Winds of Change

a gust of wind, blowing
thoughts of yesterday into
my already crowded mind-
replacing today's list of
"go here" and "do this"
with "remember when"
we had nowhere to go
and nothing to do
but feel on our faces
a gust of wind, blowing.

"Time marches on." How many times have I heard this saying? Yet, never have I felt the weight of that truth quite like I did tonight. I watched them, their beautiful lines moving across the grass. They, like time, were marching.  All in sync, all in step, all in their TEENS. I remember those days. Trumpets and flutes, trombones and bass drums all marching to the beat, making their way across the football field. I, with my flag in hand, would weave in and out of their formations...toes pointed, hands lifted high. My heart beating out of my chest, I would flick my wrist and release, watching the shimmering blue and gold fabric glide through the air, followed by the shiny black pole that would always land right back in my hands. Then gently placing the flag on the ground, I would dance...leaping gracefully across the fifty yard line to the sound of soaring brass. Twelve years have passed and now I sit in the bleachers, watching a new generation of young women march and dance, twirl and toss. I am reminded that time is marching on, and that just like those high school days, another chapter is about to come to an end.

halftime-

so much sand at the bottom

of the hourglass

Rush, rush, rush. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I attempt to get us all out the door in one piece. It's 7:27 a.m. "We should have left the house two minutes ago," I think to myself. I grab all of the bags (between my daughter, my son, and me, there are six) and laugh, thinking about the fact that each morning, it looks as though we are going on an extended vacation. Ready or not, here comes the day. I open the door and stop mid-stride. The crisp air hits my face as soon as I step outdoors, and I see last night's rain, still visible on my driveway. It has happened. Autumn has arrived while I was sleeping, unaware. I inhale deeply, breathing in all the loveliness of the first cool morning, and I smile as a little cloud follows my exhale.

her loss
is my gain-
the sugar maple

weekend at last-
I pour the playground sand
from her shoes

(I'm happy to report that the first week back at school was a success for all in our household.)

Imagination
takes me away
to some distant shore,
where cerulean waves
crash without warning...

sipping sweet tea-
the ice never stood
a chance...

(Believe it or not, we broke yesterday's record today. 115 degrees.)

It's too hot to even write poetry. My brain is melting. :) I believe we either tied or broke the record for the hottest recorded day here. 114 degrees!!!

Lip lock

Well, when my third post in a row was a haiku about a kiss, I decided to group the three together. I guess I have smooching on the brain! It would appear that not that much has changed since I was 16. Ha! :)

salt in a kiss-
the mercury reads
103


he smiles,
remembering the taste of
honeysuckle


your kiss tells me
we only have tonight-
summer twilight

your kiss tells me
we only have tonight-
summer twilight


This haiku is in response one on Warren's blog. His poem made me think of a summer romance from my youth. :) Happy memories...


http://www.thecrowandthemoon.com/2011/07/regretting-nothing.html

salt in a kiss-
the mercury rises to
105




(This is my 30th southern summer...and I don't recall one hotter than this!)

let freedom ring-
he watches fireworks
from his playpen

missing
the feel of a pen
on paper,
I write one
to the moon...

I am teaching a poetry unit in my classroom right now. I have this one student, David, who is particularly clever. On the day we covered haiku, this was his contribution:

haiku is tricky
never know how it will end-
refrigerator  


I loved this. It's SO him...random and funny. Not bad for an eleven year old! He always makes me laugh. :)

song of the south-
a prayer whispered as
the river rises...

church bells muffle
these useless thoughts-
amazing grace


"Therefore do now worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself..."  -Matthew 6:34

outside,
the scent of freshly-cut grass
reminds me
that I'm still the same
inside

Then,
as if the night never was,
sunlight
peeked over
the horizon...


(Welcome to the world, little one. My days will forever be brighter...)

putting away
tiny blankets, I grow
more and more aware
of the nearness
of spring

Snow Days Home with Mommy...

marshmallows drop
like snowflakes into her cup-
we practice counting


mittens hang
from the mantle, and I, on
her every word...


epiphany-
icicle rhymes
with tricycle

Ramblings of a mom/writer :)

Awkwardly, I type...my elbows spread too far apart, trying to accomodate the child sleeping in my lap.
I feel the warmth and weight of her small, lanky body as I try to peer at the monitor over her head. My chin rests in in her soft, blonde locks that smell like tangerines. Her cheek lies against my chest and her legs are wrapped around the other child...the one still growing inside of me. She sleeps so peacefully, completely unaware that I am at war, struggling with the last line of a piece of writing, which having abandoned twice, I have stubbornly returned to once again. I take a sip of coffee only to realize that it is the cup from this morning that I failed to finish because there was a missing shoe and a field trip permission slip that needed to be signed. I swallow the cold, bitter liquid and place the cup back on top of the stack of bills I'm currently ignoring. That's next on the never-ending to-do list. STOP, I silently command. No more thoughts of kids or the electric bill or the dog that will not stop barking because she wants back inside. Just think about the unfinished work in front of you. Focus...and I do. For a moment, I am brilliant again. The writer's cap is on and I have found it (this time without the assistance of thesaurus.com)...that "just right" word. I begin to type and then a swift kick from a tiny foot takes my breath away. The little soccer star inside of me is apparently awake, and now so is his big sister, whose brown eyes are looking up at me and whose mouth is uttering the words, "Mommy, I'm hungry." Needless to say, the word-that lovely word with it's perfect syllabic structure and connotation- has escaped my brain at this point...and it's alright. It's alright because there is another story that I am writing. I work on it every day and even when the writer's block is severe, there is no option to abandon. Its two main characters, though lovable, can be quite demanding. The setting is not always tranquil and is rarely glamorous, with its mounds of laundry and unpaid bills...its stained t-shirts and raggedy stuffed animals. Then of course, there is the plot...filled with laughter and tears, burnt toast and brusied knees. The plot is often unpredictable, and to be quite honest, I am not really the author when it comes to this sequence of events, this roller coaster of a story-line. I am, however, in constant contact with Him. I talk to the author every day...many times a day, and I thank Him. I thank Him because somehow, the bills all get paid and the shoe gets found. I thank Him because these two characters, the one sitting on my lap and the one growing under my heart, make each day worth writing about. Finally, I thank Him for all of these moments...especially the ones that leave me, once again, without words.

I hear it
through the whispering pines-
winter's song

ashes-
last year's news
in the fireplace

(Happy New Year everyone...a few days late.)