Haiku written in March from 1998 - 2014

1998
the Matterhorn
emerging into sunlight
stopping my breath
~~
1999
mail delivery route--
the same road every day
but always different

a woodpecker
at the feeder
chased off by a jay
~~
2003
eve of his 13th
grousing and grumbling
over nothing

below the mesa
a running colony
of wind turbines
[from Jenn Hansen]
~~
2004
above the clouds
a whole different universe
is this like heaven?
~~
2009
crows'
courting cries in the dead leaves
on the hillside

blue jay
alone at the feeder
eating rejected seeds
~~
2014
strewing birdseed
on the thick layer of ice
tiny flakes of snow
~~
~~
c 2017 PL dba lovepat press

TANKA TIME

devising a place
to work . . . on the front porch
of the Writer's Room

where I can see and hear

birds, squirrels and walkers

[Writer's Colony at Dairy Hollow,
Eureka Springs AR, 2009]
~~~
addressing
three birthday cards
all three names contain
the middle initial
        J

[Fran, Billy & Barb, 2015]
~~~
outside
of the cup
hotter
than the coffee
inside

[Dot's pink "Friends" mug, 2015]
~~~~
lone blackbird drinking
looks around as if to say
"Where are the others?"
now, a bluejay squawks and drinks
but still, no doves or thrashers

[2016, Couchwood]
~~~

doesn't the wind know
it's against the law to blow
leaves into the street?
Aha! Nature trumps
mere local, human law

[2016, Couchwood]
~~~

near the bird feeder
a crow in the redbud
calling . . . calling
still agitated
it flies to the maple

[2016, Couchwood]
~~~

yellow and black

butterfly

stops by

a purple iris

around the oak stump

[2016, Couchwood]

~~~
~~~

Still winter, but hints of spring already: poems

C. Hoggard photo

Three found poems:

IN THE NEWS

Thirteen

Burmese pythons

captured during one week

at a Key Largo refuge. How

scary!

~~

Lifetime

bus pass and two

new canes for the man who

broke his cane defending the bus

driver.

~~

Stopping

the bridge upgrade

after finding an egg

in a hummingbird nest. "Resume

when hatched."

~~

Staring

at a bare oak,

I notice a giant

quarter-rest symbol: a "Z" with

a "C"!

~~

Honey-

bees on the pink

quince blossoms, excited

--it seems--with their new food source, warm

weather.

 I, too,

delight, exult,

and work outside: dig up

monkey grass, trim yarrow and clip

hedgerow.

~~

Robin

flew to the rim,

waded around the rock,

dipped its beak a couple of time,

then flew.

~~

japonica

seems more lush

more pink this year

~~

Fluid,

interactive

art: watching the circles

made by raindrops in the birdbath

water.

~~

Who needs

a Valentine

when leftover fudge squares

are as close as the door of the

freezer?

Sticks Are For Walking - Part 1

Lynn Hoggard - PL

               You’ll never find one of Lynn Hoggard’s walking sticks in a flea market, craft show or church bazaar. UNLESS a shopper is using one—a gift from him--to get around.

                Hoggard, a retired band director who is a bassist in all the musicals presented by Benton’s Royal Players, creates walking sticks as a hobby. He began collecting interesting sticks around 1984 while working as an appraiser.

“I was working at Conway in a little subdivision,” he said. "The fence row had been cut off. I had to walk down the row to measure the property, and I ran across this stick. It had vines all over it, but it seemed about the right length, so I threw it in the truck thinking it would make an interesting walking stick.”

                Before he began working on it, however, he found a different project.

                “A cherry tree had died in our back yard and when I pulled it up, the root came out, too. The root had an interesting shape, so I whittled on it, cut the extra length off, rejoined and sanded it. I began to see a bird’s head, so I kept whittling until I was satisfied with it. It’s kind of ugly, but it’s my first one, so I’ll keep it.”

