Rhymed and unrhymed, form or free, this is where the poetry lives.
Beginnings are hard.
No one cares about your plans,
begin, just begin.
Middles are harder.
Carry on carrying on
though no one watches.
Ends are hardest.
Knowing when to say ‘enough’,
rest, and start again.
The three hardest things,
beginning, middle, and end,
are all that matters.
#154
The waves are higher now
they have eaten the sand at my feet
and knocked me down day after day.
But not this day.
This day I paddle out to meet them,
harness them, ride them, become them
feel their power, see their course,
and when they fall I will have learned to
cast myself forward into dreams,
knocking down obstacles,
but, unlike the waves and
unlike the obstacles,
I will not fall.
#153
Eye due knot knead you’re flours
oar you’re complements too sea
ewe dew knot no witch weigh eye sale
oar wear eye wont too bee
Eye prey four piece, eye prey four rein
Eye prey four ewe a gain end a gain.
Butt awl ewe wont too halve eye no
cant bee aloud too bee.
#152
Perhaps art is just
the child of the Universe
drawing with crayons;
dance, her innocent
skipping to the beat of the
Universe’s heart;
music, her humming
in the darkness until sleep
crawls in beside her;
poetry, just her
crayons accidentally
forming random words.
#151
I have never heard
a better reason to wake
than the redwing’s song.
=
Harken another
divine barrage, and a song,
the sweet tweet hovers.
#150
the second haiku is an anagram of the first while still holding to the 5-7-5 syllable form.
I – The Reanimation
Sleepy little granules of yeast
in a warm sweet bath.
Shelly’s mad scientist fanning
the spark of life.
II – The Integration
A little fat, a little salt
become one with a big bowlful of flour.
Lean Lawrence crosses
the Arabian sands.
III – The Inundation
Water, water with the yeast in it,
Flooding the dusty, floury world.
No ark here
all are drowned.
IV – The Agitation
Stir it stiffly.
Knead it rhythmically.
Willie’s witches stir
a bubbling cauldron.
V – The Trepidation
Will it rise?
Will it come again?
Watch for the Whale
Thar she blows.
VI – The Retardation
Knock it down
Start over.
Like Tom Joad
Just trying to get along.
VII – The Formation
Shape and mold
into a pleasing form.
Kim shapes the world
and the world shapes him.
VIII – The Rejuvenation
Tenacious leavening
bubbles expand within.
Once more into the breach,
Willie once again, and why not?
IX – The Transformation
Into the oven,
Hot air wafts to meet you
Like the faint hot breeze
before Atlanta burned.
X – The Coronation
King of the dinner table
crowned with a light brush of butter.
Pull the sword from the stone
and cut a slice of life.
#149
I used to love butterflies
till I found out they’re attracted to corpses.
I used to love sunsets
till I found out radiation can blind you.
And I used to love stars that twinkle, then I read
that apparently most of them are already dead
I’m not sure if there’s a dark side to a rainbow
but I used to love them too.
It’s a dangerous pastime and a foolish act,
loving things you know can’t love you back
and now that I understand what they really are
I’ll just like butterflies, sunsets, rainbows and stars,
but I’ll go on loving you.
#148
Between nest and ground
is where all birds learn to fly
by just letting go.
And in the free fall
all weight and fear drop away
and lose their power.
I will close my eyes,
spread my arms, and fly away
if you will come too.
And we will look down
on the fallen fear and weight
so far below us.
We will watch them shrink
as we wheel and soar higher,
like fledgling eagles
and we’ll wonder why
it took so long to let go
of the nest and fly.
#147
Late snow should be more apologetic,
tentative, shamefaced,
a thin melting gauze
not a pushy, overbearing blanket.
Late snow should fall and be done,
spotty, wistful,
a drift of confetti
not a gloating pall.
Late snow should be warmer
clear, drippy,
a simple rain shower
not a frozen flash from the past.
#146
‘yes, I looked out the window this morning to a white world, sigh’
The plain and simple truth is truth is rarely plain or simple
No matter how much irony’s applied there’s still a wrinkle,
or two or three you trip on
that make you lose your grip on
reality and stumble
into the roaring jumble
of all the skewed parameters we use to make truth fit
and the ones that we forget or quite advertently omit.
#145
Linda Studley 