©Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
heat wave
too long in picking out
frozen waffles
July 31, 2018
Haiku Sticky #464
©Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
heat wave
too long in picking out
frozen waffles
July 29, 2018
Happy Haiga Day!
I took this photo in May in a wild area next to the road. I'm not sure what it is, but it sure looked like honeysuckle to me!
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
July 27, 2018
Poetry Friday--Crows
I love crows. I love their size. Their majestic appearance. I even love their outspoken-ness--they're never afraid to give you a piece of their mind.
Along with rabbits, I've seen an abundance of crows this year in my small part of the world, so, today's ekphrastic cherita is about crows, punning, and a human foible--insecurity!
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. "A Murder of Crows" by Mildred Anne Butler.
Text:
junior high redux
crows' conversations
cease for a second
then one or two lead
off the comments until
the murder joins in
It seems I also have an abundance of crow poems in my files; here is a random sampling.
Haiku:
This one is a New Year's poem, "first" is a kigo--short-hand for New Year's Day.
first crow
looks like yesterday's
last crow
a cawing of crows
...the scent of snow
freshly fallen
morning dew
the back and forth
of waking crows
foggy crossroads
on the streetlight a crow
nods left...right...
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. Painting by Hokusai, courtesy Library of Congress.
Text:
scrawny crow...
under every autumn leaf
a promise
Englyn (a Welsh form with lines of seven syllables):
FARMER v. CROW
Summer's coming and the crows
comment while the farmer sows--
sows and hoes and weeds and hoes...
Summer passes, crows still wait,
patiently anticipate
ways to tease and aggravate.
Now it's time! The ripened corn
suddenly becomes airborne!
Crows ignoring scarecrow's scorn.
Farmer acts the lunatic
trying ev'ry dirty trick.
Vengeful thoughts are really sick!
Fields and corn he can't defend.
Farmer's now around the bend.
Crows, of course, win in the end.
All poems © Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
I probably have a dozen more corvid inspired poems, but I'll save them for another time!
If you haven't already been there, head over to see Catherine at Reading to the Core for the Round-Up.
Along with rabbits, I've seen an abundance of crows this year in my small part of the world, so, today's ekphrastic cherita is about crows, punning, and a human foible--insecurity!
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. "A Murder of Crows" by Mildred Anne Butler.
Text:
junior high redux
crows' conversations
cease for a second
then one or two lead
off the comments until
the murder joins in
It seems I also have an abundance of crow poems in my files; here is a random sampling.
Haiku:
This one is a New Year's poem, "first" is a kigo--short-hand for New Year's Day.
first crow
looks like yesterday's
last crow
a cawing of crows
...the scent of snow
freshly fallen
morning dew
the back and forth
of waking crows
foggy crossroads
on the streetlight a crow
nods left...right...
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. Painting by Hokusai, courtesy Library of Congress.
Text:
scrawny crow...
under every autumn leaf
a promise
Englyn (a Welsh form with lines of seven syllables):
FARMER v. CROW
Summer's coming and the crows
comment while the farmer sows--
sows and hoes and weeds and hoes...
Summer passes, crows still wait,
patiently anticipate
ways to tease and aggravate.
Now it's time! The ripened corn
suddenly becomes airborne!
Crows ignoring scarecrow's scorn.
Farmer acts the lunatic
trying ev'ry dirty trick.
Vengeful thoughts are really sick!
Fields and corn he can't defend.
Farmer's now around the bend.
Crows, of course, win in the end.
All poems © Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
I probably have a dozen more corvid inspired poems, but I'll save them for another time!
If you haven't already been there, head over to see Catherine at Reading to the Core for the Round-Up.
July 24, 2018
July 22, 2018
Happy Haiga Day!
I've labeled this a senryu, but it's really more of a quip than a poem!
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
pie in the sky
factory-made and
always half-baked
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
pie in the sky
factory-made and
always half-baked
July 20, 2018
Poetry Friday--"Pictures of Liberty"
I'm participating in a Spark postcard exchange for July (click on the Spark label on the right to read of my past participation). I had to create four postcards to exchange with people in various locations. As it turns out, three of us are in New England and two are on the west coast.
Over the past month, I've been distracted (and distressed) by hearing of the separated immigrant families on our southern borders. It got me to thinking about the Statue of Liberty, and our nation's earlier responses to immigration. I decided to use the Statue of Liberty as my topic for the postcard exchange. (The selection of a topic is not a requirement of the exchange but is merely a way for me to corral my thoughts.)
I completed my four postcards and had a poem left over to use today. It is a bit political, so be forewarned.
Here is the photo that inspired this particular poem:
"Human Statue of Liberty; 18,000 officers and men at Camp Dodge, Des Moines, Ia.; Col. Wm. Newman, commanding; Col. Rush S. Wells, directing," Mole & Thomas, photographers, courtesy Library of Congress.
