Storm

Autumn's final dance
Yellow leaves twirl, spin downward
Winter approaching

Wind choir singing
Fir tree ballet in progress
Dancer loses limb

More storm haiku here

Anticipation

Anticipation
Will Santa bring us toys, food?
Request goes out to church

Mother, two daughters
Coats, sleepwear, cuddly items
Shopping adventure

Packages wrapped up
Food boxes loaded in car
Grateful mother cries

For more aniticipating moments, go here.

Elizondo Street

Look alike houses lining the street
You, my best friend, next door
Planning our next adventure
Lathering ourselves with baby oil
No sunscreen here on Elizondo Street.

“Big Red” my dad’s endearment to you
“Monkey” you called me
Walking to school, singing
Zeppelin anthem, off key
No buses for us on Elizondo Street.

Arriving home, waving “good-bye”
Our front doors open, we enter
A phone call first before homework begins
Regaling the day’s events
No text messages then on Elizondo Street.

Swearing off boys only to
Rediscovered them
Exploring, secret whisperings
Your mom on late night patrol
No questions asked on Elizondo Street.

Thirty plus years has passed
on Elizondo Street.
Families grown, parents gone
Emails sent regaling our daily lives
Friendship remains.

Oh this was harder than anticipated and a work in progress. That's why the late, late posting.

One Deep Breath: Containers

Hair receiver

Grandmother's strands placed inside

Recycled holder

The human body
Emotions, thoughts coursing through
Spirit container

For other haiku on containers, visit One Deep Breath.

Punishment and Reward: A Christmas Story

My parents always sent "Southwest Santa" packages to my family. The girls were eleven and thirteen when the youngest decided to try her skill at peeking.

Packages surrounded the tree. I noticed one package opened and re=taped while adding to the pile. Hmmm, I thought, this is interesting. So I carefully extricated the gift and replaced it with underwear.

Christmas Eve arrived. We loaded up the car and drove to my husband's mother's house as was our tradition. The family gathered in the living room after a wonderful meal of crabs and red sauce, garlic bread and salad.

Packages were handed out. The youngest unwraps a gift, followed by the next until each family member has had a turn. Both my husband and oldest child knew about the "switch". I opened my "Southwest Santa" gift; a sweatshirt. My husband opened his "Southwest Santa" package; a sweatshirt, and my oldest opened hers; a sweatshirt. The youngest put off opening hers (because why should she, she knew what was in it) until it was the final gift of the evening. She unwrapped the gift with great care and said, "Oh, "Southwest Santa"sent me underwear". Her expression said something else, "WHAT?".

The next day she admitted it scared her to see a different gift come out of the package. This is one story we tell each Christmas.

For more Punishment and Reward, visit Sunday Scribblings

A Poetry Meme: Poetry is Like

1. The first poem I remember reading/hearing/reacting to was …and just barely was Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. I still have my book that my parents read that poem out of, cost twenty five cents. Later, in high school I discovered Yeats and Browning.
2. I was forced to memorize (name of poem) in school and …I don't remember being forced to memorize any poem and a good thing because memorization is difficult for me.
3. I read/don’t read poetry because …I am drawn to the brevity of the words with the power to leave you breathless.
4. A poem I’m likely to think about when asked about a favorite poem is …gads, there is so many. "The Travelling Onion" by Naomi Shihab Nye comes to mind and "When You Are Old" by Yeats These are the first two that popped into my head. But there is also William Stafford's works and another day, other poems might pop into my head.
5. I write/don’t write poetry, but … hadn't for a while until I stumbled into Poetry Thursday and One Deep Breath. The switch turned back on and that makes me joyful. In the earlier 90's I had envsioned an on-line community of writers and many thought I was hmmm, a little silly.
6. My experience with reading poetry differs from my experience with reading other types of literature … I slow down and re-read. I read aloud more.
7. I find poetry … in the early morning, as I drive, in the little moments of the day. I also find it a great way to inspire first through third graders to write and write a lot when I teach an after school class in poetry.
8. The last time I heard poetry …is when I listened to the audio cd that accompanies Poetry Speaks to Children.
9. I think poetry is like …the petals of an artichoke, peel them off, savor as you reach the heart.

In the Last Hour

In the last hour
family gathers around the table
Two parents
Two daughters
Two son-in-laws
Two granddaughters
Aromas of yeasty rolls, garnet yams,
and broccoli linger
talking, laughter fill the room
I poise my camera
"Gamma, say cheese" says the two year old
runs
hides
in plain sight down the hall
An hour of love

For more on "In the Last Hour, click here.

Close, Closer, Closest

Autumn afternoon

Leaves creating rust carpet

Quiet hangs on branches

Silent guard watches
Squirrels gather winter food
One leaf dances by

Elephant trunk speaks
Who wanders through sacred ground
Autumn afternooon

For more takes on "Close, Closer, Closest" check out One Deep Breath. Photos were taken in Ringwood, New Jersey.