The Passing

Crystal light shining amongst the autumn leaves, a slow Colorado fall. 

A fleeting thought, a whispered breadth, a slow rising breeze.

Knowing but not knowing. 

Without fanfare your moment comes. 

A butterfly's kiss, a fragile wing, a quiet slipping away. 

Remember to post an original poem every Friday. Here it comes - the good, the bad and the ugly. 

"Just get out,

"You'll feel so much better.

"It's easy,

You say.

When here

I am

in the darkness

trying to scale

the mountain

towards the

light.

Remember to post an original poem every Friday. Here it comes - the good, the bad and the ugly. 

Writing

All begins as seeds,

The idea of the thing, a ghost -

nothing but a shape

to be fleshed out with 

words, and words, and words. 

Every Friday, post a poem. Only rule is that the poem must be original.  Get ready for the good, the bad and the ugly...

The first word 

on a 

blank page

I hope

leads to others

that I can be

proud 

of

Squirrel by Sally Alexander

Squirrel, have you

forgotten

where you 

stored your nuts?

Is that why 

you

race

across my

lawn?

Or are you being 

Chased

by more than

a

memory? 

I think it's a good idea to start a new challenge. Here's one for 2023. Every Friday I have to post an original poem written by me. 

No excuses. 

The poems can be in any form or length. They can be on any topic. The only stipulation is that the poem must be original. 

It's the 17th again, and today is Haiku day. (5-7-5 = 17, hence the 17th day of each month.)

I was listening to the greater horned owl late one night, and decided to see if I could capture something of that moment in haiku...

The nightly train wails,

Owl flies over prey. Inside -

We dream of safety

I decided to try and create my own haiku. Remember haiku are made up of three lines, and five, seven and five syllable format.

This is my first one for March:

A warm shaft of sun

Attracts the sleeping wise one.

A house needs a cat!

I am still reading the Haiku book by Patt, Warkentyne and Till. (ISBN 978-0-7649-5610-2.) The authors have chosen haiku composed by renowned Japenese haiku masters and divided them up by the seasons. I thought it was fitting since we are still in winter to quote another haiku about winter, from this book.

Plains and mountains

all enveloped in snow-

there is nothing else.

Joso, (1661 - 1704)

Haiku are composed of 17 syllables, hence haiku = 17th day of each month.

The other day I was having lunch with some colleagues who I usually see infrequently, and I was asked what Challenge I had undertaken last year, and this year. Apparently for this particular person the fact that a couple of years ago I had shared one of my challenges with her, had stood out in her mind. I have had a photo a day challenge; Eat less, move more challenge, the 10,000 step a day challenge, the Every Friday is Poetry day (last year) and finally this year, Every 17th of the month is Haiku Day. Perhaps this challenge stuff is a little unusual. I guess it's not really usual for people to take photos of their food?

I got to explaining to my colleague why poetry? I explained that I had always loved poetry at school and later at college. I loved reading it, analysing it, and talking about what it could mean. I loved hearing the words. There is nothing accidental about the choice of word, line or syllable in poems. I think that reading and thinking about poetry engages all parts of the brain that help with analyzing, that help with the creative and that help with our thought processes. I believe that poetry is important in helping us exercise that muscle, the brain.

I still have quite a few of my old poetry books from school and college. Some books have mysteriously vanished in the move (probably I gave them away.) I have scribbled in places all over certain poems (in pencil of course.) And now so many decades later, I can read those poems, and almost remember what I was thinking, and feeling back in those days. It's like a photograph, a snap shot, a moment frozen in time.

I remember in college sitting with my dear friend (who I still keep in contact with through text, email and the very occastional, and infrequent visit) in the 'Varsity canteen, over a plate of very greasy french fries composing what we later dubbed "Canteen Poetry." We thought that this was hilarious. I think my friend submitted the poem to one of the college newspapers, and it was published. She still has that poem.

So, I guess I have so many positive associations with poetry, that for me, the question is not "why poetry?" It is simply, why not?