Viral Gratitude ~ 4.23.20

today
my only wish:
to follow a cloud

ag ~ 2013

 

Advertisement

Spring Cleaning and The Blues

news of an old friend’s passing—
I switch Pandora
to a blues station

(for Pat)

~

Spring cleaning
I scour grief and grease
with abandon

~

news of a new friend’s passing
the gift of her smile
returns

(for Yvette)

~

through it all
the piercing presence of thistle
in the garden

~

between words
I use the pencil sharpener
grandpa’s dad’s mine

(for Glenn)

~

jewel weed emerges in the garden I return home

(for me)

~

ag

Who Exactly Saves Daylight?

clocks spring forward
the last hour slips under
morning’s pillow

~

the dog’s stomach
and mine growl
at the new timetable

~

daylight savings time lost in translation

contrails and foxtails
a wispy wave
to the morning

~

It’s the last day of February, 2019, and the ending to my practice of writing at least one haiku per day for National Haiku Writers Month–always February. I missed only a couple of days including yesterday. The practice of writing a daily haiku is more of an exercise in taking a closer look at moments that often get ignored or diluted in busy-ness. It’s also a great practice in articulating and editing just enough to give these moments breath and respect. For all of this and more–I am grateful.

~

beginnings and endings
false starts and fine finishes
always in the editing

 

 

The Wind As Muse

purpling wind
Picasso’s cubism
starts to make sense

~

purpling wind
head to the east
nose to the west

~

purpling wind on a whim I channel my inner Picasso

 

Dora. By Pablo Picasso

Postcard Moments

the sea distills time into postcard moments a tumbledown pale blue and yellow

A Hop Skip and A Ku

skipping in and out
of the waiting room
a new haiku

Beach Stones and A Picasso Quote

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. Pablo Picasso  ~

beach stones stacked on her windowsill Picasso’s ode to the young-at-heart artist

 

 

 

Body Fluency

back to basics
the osteopath pushes and pulls
my crookedness

~

TMJ: my body’s trash talk

~

how much easier would it be born fluent in body language?

Contour Lines

blotting paint off my canvas contours new questions

~

as the narrative unfolds blue to black to blue again