Haiku :End of school, Memorial and Decoration Days

the last bell rings
but nobody cheers . . . class
concert not finished
~
week before finals
uncharacteristic urge
toward spring cleaning
~
four days of school left
taking his trumpet case
but not his horn
~
the prom knight
and his lady
dressed in chain mail
~
teaching the lad
about Decoration Day
son spies a turtle
~
Memorial Day
her arms full of flags to place
near the headstones
~
butterfly alights
on the open haiku book~
Memorial Day

pat laster - c 2010 lovepat press

Found senryu

Here are some found poems resulting from items in the daily newspapers. I took the ideas and formed them into these haiku-form-but-about-people-things-events shorties. pl

a balky bolt
interfering with repairs
on the Hubble
(May 18, 2009)
~
spreading
over the planted flatland
Black and White rivers
(May 12, 2000 - Oil Trough (AR) area, 1950)
~
"If you don't get home
before the streetlight comes on
you get a spanking." (--Keith Jackson's mother's edict as cited in Wally Hall's column on Mother's Day, 2003)
~
refused the honor
while living; after death
bridge named after him
(Other Days feature: the E. H. Crump bridge (AR)
May 15 2005)
~
close to the wall
carrying their children
through rising waters
(news picture-Philippines, 1997)

Pat Laster c 2010 lovepat press

To honor our foremothers--not only on Mother's Day

The cast iron cook stove radiated heat
that coolish autumn morning, Mama's day
to bake. Remembering the ecstasy
she'd felt when Grandma brought in coal and set
about her work of feeding hungry men
who'd soon be tromping in from cotton fields,
my Mama figured out a system: start
by baking what produced the lightest smell.
She'd tease us: 'Don't look in, but on your way
out, tell me what you think is cooking.' She
would stand before the oven's glass while six
of us tramped through the warm and homey room,
our noses sniffing for a hint, a scent.

Today's aroma--we discussed outside--
seemed delicate. 'What's 'delicate'?
the youngest asked. 'A light, elusive, I-
can-almost-name-it-flavor, slightly sweet,
not strong and chocolaty like brownies are.'

An overalled, towheaded brother took
a guess. 'It's cornbread!' 'No!' an older child
retorted. 'Mama don't use sugar. Guess
again.' 'It's cake!' a third one added. 'It's
my birthday cake, I bet!' She clapped her hands.

I shooed them off to swings and sandbox, smug.
I wouldn't tell, but knew the smell. The child
was right: strawberry birthday cake for her.
~~ Pat Laster, Benton AR USA
c 2009 lovepat press