Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte

Haiku: Prophecy

Tomorrow’s secret
Hidden now becomes in time
Yesterday’s surprise


Symphony of Old and New

The cooling AC softly whirs
New day’s light shining through the trees
Creates a lacy pattern on warm brick wall
Outside my window.

Flame of small red candle flickers
Smell and taste of coffee steaming
Tick of clock hanging on the wall
Companions to begin my morning.

Every day for many years it has been so
Today there’s something new.
Leaf of philodendron on the table by my side
Has on its tip one crystal water drop.


Haiku: Seasonal Affliction

First day of summer
Outside eighty-nine degrees
Muse must be dozing.

I can’t keep focus
Have no special intentions
Haiku went fishing.

Daily Prompt: Aimless


Ina’s House

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice. T.S. Eliot

For fifty years I’ve claimed the name of Mother
Lately evolving into being Grandma, too.
Always feathering my nest as haven
For those who’ve been entrusted to my love.

I knew joy in tending, teaching, reprimanding
Knew heartbreak when life’s bumps became obstructions.
Felt proud as children became each one a unique person
My days filled always with them as center.

Years passed my sons grew into manhood
Found jobs and wives, gave birth to their own children.
Created homes, developed talents, new directions.
It was amazing to become a matriarch.

I think now sons are where I started
I am moving onward to a different place
Time for me to live with new intentions
Time to cherish days as mine alone.

No longer is my prime identity my sons’ Mother,
My life breadcrumbs to teach my children how to grow and age.
I’m going to savor living in the moment, write my poetry.
My name is Ina and Ina’s house my home.


Haiku: Inspiration

Winds of change ferment spirits
I breathe deep this wine

Prompt – Fresh and Wind


Haiku: Crystal Ball Gazing

Today muse calls me
Stirs senses and memory
Words take on new life

Future time unspools
Writing stories uncertain
New author in charge


Strange Reunion

My high school class is between the every-five-year interval of our reunions. Now something even more momentous has moved some classmates to plan a get-together. We’re having a Four Score Party to celebrate our 80th birthdays. The travel logistics are daunting so I’m sitting this one out. Yesterday a classmate who is big on nostalgic websites emailed links to two sites for us to feast on. At first I didn’t want to take the time to read them. I’ve enjoyed the reunions over the years but am not a fan of the silly lists of how things used to be. However yesterday was rainy and I had nothing better to do. So I read.

One of the websites had the year-end report of the City Recreation Department a few years after we graduated from high school. Several classmates, mostly boys, “replied to all” about summer jobs they held that year. I did not know any of the boys very well. One wrote about his job emptying and cleaning the city swimming pool on Sunday nights. When he was finished, his job was to walk across the street to the City Water Department and ask them to turn the water back on. From his words in the email I pictured my classmate as a young man scrubbing the pool every Sunday summer evening and then personally interacting with someone at the Water Department to begin the process of filling the pool again. I had the beginnings of a story in my imagination. I could imagine (because I certainly remember) the heat of a Mississippi summer evening and where the boy might want to go when he got off work and friends he would hang out with.

If I were to go to the Four Score Party and have a conversation with my classmate I doubt his summer job sixty years ago would come up. It is funny to me that I see him more clearly as a person in his written words in a group email. It is funny to me that I am writing this post for people to read whom I will probably never see in person. And yet this is prime reality for me. Long live the mysterious joys of human imagination. Long live Word Press blogland!


Haiku: Redemption

Emptiness floods me.
Purpose smaller than pin point
Replenishes soul