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.)

twenty-nine candles-

my yearbook gathers

a little more dust...

afternoon traffic-
a V of geese waits
for no one

backseat tales of
playground adventures-I turn
the radio off

a whispered prayer
resonates above the horn-
braking just in time

on the screen,
a tiny white flicker-
my heart beats in sinc

treetops whisper
outside my window-
secrets between friends

uninspired
until the first leaf whispers,
"watch this..."