cronechronicler

Exploring the poetry of everyday life

Haiku: Respite in Time of Strife

Living in the now
Time of mind and memory
Not how clock tells time

Moment sweet to breathe
Feel the heartbeat of the earth
Sense deep wells within

This is nature’s gift
Peace, tranquility abide
Feathered hope also.

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Haiku: Redeeming Words

Depression’s gray clouds
Hovering weight overhead
Felled with word’s penning

Precious beyond words
The Word Press community
We can be healers

Hopeful, despairing
Angry, judging, lamenting
Words written freely

Speak into hearing
Allay fears for grim future
We are not alone.

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A Prosaic Back Story

I found my Haiku “Good Housekeeping” forgotten among my drafts and published it yesterday. The classical elements Fire, Water, Wind and Earth that my poetry alludes to have been a part of my morning meditations for a quarter of a century.

I light a candle and drink my coffee. Fire is the flame that begins with my striking a match. Without air the candle would not burn. Earth is all around me in my potted plants. Water keeps them alive. My meditations have nourished me and kept me connected with God and the universe.

Lately I lament the sea-change of our world moving on a wave of violence. I shed tears over the burning of cities and homes. I mourn the disregard for the basic needs of human and animal life, and our planet. Fire, Water, Wind and Earth surround us still. I pray for winds of change to blow us toward justice.

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Haiku: Ostrich No More

Poet in me slept
Escaping circumstances
Of a world gone mad

High time to awake
Stir my juices, let words flow
With my mighty pen

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Haiku: Respite From Hard Times

Bright moon overhead
Quiet of night sky abiding
Peace for a moment

Daily Prompt: Silence

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Discomforting Sanctuary

Like a cathedral’s soaring vault
Outside my window tree branches arch
Forming my sanctuary roof
Green as summer.

Here inside my writing room
Quiet and cool invites my muse
Leaving world and strife behind
Perhaps I can escape.

But not today.
I cannot rest in solitude
When cries of anger, pain andĀ fear
Pierce my self-centered peace.

I have no healing words to write
Only love wrung out of me
To fling into communal scream
What will become of us?

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Amazing Grace On the STC

No longer a driver I now rely on Senior Transportation Connection to get me to doctor’s appointments. A small white van picks me up and I enter a world shared with others who also have learned to do without a car. The drivers are interesting in their own right. Altogether I enjoy being differently-abled.

This morning I used the STC service to get to my dentist’s office. When my appointment was over another van picked me up for the trip home. I was the single passenger. As we waited at a red light a school bus drove by. The STC driver remarked that she wanted to drive school buses. We agreed how important and rewarding it would be to be part of children’s lives in these dangerous and uncertain times. A black woman raised in the South, she wanted to pass on the sound teachings and community values of her family. She believed children nowadays need direction. And she told me the story of her daughter who has ADHD.

Her story revealed her as a mother who sought help for her child and accepted the difficult diagnosis. A woman who educated herself about ADHD. After a long search she found a school who asked what they could do for her daughter and for her. She replied “Believe in me.” I marveled at her wisdom and humility, and her faith and prayers.

I told her about my son who recently didn’t get the teaching job he applied for in a prosperous suburb. Instead he interviewed with an inner-city Charter School and got what he calls the job of a lifetime. He is grateful to be able to give his gifts as an experienced teacher and help shape children’s lives in this time of upheaval.

We two women, one black and one white, both mothers and one also a grandmother, were bound in our love for children everywhere. It is amazing but not exactly unexpected that we came together as kindred spirits in these weeks of unspeakable carnage and grief. These tragedies also give birth to moments of hope, testimony that love still abides.

When we arrived at my home the driver gave me a hand getting out of the van. We spoke of blessings and promised prayers for each other. She reached out and we hugged goodbye. I asked her name. She said Angela. I think I had been speaking with an angel unaware.

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Communal Candles

This morning when I went to church I was not handed the usual bulletin for the worship service. Following the events of the past week we were gathered to lament the acts of blind hatred and fear that have pierced our nation’s heart. Like spontaneous expressions of grief pictured in the daily newspapers and online we lit candles in silence, shed our tears, prayed and sang. A young black boy was sitting close to me. I wept to think of what his future might be just because of the color of his skin. I grieve for the soul of America. I’m thankful for a time to pray and cry with other people. And to feel a flickering of hope.

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