Crooked

I posted this haibun a few days ago. I made some changes to it (Don't you love the process of writing? Some pieces are ever-evovling). Here is the new version. I just received word that it is going to be published in the Spring 2010 volume of Simply Haiku. I've very excited!

"I'm a crooked kind of perfect," she wrote in her journal when asked to describe herself. My students never cease to amaze me. What insight! What wisdom! Eleven years to her credit and she has already accomplished what took me almost three decades. There for the world to see is her brave declaration of self-acceptance, scribbled in number-two lead. I only wish I had learned to love my own beautiful imperfections at such a tender age. I print an 'A' in red ink at the top of the page, giving her so much less than she has given me.

knowing smile-
her braces
catch the light

autumn dreams of spring-

eagerly awaiting

the first rose bud

Take Me...

Take me away
to some secret place
where moonlight
shines...
falls...
drips onto my skin,
like silver raindrops- sliding
to that part of my cheek
where your hand takes over...

Take me away
to some shadowy place
where darkness
whispers...
lures...
hides us from the world,
'til I can only feel-seeing
you, not with my eyes,
but with my fingertips...

Take me away
to some quiet place
where silence
lives...
breathes...
inspires us to listen
closer than ever before-hearing
the music we make
when all the noise is gone...

finding myself

alone with Otis Redding

and cheap red wine-

“These Arms of Mine”

hold your empty pillow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-FQL-tJ3ic&feature=related

"I'm a crooked kind of perfect," she wrote in her journal when asked to describe herself. My students never cease to amaze me. What insight! What wisdom! Eleven years to her credit and she has already accomplished what took me almost three decades. There for all the world to see in number two lead lies her brave declaration of self-acceptance. I only wish I had learned to love my own beautiful imperfections at such a tender age. I scribble an 'A' in red ink at the top of the page, giving her so much less than she has given me. The teacher becomes the student once again.

caterpillar

finds her voice-

who needs wings?

his grin says it all-

autumn morning spent speaking

our secret language

(in response to Paul's post on Paper Moon today...and of course, dedicated to my husband Derek)

talking to myself-

a robin pecks away

at dead wood

memories,

like ghosts in the closet,

remnants of our past-

a prom dress tucked away

in a dusty box

*************************************************

I blush

thinking about the promise

of tomorrow-

a new red dress

I haven't shown you yet...

***************************************************

(For my husband)

the distant moon

uncovered as clouds move

into November-

yesterday's mask

discarded

no need for moonlight-

feeling your chest rise and fall

in the dark

leaves fall from
rustling branches-she feels
his hand let go

their faces

greet me at the classroom door

like sun through the clouds-

hoping they can't see

the rain in me

hours later
your scent lingers
on my shirt-
exhaling

to forget

dog, child, scattered thoughts-

hearing them all, forgetting

the sound of silence...

a country hayride

under blankets of wool

and night sky-

seeing a million stars,

some for the very first time

Writer's Block :)

I know that I should write tonight,
for it’s been a couple days.
I know I really should- alright?
But my brain, my hand obeys.

There are a million thoughts to think,
but I can’t find a one.
There are a zillion dreams to dream,
but sleep just will not come.

You’d think I could find a topic
with all I’ve seen and heard.
You’d think I could unlock it-
the box of captive words.

Oh sure, I’ve got my trusty pals-
the clouds, the stars, the moon.
Oh sure, there’s love and joy and pain-
but they’re exhausted, too!

Well, it seems new thoughts won’t visit me,
though I beg and plead and curse.
It seems old words just will not lend
themselves to any verse.

So I put my pencil down, my friends,
for writer’s block has won.
Yes, I put my pencil…oh, BUT WAIT!
Just look at what I’ve done…

sighing in her sleep,

she dreams about the future,

not the past-

flipping to

the cool side of the pillow

sing over me,
autumn wind-
remind me how to lift my voice
even when the song seems lost in the night

dance over me,
willow branches-
remind me how to move
even when the stillness overtakes me

fly over me,
south-bound birds-
remind me how to look ahead
even when the destinaton seems too distant

pray over me,
faithful friends-
remind me how to trust
even when the storm is raging around me

"Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress.
He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed." -Psalm 107:28-29