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Her birthday
Painting of a grand celebration (maybe a birthday!), Prescott Public Library, Prescott, Arizona
Her birthday,
crammed with memories,
one in particular:
rising at the meadowlark’s song
to walk across the dew-drenched grass,
her feet bare and cold and wet,
humming little nonsense tunes
to greet the light, bolder now
than when she’d left the house,
turning to see him at the window,
her ancient father;
how small he looks,
how like a cattail reed,
brown and brittle
at summer’s end—
and then he is falling,
clutching at his breast,
sailing off beyond the morning light,
the midday light, every light
there ever was or will be.
Pulling her phone from her skirt
pocket, she calls her friend:
“It’s over now. Come.
Come quickly.”
More Ruby Tuesday Too
More Sunday’s Whirligig #114
More Poetry Pantry #356 at Poets United
Prayer in Time of Drought
Lord, the little plants need water.
Send Your healing rain.
Let the sound of its falling
refresh my weary soul
as I walk barefoot through the garden,
damp earth beneath my feet,
thinking of all Your marvelous ways—
how You never force Yourself upon me,
but like light that warms or blinds,
You come to me each day,
inviting me to choose,
and in this time of drought
I choose blindness.
Dazzle me with Your presence
in each drop of rain.
Whirling with Richard Wright
The first line of each haiku or senryu is taken from Haiku: This Other World by Richard Wright.
This week’s whirling words are: wayward, falling, frenzy, attack, sublime, strange, settle, rough, channel, ball, robust, life
An empty seashore—
not even wayward children
picking up stray shells.
~~ ~~ ~~
Droning autumn rain,
falling since seven a.m.—
will it never cease?
~~ ~~ ~~
Faint sounds of a flute—
a frenzy of emotions
rising within me.
~~ ~~ ~~
A white butterfly
positioning for attack—
sunflower shudders.
~~ ~~ ~~
Is it possible
for sublime conversations
to spawn violence?
~~ ~~ ~~
In an April fog
three strange women are walking—
one begins to chant.
~~ ~~ ~~
The first day of spring,
wind roaring down from the north—
where will it settle?
~~ ~~ ~~
Just enough of moon
to smooth off the rough edges
of one splintered bone.
~~ ~~ ~~
Which is more distant?
The channel through the mountains
or the ocean strand?
~~ ~~ ~~
The scarecrow shudders
as a ball of mud hurtles
toward his straw-filled cheeks.
~~ ~~ ~~
Pen me a letter,
robust, rich, and bristling with
Anglo-Saxon words.
~~ ~~ ~~
Walking home alone,
the life I lived unraveled
strand by strand by strand.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #108
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 67
More Carpe Diem: “Inspired by Richard Wright”
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