This is a great post for anyone who has faced fear (that’s all of us I imagine) and how we deal with it. It also has a perfect example of a little boy who sang on Britain’s Got Talent. Then a prompt to write how you deal with fear, etc.
Fibromyalgia Fun and Pain, A Haiku
Yesterday was fun.
Physical therapy fun.
This morning, great pain.
Colorado Spring, A Haiku
Sun was shining bright.
Flowers and trees bloom.
Now, wind blows in cold and snow.
Family Tree Changing, A Haiku
Old limbs fell in wind.
We are old limbs now.
Are we strong enough to love?
Grief Brings Wisdom, A Haiku
Elders teach us life.
While young, we won’t hear.
Grief brings wise enlightenment.
Pleasure of Love, A Haiku
Lips touch, passion born.
Love comes, pleasure blooms.
Age gives us warm simple love.
© Elaine Wood-Lane
This is Milo, my first grandchild, who is about 8 weeks old in this picture. I’m 53. I so look forward to watching this little guy grow up and see what his generation will be like!
I awoke very early this morning (3:00 AM) in significant physical pain and with some grief as well. Mother’s last sibling died over the weekend so the “older” generation of my family are all gone now and it dawned on me that now I am in a member of the new “older” generation. This generated lots of thoughts and feelings regarding the seasons, both in nature and in human maturity. I feel I’m in my Autumn season. It’s a shocking revelation. Anyway, I was in the mood to write simple, brief haikus about all this. I love haikus. They pare my many words down to what I really want to say. Peace and love to all of you today, Elaine
Here are some flowers
of spring for you, to
say thank you for putting
up with me.
Why do I write you?
Why do I think that
words I put together
join forces to
describe my chaotic, quixotic
thoughts and feelings?
I’m a 53 year old
who has always overthought things,
analyzing everything I’ve said,
or done, or will be
saying or doing tomorrow.
You see, everyone thinks I’m
this wild and crazy free spirit,
but I’m not, really.
I think about every single word I
say, even the tone in how I say it.
I’ve always kept those thoughts
and worries secret,
except when I write you,
dear poems, then all kinds
of things just bubble right out.
Sometimes when I write you, poems,
the words that express my thoughts
and emotions flow just right.
Sometimes, when I write,
the weirdest, funniest things come
out in a stilted, awkward,
sing-songy way that sounds like
a first grader who has had too
much red Koolaid!
So, dear poems, have I improved at all?
Should I cease this ridiculous idea
that what tumbles out of my mind onto the page
could actually make someone’s day
happier, lighter, more gentle and kind?
Please let me know, dear poems,
should I stop or should I go?
Waiting anxiously to hear from you!
The writer of your verse,
Today’s prompt was: Today, I challenge you to write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self (i.e. “Dear Poem,” or “what are my quatrains up to?”; “Couplet, come with me . . .”) This might seem a little meta at first, or even kind of cheesy. But it can be a great way of interrogating (or at least, asking polite questions) of your own writing process and the motivations you have for writing, and the motivations you ascribe to your readers.
I’m not sure I was that sophisticated, but this did allow me to express some of my thoughts, doubts, and quixotic thoughts!