Sadly, the first phrase that came to me was EXPLOSIVE temper. My Dad F had an explosive temper, which led to scenes I don’t want to revisit. Apparently my Uncle Danny had an explosive temper, too. I thank God often that automobiles have replaced horses. While there were many kind owners, too many of those poor animals had to suffer the wrath of a cruel master with a whip and a violent temper.
As I typed in the word, my thought switched to EXPLOSIVES, their usefulness in building our country. Megatons of mountain rock blown away to make a path for the railroad track and then the highways.
Now I recall the explosions we all love to see, and watching the International Fireworks Competition in Montreal. There! It turns out there is something good to be said for EXPLOSIVE.
Haiku verses are not given titles, but if I were to give this one a title, it would be DESPERATE.
Travelling through northern Ontario one night we were desperate for a motel room, but discovered to our dismay that all the rooms in all the quality motels were booked because of a local convention. “Non-smoking room” was no longer a choice. We took this room and managed to get a few hours sleep in spite of the almost overpowering smell. We didn’t linger long in the morning. 🙂 I was desperate to get home and wash all our clothes, as the smell of stale tobacco had permeated everything we brought into the room.
the last room in the last motel in town nicotine potpourri
Anyone who’s ever driven by tobacco kilns in the winter when the workers are turning the tobacco leaves will know what I mean; the whole countryside has that distinctive reek.
I pondered this for a moment, wondering what I could write on this topic. Lots of things have become, or are becoming, extinct. My thoughts went to a another blogger’s article I read recently, titled SAVE THE BEES. Click here to read.
They say one good way of writing poetry, especially haiku, is to contrast the very great with the very small. The universe versus one point of starlight. The person who’s just lost everything in a house fire holding the melted frame from their family photo.
This morning I thought of the major issue being discussed these days — climate change — versus the poor endangered bee. I see a certain irony in the fact that while folks are worried about our extinction due to global climate changes, the loss of this little insect will pose a grave danger to our planet, if the research that prompted Sue’s article is correct.
Yes, it’s sadly ironic that, in order to produce more food, many growers are inadvertently poisoning the very thing that helps them produce the food.
but how will you know
where the sweet flowers grow
my little pilgrim
August 24th and the female hummingbirds are still here, definitely three, maybe even four. They’re making frequent trips to feeders, tanking up — if peewees like this can tank up. I think of the long journey ahead of them and wonder where all they will stop en route. Have they travelled this route before? Do they know where to find the best rest stops, flower beds and feeders on their route? Will they return to our yard next June?
Here on the Saskatchewan plains the grain fields have been turning golden blond in the warm sunshine these past few weeks. I imagine some farmers would be out swathing today if the weather looked promising, but we’ve just had a day of rain and a few sprinkles this morning. Weather the farmers don’t want to see while their precious heads of grain are still in the fields.
Good morning everyone! Absolutely clear blue sky above and a mainly day ahead for us; Environment Canada predicts a high of 28 C/ 82 F. On a day like this you can almost hear the garden grow and see the flowers stretching up. 🙂
I visited fellow blogger Bill already and read his haiku about a moth. Which inspired me to write a verse of my own, but the words kept coming so I went way beyond haiku limits. Our outside light is an active place after dark, and come morning I see quite a few intriguing “lumps” plastered on the railing below.
creature of the night
confused and dazzled
by the artificial sun
round and round it flutters
my kitchen light
a host of shadows
flicker along on the wall
come morning I find it pasted
folded in sleep on the coffee jar
from which I hope to extract
some flutter for myself
Sammi Cox has posted another weekend writing challenge.
I’m taking a break from editing this morning and feel inspired by the thought of furrows and wind, so I’ll offer this response:
The everlasting wind sweeps over the furrowed fields brushing the topsoil —what’s left of it — into the grooves left by the plough last fall before the farmer — weary of everlasting wind,
of watching the snowless fields drift, — left for good.
I’ve heard enough about the “dustbowl years”
that they blow through my writing at times. 🙂