slaughter of innocents

haiku

kindergarten child

drills for gun rampage lockdown

dad hugs tight good-bye

attention, please

windchimes tinkle in a gentle stirring of air

at the edge of the pine forest holding its breath to adore

the brightening golden intensity of sunrise

celebratory artist interviews

(with thanks to Emily, Margarita and Suba)

interviews of local artists by students learning marketing and advocacy of the arts celebrated in an evening of discussion and recorded tapes

well presented with dark background so each artist,

responding to unseen interviewer, is seen naturally

rather than embarrassed by the camera

each is led to speak of concepts vital to an artist’s being

creativity, nourishment for the soul, connection to the richest of life

and the need to reach to share

wandering thoughts then edited and presented as moments

of hard-gained wisdom and joy

a privilege to be a participant

floral personae

            haiku

street gang of zinnias

between choirs of calla lilies

violets cower

upright joy

music heals her soul, frees her creativity, showers her with joy

so, being without her piano for five months wore into her being

imagine then her excitement awaiting the delivery of her niece’s

loaned upright and exuberance when it arrived to fit against the angled wall

of her new, happy home

Alisa joyous to see Robyn’s piano arriving

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i love you today

pacific

pacific shore calm or ravaged

wispy white clouds or thunderous gray

rain-drenched or enveloped in fog

waves gliding in atop each other or pounding in masculine anger

ocean shore renews and expands a primal rhythm within me

synchronizes my soul with the universe

Kelley’s Island bonfire

Kelley’s Island in Lake Erie

primitive cabin with electricity that went off and came on

as it would decades ago

but plenty of driftwood drying on the lawn until ready

visiting extended family built a bonfire on the rocky shore

neighbors and strangers from up and down the coast

came to the leaping orange of the flames and spitting sparks

as we sang The Cannibal King and Swing Low Sweet Chariot

with my sister beside to hold me i let my toddler self be gleefully frightened

of the flitting firelight and shadow playing terrifying angles

on even familiar faces

grandma of great fortune

woman of courage completing her master’s

young women of solid accomplishment finding their feet and quiet strength

these are my granddaughters

fun musician graduating high school

caring college student working from and for home

brilliant young rebel honored by university for fighting for justice

firstborn of my grandsons taking on love and life with compassion and joy

these seven of my great fortune

oregon may 1st

may has arrived

chill, gray, deflowered, hopeful

man will learn to care

tarnished rules

rules are sometimes stupid, like the old one where, if two

drivers came to a four-way stop at the same time,

each must wait until the other had gone

but rules are attempts to prevent chaos, to lessen anarchy

so we can live at peace

thus, we are upset and discouraged by trending attitudes of

“I can do whatever I want”

a recent clothes shopping trip where several women before me

left the clothes they didn’t want in heaps around the dressing room

or vacationers who littered and damaged their rented spot

or anger in traffic escalating into gun violence

or, at our local school, a pair of youngsters planning to beat up

a fellow student, but when a teacher intervened, beat and hurt her, too

perhaps we need to simplify and turn again

to the Golden Rule

clouds have their own ways

individual clouds have their own ways

some, misty and delicate, float; some puff up as though

with laughter and good will

some, blushing blue, sprinkle rain; some pound the earth with deluge

a few gather discontented, angry friends and fellow haters

to dance themselves into spinning frenzy

creating pain and havoc

mostly on those who had nothing to do with whatever triggered

that cloud’s dismay

haikus this odd april

haikus in this odd april

osprey nest abandoned/ pair had nestled over eggs/ driven out by fierce cold

do does remember/ harsh winter or teach their young/ to hunt by instinct

do ducks know numbers/ how to count the trail of duckling/ mourn the one missing

distorting to delight

ribbons of water cascading appear as glass columns

shift-shaping greens seen through them

to fantastical beings, fairy-like, intriguing

drawing me to remember my delight in this world

before i thought i knew everything

red sky in the morning

smoky red sky to the northeast

as though the mighty Columbia were hosting wildfires

but it is only – i hope – dawn

we’ve had fire near often enough in the past few years

to be wary of more and compassionate

towards all who suffer terror and loss and fire danger

how i learned to swim

how i learned to swim

 rafters on wood deck over sealed, empty metal drums

in the frolicking waves of Lake Erie off Kelleys Island

uncles threw me in; now row away from me

as i doggy-paddle, laughing

knowing they’d risk their lives

to keep me from harm

regal dawn

dawn fog lingering

in the valley

wraps itself in purple tints

to watch storm clouds

sundered by rolling gold

of the day’s arrival

emerge

(a pantoum)

emerge

a pantoum

emerge

darkness to light

out of shadow

fight for existence

darkness to light

will to live

fight for existence

harbinger of hope

fight for existence

out of the shadow

harbinger of hope

emerge

bouncing rain

as though each cloud had a separate mind

individual ideas of what the climate should bestow

the drops are flat and then elongated

become this minute hard and bounce

off pavement, windshield

the wipers only add to the confusion

of an april afternoon of this oddest spring

tribute to our bill stafford

tribute to our Bill Stafford

a man of the earth finding joy in hummingbirds

and fulfillment teaching grandchildren

a man who painted and drew wildlife into his world

a man of words, words twisted into puns

a man of laughter

a man of the earth

haiku 4/15/2022

 my world ice-slathered

tinted by night-indigo

awaits dawn and hope