cronechronicler

Exploring the poetry of everyday life

Haiku: Different Strokes

Some poets breathe fire
I regard changing dawn sky
Beauty fuels me.

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Alchemy

Imagine dawn sky dressed in pink-ribboned clouds
Trees green-leaved in summer
Changing colors for autumn
Sobered by stillness of bare-branched winter
Chilling cold and deep silence.

Imagine a mother of sons and grandchildren
Heart filled with wonder, love, joy
And trepidation
World is near changing
Beyond recognition.

Imagine aging a worthy challenge
Rich adventures and exploring
Forge wisdom a gift
Hard-won and enduring
Unknown roads lie ahead

But for today the sun is shining
Golden hours to seize and embrace.
Shadows, too, can be lovely
I’ll plumb them tomorrow.
Translating my life into poems.

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Everyday Inspiration Day Six: Where My Writing Happens

My writing begins where it will. This morning I was in my living room chair reading the Sunday paper when the neighborhood geese flew overhead. A haiku began to unwind in my mind. I reached for a notepad  and pen in the end table drawer and jotted down the first two lines, then sketched out a few more. Later I will give the haiku its final form on my desktop computer .

Last winter I had a dialogue with the early dawn sky and its amazing pink stripes. Every morning I found a new image I used to describe the  stripes. Sometimes the image came to me as I ate breakfast facing the window. I would tear off a scrap of paper from the daily news and write down the thought before it drifted away. A compelling first line was all it took for a haiku to grow.

Writing about my travels or family stories happens another way. I have boxes filled with travel itineraries, notes and pictures of the places I’ve been stored in freezer-sized Ziploc bags. I love to revisit a trip and re-live it in my mind’s eye. Writing brings up more memories. Family stories come to mind from pictures and letters stored in boxes and from objects that have accompanied me whenever I moved. I also write about my family in the present. The actual stories take shape as I write on my computer – sometimes prose and sometimes poetry.

The objects in the  room where I write are  visible reminders of my journey. By the window there is a child’s desk that belonged to one of my sons. A futon and a lamp occupied my computer room in the last place I lived. A maple chair  from my first house  after I was married sits in the corner. The drop-leaf table that matches it is in my kitchen. My Diplomas are on the wall. A picture of a cowboy riding his horse on the winding road of Texas ranch, which was a wedding present to my parents,  hangs over the futon.  My father was from Texas. There is a wooden wall clock in the shape of Ohio, where I now live, that ticks as I type. On the  window ledge is a large coffee mug with the name of the college I attended. My computer, glass computer table, office chair,  printer and the table it sits on are  newcomers. Four green house plants are my living companions.

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Everyday Inspiration Day Four: Portal

Grand Central Station of legend and stories
High arched ceiling, light’s golden glow
Promise of infinite charmed possibilities
Sky’s the limit. Where will I go?

I remember Thanksgivings when bound for New York
College girls promised to “meet under the clock”.
I never did. My single journey was Thanksgiving ’64
With husband and baby son Bobby in tow.

Before  sun was up we arrived bleary-eyed
No sleeping with baby in misnamed sleeping car
Hurried through Grand Central then realized
Bobby’s winter hat was not on his head.

Scurried back to train tracks and lo and behold
Perching there on a pole where a kind stranger had put it
Was the little blue hat. That was for me a beginning
To journey afar and trust the wide world.

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Everyday Inspiration Day One: Why Do I Write?

Writing is the joy and  purpose that putting life experience into words gives me. It happens when I go quiet and lose myself in the actions of the sky, trees, wind and small animals outside my window. It happens when I need to  tie up loose feelings from my own life experience. Experience is the key word.

I write from the perspective of a woman who will turn eighty in two months. I know what it is to have  felt the same way inside as long as I can remember. I know what it is to feel my body aging and live with limitations. Best of all I am discovering the unique joy of the changes I experience. I am changing and like a Janus face can look backward  and forward through a rainbow of experience arching through time from my early years to a still mysterious future.

When I started my blog I knew I could write.  I did not know I have been given the gift of writing poetry. I am a wordy person by nature and reducing my words to the seventeen syllables of a haiku gives me focus. I love to find just the perfect word and word field to express myself. I love writing poetry because at least in the Word Press world there are few rules about complete sentences. I love leaving spaces for readers to fill in with their sense of what my words mean in their lives.

I write because I have stories to pass down to my children and grandchildren. I write for the pleasure of remembering places I’ve been in my travels.

Writing makes me whole.