The photo was taken a century ago and had been planned for use in raising money to support the U. S. in its war effort. (It turns out not to have been used after all.) The arrangement had to have been well-thought-out and well-executed. It took 18,000 officers and men to complete.
We can't identify individuals, but we can almost guarantee there were no people of color in the shot. There were certainly no women! First generation immigrants? Who knows, but I doubt many.
Today, of course, a photo would include people of color, women, and immigrants. Sad to note, though, some members of the military who joined because they were offered a path to citizenship, have been discharged recently.
The four postcards I sent will be posted here on August 3. I want to give them time to arrive at their destination before making them viewable by Poetry Friday peeps.
Heidi is hosting the Poetry Friday Round-Up at My Juicy Little Universe. She's also going to tell us about The Poetry Foundation's Summer Poetry Teachers Institute she attended in Chicago!
Over the past month, I've been distracted (and distressed) by hearing of the separated immigrant families on our southern borders. It got me to thinking about the Statue of Liberty, and our nation's earlier responses to immigration. I decided to use the Statue of Liberty as my topic for the postcard exchange. (The selection of a topic is not a requirement of the exchange but is merely a way for me to corral my thoughts.)
I completed my four postcards and had a poem left over to use today. It is a bit political, so be forewarned.
Pictures of Liberty
In 1918,
18,000 servicemen
gathered to re-create
a harbor statue
in human flesh.
Liberty had to be sold
to those already free.
In 2018,
thousands of families
cross borders pursuing
a promise of liberty
in the flesh.
Liberty did not need
selling—she sold them out.
Here is the photo that inspired this particular poem:
The photo was taken a century ago and had been planned for use in raising money to support the U. S. in its war effort. (It turns out not to have been used after all.) The arrangement had to have been well-thought-out and well-executed. It took 18,000 officers and men to complete.
We can't identify individuals, but we can almost guarantee there were no people of color in the shot. There were certainly no women! First generation immigrants? Who knows, but I doubt many.
Today, of course, a photo would include people of color, women, and immigrants. Sad to note, though, some members of the military who joined because they were offered a path to citizenship, have been discharged recently.
The four postcards I sent will be posted here on August 3. I want to give them time to arrive at their destination before making them viewable by Poetry Friday peeps.
Heidi is hosting the Poetry Friday Round-Up at My Juicy Little Universe. She's also going to tell us about The Poetry Foundation's Summer Poetry Teachers Institute she attended in Chicago!
July 17, 2018
Haiku Sticky #462
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
cat and I jockey
for the best window view
squirrel antics
July 15, 2018
July 13, 2018
Poetry Friday--Henry David Thoreau
On July 12, 1817, New England writer, Henry David Thoreau was born. Happy 201st birthday, Henry!
For today I have an original poem written in response to one by Thoreau that appears in A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, self-published in 1849. Thoreau subsequently revised the book, but it was not republished until several years after his death in 1862. The poem is found in the chapter, "Wednesday," and is untitled, but in later anthologies it appears as part of a longer poem with the name, "The Fisher's Boy." Here is the untitled poem:
Here's my response:
Thoreau was acquainted with shipwrecks having seen and written about them on Cape Cod and Long Island, NY. He traveled to Long Island in July, 1850, to view the wreck of the Elizabeth in hopes of finding the bodies of writer and editor, Margaret Fuller, and her family. The bodies of neither Fuller nor her husband were found, but that of their young son was recovered.
[Three years ago, Harvard University acquired the notes that Thoreau took at the scene of the shipwreck. I wonder if Thoreau's notes will soon be transcribed and be made available online? I'm curious to see how the actual notes compare to a work of historical fiction, Miss Fuller, by April Bernard, in which the fictional Thoreau finds a cache of Fuller's letters. Miss Fuller was published in 2012. You may be interested in reading it.]
The Poetry Friday Round-Up is being hosted today by Sylvia at Poetry for Children.
For today I have an original poem written in response to one by Thoreau that appears in A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, self-published in 1849. Thoreau subsequently revised the book, but it was not republished until several years after his death in 1862. The poem is found in the chapter, "Wednesday," and is untitled, but in later anthologies it appears as part of a longer poem with the name, "The Fisher's Boy." Here is the untitled poem:
My life is like a stroll upon the beach,
As near the ocean’s edge as I can go,
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o’erreach,
Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.
My sole employment 't is, and scrupulous care,
To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
Which ocean kindly to my hand confides.
I have but few companions on the shore,
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea,
Yet oft I think the ocean they’ve sailed o’er
Is deeper known upon the strand to me.
The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view,
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.
Here's my response:
A Stroll upon the Beach
A vessel broken.
Its innards
of cargo and crew strewn
across the strand.
In the village, word spreads.
