sidestep the hurrying feet
old order Amish
on a tenth floor balcony
al fresco lunch
will you drown, little bird
in these human streams?
I’ve been thinking LOTS but writing little, owing to feeling down in the dumps lately. It’s a type of writer’s block: you know that lingering line: “Why should I bother who cares anyway?”
This started a few days ago as I was reading and admiring a number of online haiku verses. Such talent! A wave of blue (green?) swept over me. I’ll never be able to write meaningful haiku with clever twists of phrase. Here’s a sample of mine:
the eye of my daisy
(Historical note: I’ve observed that grasshoppers just love to munch the tender eyes of coneflowers like rudbekia. Justice is dispensed speedily.)
I read a quote by fellow writer “Biff” that made me smile; I think his words will resonate with writers everywhere:
The only item on my bucket list is to someday be satisfied with something I write.
While this quote is part of his reply in the comments, the article itself is something all writers can relate to. Do take a moment to pop over and read his post: A Writer’s Lament.
On the cover of the latest issue of FellowScript Christian writers magazine I read the question, “Should You Write For Free?” And my obvious answer is, “Of course not! I should be getting thousands of dollars for what I write.” Okay, hundreds. I’d even welcome tens.
Do what you love and the money will follow.
I’m somewhat cheered today, seeing the haiku I submitted to Troutswirl, the Haiku Foundation’s blog, has been published. Also, I accept that, even though I don’t ever earn a penny, I have the complete freedom to write and post on my blog.
But now that I’ve shared my ups and downs with you, I’d best get back to digging my flower bed in preparation for some pretty blooms.
ducky digging in the flowerbed
trying to win it back
nary a feather to be seen
but sure no lack of quack
The following poem is my response to Crispina’s Creative Challenge #27. The poem is based on a too-true experience. 😉 I do hope you will pardon me, Crispina, for adding this unsavory detail to your lovely photo.
The Fly on My Nose
My eyes on the far distant green,
and the purest white blossoms between,
toward the bright scene I incline
admiring the tones opaline.
Closer goes my nose to that pane
my eyes sweeping over terrain…
When some blip urges me to glance down
to a dot by my nose — and I frown.
Ick! Almost my nose touched that fly
that fuzzy black dot, ’til my eye
could focus and signal my brain
to jerk swiftly back on the rein.
Oh, gross! To think I almost mashed
my nose against that bit of trash.
But how many times can it be said—
our focus on far field is spread,
not seeing the end of our nose—
we often bring on ourselves woes?
I often get inspired to write a haiku for the Troutswirl weekly feature, What’s at Hand, but I seldom get my verse ready and sent off by Saturday afternoon. So I’ll just share my ideas here.
beach party over
empty bottles settle
into the sand
in the cave – signs of
Don’t you just hate garbage left lying around?
Wise words from Edgar A Guest
‘Tis better to have tried in vain
sincerely striving for a goal,
than to have lived upon the plain
an idle and a timid soul.
‘Tis better to have fought and spent
your courage, missing all applause,
than to have lived in smug content
and never ventured for a cause.
For he who tries and fails may be
the founder of a better day;
though never his the victory,
from him shall others learn the way.
From his book A Heap O’ Livin’
We were in the city having lunch at a BK by a main thoroughfare. These haiku distilled from my window observations:
scribbled on a napkin
snail on the move
with all his chattels
and driven north
restored Model T
repainted — Henry Ford
would turn purple*
*Henry Ford, when asked about making cars in colors, apparently replied, “I’ll make any color, as long as it’s black.”