 

 

 

 

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Autumn Blessing

Today I listened to the rain
Pouring green new energy and balm
Welcome spring of new ideas
Timeless gift to stir my muse.

Seeping deep into my soul
Water floods and lifts my art
Trickles with a gift of words
Fills the cracks, restores me.

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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

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Writing 101- Composition Notes

Today the cool breeze of early autumn stirs the leaves on the big oak tree outside my window. It rained all day two days ago and I could see for the first time that leaves had fallen on the stones of the patio below. For now bright sun casts shadows on the desk beneath the window where a basket of bills to be paid and three house plants sit. The desk drawers serve to store file folders and personal business-related stuff.

The room I write in is the smaller bedroom of two in my apartment. Against one wall is a futon intended for guests whose main occupant is a little plush stuffed Eeyore who has been with me for a while. On the walls are a couple of framed diplomas, a wooden clock in the shape of Ohio that ticks away time, a picture in the shape of a turtle created from folded paper and a swing-arm lamp. On the wall opposite the futon, my desktop computer sits on a glass-topped table with my land-line telephone on one side and my printer on the other. A comfortable office chair completes the set. This is the stage setting for my writing. The minute I sit at my computer to write it dissolves and my writing process absorbs me.

Prompts and creative ideas come from Word Press, daily experiences and reflections, memories, out-of-the-blue lines for poems, what’s going on out my window, the newspaper. Inspiration reaches me at a feeling level. It is like a seed planted that I can trust will grow into writing when I sit down at my computer. Writing haiku I begin on paper to keep track of the allotted syllables. Everything else takes form as I type. This is where the magic happens. I have a general idea where I am going but that is often not where I end up. Words written remind me of other words and I follow the trail like breadcrumbs tossed out by my muse. I tinker and tweak until I like what is on the screen before me. It is a tiny aha! moment when I’m satisfied that I’ve translated my feelings and ideas into words. Besides my helpful muse, a mischievous genie lives in my computer. Sometimes when I’ve written something particularly long I strike a key I’m unaware of and all that I’ve written vanishes. I haven’t figured how to restore it. However, I don’t give up. Doggedly I begin again only this time I abbreviate my piece. The result usually turns out much better for the editing and I thank my genie for knowing when I’ve gone on too long.

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Writing 101 – I Write Because- Once Upon a time

I once attended a conference in Ghana where I heard the saying “You don’t know where you are going. You don’t know how to get there. And somehow you arrive just the same.” This sounded like the pattern of my life in general. I adopted the saying as the theme for my blog Cronechronicler.

I began with a lifetime of stories ripe to be told, a love of words and having done a good bit of writing – though nothing like a blog. I write because words come from a wellspring inside me that has revealed itself – like a muse. A mysterious process gets things going. Primed by a Word Press prompt – or a memory, feelings of all kinds, the daily news, human interactions, changing seasons – words begin flowing. Often they need tweaking and I go off in a different direction. Writing poetry, a newly discovered and precious gift, is most likely to end up in a place I hadn’t considered when I began. That’s fun. Writing gives me joy and purpose. My days are incomplete without it. I intend to write only when I have something to say. I write as an end in itself.

I write to leave stories to my children and grandchildren to read someday when they are curious about who I am and to say that I love them. Also I write because of this community of bloggers who are like a global family to me. My life is infinitely richer coming to know them through posts and responses. It’s been over a year since I took Writing 101. I’m ready for new inspiration and making new blog friends.

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Dungeon Prompt – Why do You Blog? A Gift Beyond Measure

It began Mother’s Day 2014.
One son suggested out of the blue
Why not blog? Just the thing for you
Collector of stories and a writer to boot.

Another son offered his gift to me
Put me in touch with his pre-teenage son
New WordPress blogger and ready to teach
Showed me the ropes and Cronechronicler was born.

The very first gift begat many more.
Writing 101 turned a golden key
Opened a well and a geyser poured forth
Words, stories, feelings filling up posts.

My third son was first to read and comment
Mom, you’re a writer – you’ve got good stuff
Just do your homework and you’ll make the grade.
Little did we four know where this would lead.

As I continued to write day by day
Words shaping images marched on the page
Meters the drumbeat gave old stories new form
Something else was afoot, a poet was born.

Mysterious gift heartfelt thanks I do owe
Seeds of words planted a lifetime ago
Blossoms exotic, some quite common-place
Given to me to abundantly share.

You ask why I blog?
Simple reply.
I write out of joy
Expect nothing less.

Written in response to Dungeon Prompt: Why Do You blog?

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