It is a grisly sight--
a shipwreck
with bodies battered
and bruised,
soon to be carrion.
Townsfolk with skills
of carpentry,
or, undertaking, are
summoned.
Man-size boxes readied.
Those who need to
feed their children
efficiently pry nails from
cargo boxes
to spirit goods away.
Before souls of the departed
flee, I'm here
gathering dulse for my larder.
Boxes for my fire.
And, stories for safekeeping.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Thoreau was acquainted with shipwrecks having seen and written about them on Cape Cod and Long Island, NY. He traveled to Long Island in July, 1850, to view the wreck of the Elizabeth in hopes of finding the bodies of writer and editor, Margaret Fuller, and her family. The bodies of neither Fuller nor her husband were found, but that of their young son was recovered.
[Three years ago, Harvard University acquired the notes that Thoreau took at the scene of the shipwreck. I wonder if Thoreau's notes will soon be transcribed and be made available online? I'm curious to see how the actual notes compare to a work of historical fiction, Miss Fuller, by April Bernard, in which the fictional Thoreau finds a cache of Fuller's letters. Miss Fuller was published in 2012. You may be interested in reading it.]
The Poetry Friday Round-Up is being hosted today by Sylvia at Poetry for Children.
July 10, 2018
Haiku Sticky #461
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
hot July
chicken under a tree
scratches the shade
July 8, 2018
Happy Haiga Day!
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
summer doldrums
the many finds that will
remain unfound
July 5, 2018
Poetry Friday--"Iconography"
I'm taking a break from cherita today, but not from ekphrasis. The painting below, "Icon Painters," is by a Russian artist, Yelena Polenova. It was created in 1887.
"Icon Painters" by Elena Polenova, courtesy The Athenaeum.
Text:
Iconography
The icon painter leaves the workshop
and returns with a deftly carved
and painted churn. He places it in front.
"I'm blessed with many, talented children."
"So I see," says the student artist who
has come to render the icon master.
"Your eldest son is your apprentice.
Your youngest's little hands fill in.
The strong one grinds your pigments.
Your twin boys prepare the panels."
"Yes, but we need to recognize my
daughter, too," says the icon painter.
"She tends the garden. Sweeps the floors
Mends our aprons. Collects the eggs.
She milks the cow. Churns our butter.
And, cleans my brushes of their color."
"Ah, you honor the Lord with paint and gold,
the Lord honors you with treasure."
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
It is probably completely unrealistic to think such a tribute to a daughter would have happened. But, I can imagine it, which is the advantage of having poetic license! Certainly a businessman would understand the importance of a hardworking work crew.
Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect will be hosting this week's Round-Up.
"Icon Painters" by Elena Polenova, courtesy The Athenaeum.
Text:
Iconography
The icon painter leaves the workshop
and returns with a deftly carved
and painted churn. He places it in front.
"I'm blessed with many, talented children."
"So I see," says the student artist who
has come to render the icon master.
"Your eldest son is your apprentice.
Your youngest's little hands fill in.
The strong one grinds your pigments.
Your twin boys prepare the panels."
"Yes, but we need to recognize my
daughter, too," says the icon painter.
"She tends the garden. Sweeps the floors
Mends our aprons. Collects the eggs.
She milks the cow. Churns our butter.
And, cleans my brushes of their color."
"Ah, you honor the Lord with paint and gold,
the Lord honors you with treasure."
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
It is probably completely unrealistic to think such a tribute to a daughter would have happened. But, I can imagine it, which is the advantage of having poetic license! Certainly a businessman would understand the importance of a hardworking work crew.
Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect will be hosting this week's Round-Up.
July 3, 2018
Haiku Sticky #460
A petit poème for today. If, after reading it, you need something a little more hopeful, scroll down the left-hand side of the page until you come to John Lewis's words. He is someone to admire. Lewis went through hell in the civil rights struggle, and, Congress, in 2018, is yet another form of hell he must endure. Still, he remains hopeful.
Yesterday I got an email from Barack Obama's Organizing for Action group. In it, President Obama says, "I believe now more than ever: Cynicism is a choice. And hope is a better choice."
It's really hard not to fall prey to cynicism and despair.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
Does despair
have a scent
a taste a sound
a feel a color?
Or is it the
loss of all senses
--of all sense?
We may soon find out.
Yesterday I got an email from Barack Obama's Organizing for Action group. In it, President Obama says, "I believe now more than ever: Cynicism is a choice. And hope is a better choice."
It's really hard not to fall prey to cynicism and despair.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
Does despair
have a scent
a taste a sound
a feel a color?
Or is it the
loss of all senses
--of all sense?
We may soon find out.
July 1, 2018
Happy Haiga Day!
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Text:
June 30 march
Americans protest
family separation
one wonders why
human rights need
explaining
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