tears. You know how a “poem” just speaks to you!
3) For those who have kindly inquired about me, when I don’t write it is generally because I am ill. I try to write twice a week.

my feet
getting smaller
winding
thru
the trees
my pathway
fed with
pine needles
pebbles
dirt
and broken
sticks

all of this
and I am
still
not sure
if I am really
here

i look up
to find myself
through the
canopy
to see
my face
in
the
clouds
but i cannot
see

while looking
i hear
the call of
raven

speaking

telling me
to walk on
and on
for i am
not in the
clouds
no
i will find
myself
a ways from
here

where
else i ask
can i
be

raven
replied
hop on
my back
i shall carry
you
all the way
out to sea

there
in the seaweed
there in
the bracken
in broken shells
and bubbly
water
in a tide
pool
i shall let you
down
gently
you will see
a time
when you
were only
seven

in that tide
pool
you shall see
yourself
young
trusting
innocent
willing
to just be

you trusted me
to take
you
on many
dreamlike trips
where
innocence
was
a way of
life
and all things
gave

delight

hop on my back
now
come with
me
to a time
and place
when you were
seven
in
the tide pool
a place of
warmth
and
little things

a place
where you
still will
be

i
will hover in the
background
watching
out
for you
always

Posted a wee bit late in Poetry Pantry

it is poetry to my ears

I have been floundering, excited about writing my memoirs but not happy about loosing contact with my poet friends, really, really not happy! So, what should I do? Should I write all of the time? Should I write memoir one day and poetry the next? No, for I haven’t the time. Then I came upon a solution that evolved from a thought that I had last year. Most of you know that I absolutely love Japanese forms of poetry. I was ill for more than 1/2 of last year (yes, it appears to be perennial) during which time I studied Japanese poetry, especially haiku, haiga, haibun, tanka. I committed myself to writing one haiku per day during my illness. This act was a spiritual discipline. That is part one. Secondly, the photos from my mother’s WWII scrap books are the real inspiration for this memoir. I wish to honor her work in London during the bombings. She was an awful mother and I did not like her. I came late in life to understand that her poor mothering was in great part a function of the war. For this reason I can tell you that war reaches down through the ages and effects those of new generations. I have finally concluded that this story can only be told through the lens of my own life. I say why not write it using Japanese forms of poetry? How does that sound? I think that it solves all of my problems! It sounds absolutely perfect. It is poetry to my ears. I do not think that it has been done before. The only thing that even comes close is “Walden Pond” re-done in haiku. Tell me what you think. Am I going out on a limb? And oh, one is supposed to start out with a bang, a whopper of a first sentence, or in my case a whopper of a haibun. You are meant to draw one in to your story. For those who may not know, a haibun is prose followed by a haiku. Traditionally this prose speaks of a place, a person or a scene and today memoir. A haiga is art with a haibun or haiku. the art of which I speak is photography.

Haibun

I was nine years old. I walked into the employee’s cloakroom of my mother’s place of employment. I was a very little kid. I rifled through all of the coat pockets. In one pocket I found $1000. Wow! I stole it. This was 1955. I knew that I had done something really bad because of the feelings of dread in my tummy. But it was a great feeling to have some money. I went to the general store and I bought some candy. I understood the power of money at that young age. I understood it because I had none and my parents had a good bit which they did not share. It was as if we three kids were poverty stricken. Today I remember little else of this episode. I was confronted and caught by my parents. I am not sure how, but I suspect showing up at the general store with a $100 bill in a town of 500 was a dead giveaway. I cannot remember my punishment. My father remedied this situation by giving me a room in the Big Barn. We had the Big Barn and the Little Barn. The horses, the tack room, our riding ribbons, trophies and a large collection of carriages and sleighs were kept in the Big Barn. In my new room in the Big Barn filled with hay and pigeon droppings he put a small roll-top desk for my use. Perhaps this act was in recognition that everyone needed a room of one’s own. I remember nothing else about it. Years later in the 90s I spoke to my mother about it. She was mortified by these memories. Shame wove a deep, ugly and tight thread through my family. Shame is something that follows one for a lifetime unless one both changes and forgives oneself.

smoldering June heat
night cicadas loud above
gentle breeze leaves move

It takes a long time to perfect a haiku. This one was written last night and needs much reworking.

Shared with fellow poets at both: Poets United – The Poetry Pantry and dVerse’s Poetry Jam where Kelvin of Kelvin’s Poetry Blog has challenged us to use two idioms to inspire our poetry today. I have used my title and “going out on a limb”. Thank you Kelvin.