                After retrieving that first vine-covered stick in Conway, Hoggard began looking for sticks. Several years ago, he would walk from his Benton home in Hidden Valley toward Saline River’s Lyle Park, then up the hill. That was before the hill became bedrock for an upscale subdivision.

                “Once when I was walking, I came upon a really long piece that I looked at for about five minutes, wondering. I finally walked away. It was trash, really ugly, a piece of cut timber the subdivision people had pushed to the side. I went on about a mile before going back. In the distance, I saw two boys walking, and when I got back, the stick was gone. They had picked it up, but then decided they didn’t want it either. They threw it about twenty yards away. I had a little trouble finding it, but when I did, I thought that if they were interested enough to pick it up, then I was taking it home.

                “I cut out a section of it, sanded it down partially to get all the crustiness off, then I stained it and added a coat of lacquer.”

                Gnarled and thick, the deep ebony-colored wood with its cedar-red highlights is both functional and beautiful. Surrounded by two dozen other sticks of varying lengths, girths and designs, Hoggard discussed his hobby.

                “I’ve always been interested in the way wood looks when it is finished.” Picking up a delicate stick and turning it in his hands, he continued. “For instance, this wood glows when you catch light just right; it actually glows down in there. You can see the satiny insides.”

TO BE CONTINUED

PL

               

Will this winter bring snow to the heartland?

SNOW POEMS FROM EARLIER YEARS

snowstorm--
windfall branches
on barbed wire
~~
a window between
kitten and the birds
snow on the feeder

~~
how low can he go?
the snowman melts
refreezes
~~
in from the snow
he begs to be allowed
to eat in his room
~~
pickup
with snow-covered ATV
inching down the road
~~
the purple pansy
peeks through the blanket of snow
teakettle's whine
~~
my chair closer
to the picture window
last night's snow
~~
fire hydrant buried
but nothing moves that needs it
the daylong snow
~~
~~
c PL 2017

[Mostly] Anonymous Limericks

Anonymous (unidentified) subject- I - photo by PL

(perhaps snow on the barberry?)

My poetry blog needs new look

So I reach for an old hardback book

That looks like it might

Have something just right.

Oh, yes! An anonymous hook!

--PL, 1/18/'17

The Life and Works of MR. ANONYMOUS by Willard R. Espy, was published in 1977, so long ago that Amazon has no record of it. And I've had it so long that there's no annotation about when/ where/cost, etc. It does have a dust jacket.

After thumbing through it, I chose the LIMERICKS section of PART II: "Selected Works of the Anonymous Clan"  Here are a few to get us through the upcoming weekend. Perhaps by Sunday you will have created one of your own.

The limerick packs laughs anatomical

Into space that is quite economical.

   But the good ones I've seen

   So seldom are clean

And the clean ones so seldom are comical.

There once was a sculptor named Phidias

Whose manners in art were invidious:

   He carved Aphrodite

   Without any nightie,

Which startled the ultrafastidious.

There's a wonderful family, called Stein,

There's Gert and there's Epp and there's Ein;

   Gert's poems are bunk,

   Epp's statues are junk,

And no one can understand Ein.

There was an old lady of Ryde

Who ate some green apples, and died.

   The apples (fermented

   Inside the lamented)

Made cider inside 'er inside.

A friendly challenge: write one during the remainder of this week. PL

Anonymous subject II (looks like winter)-PL

TANKA for January

breaking

the ice so birds

that gather can drink

on this sunny New Year's

morning [2016]

~~~

ice-covered birdbath

now thawed--two sparrows

and two redbirds bathing

another redbird

playing the bully [2016]

~~~

first week

of the new year

scouring for roadside trash

I discover

five quince blooms [2007]

~~~

mockingbird

lunches

on beautyberries

until a bluejay

flies in, "yawp"s [2015]

~~~

cardinal

piercing the thin ice

of the birdbath

as the only seed diner

he eats greedily . . . then flies

[2007]

~~~

~~~
c 2017 PL