haiku, math and butterflies

motionless

clouds saturate

the heat


(math class haiku 2008)



cold slant
of the seaward rain
clams on the coal


Modern Haiku Vol. XIX, No. 2


Evidence of Sky Watching in the verse. I walked out of class today with the inner knowledge that I was ready to reconnect with people. I have worked through forgiveness, fear, anger. I have realized the isolation I have experience was the medicine I needed. I needed time alone to work things out in my mind, heart and soul. I needed to discover or rediscover the person God made me to be. She is here like a butterfly out of a cocoon… as corny as that sounds. Every inch of my being is ready to engage once again in life. My circumstances have not changed; in fact they seem to continue to deteriorate. There isn’t a whole lot to encourage me… that doesn’t seem to matter either.
I guess when I wrote about Willow Bend allowing me to just be me and how good that was, something clicked. Then there is my mentee, who made it clear she just wants to spend time with me, to just be with me and how that makes me feel. And my heart is opening up. It has been closed tight and I have cried everyday for the last five years. I don’t think it is the end of my tears, but the beginning on my new life, for real. Somehow now on this side of it, especially this side of forgiveness, I see that I got what I needed, I got myself back and if I had to go into exile to receive that, than exile it is. And it is ok with me. I walked out of school tonight, whole and healed and unafraid, even though my circumstances haven’t changed. (except the 100 in Math, that is new).

My Brain on Math

Sunspot
on the glass
headache



this next one is one of my favorites from Wind Chimes Number 5



leaves

filter

a child's voice



i have a deadline.........

More and Mentor

spiritual, writing and life

KEY WEST: renga



garland women
open the steamed clams (bb)



jazz trumpet
jasmine in bloom (re)





notches on the spine
searching for shells (bb)





the way darkens
in the orchids (re)





rattling a half shell
reggae (bb)





Siamese eye
In the crate on the porch (re)





Reciting a sutra
I lift the scalding grease (bb)





The snow shoe crab
by the rusting tire rim (re)





a gull on the pier
becomes the next line in the renga (bb)





nightfall
into the smell of the lilac (re)





Wind Chimes Number 5 Summer 1982

B. and D. came to visit 2 months before I got sober. B. is like an overprotective brother and was not happy with my ex. His take, you married her, so be married. He took it personally as my older brother. When I went into counseling D. called me up and asked me to come live with them and get away from him. She was very concerned for me and wanted me in a better place. I stayed to work out the marriage.

Saturday is art

Went to the center and spent the time with my mentee. We drew together for an hour and a half. I talked and then we drew silently together. Being silent with a person takes trust. Some people can’t do it, but must fill the space between you and them up. I think if you can leave it empty and just be with that person, it is the most intimate thing you can do. She has quite a lovely spirit. She hasn’t shared her sorrows, but some of her struggles. She holds back, but is there too. I can’t wait until her guard comes down. Things take time and she is timid and I do understand that. God was very, very good when he opened this door.
At Willow Bend we talk a lot about being the church. I guess that means worshipping God with service. I know I haven’t settled in there as I should, just as I can, as I heal. The best thing is how they allow me to be, just be there with all the craziness I bring and allow me this time. I have been deeply missing fellowship and wanting a group or a person to pray with. Collin’s mom (B-boy friend of Scott’s) invited me to a women’s Bible study that meet Sunday morning. I am going, it is time to connect and stop being afraid. I want to be back to normal even though I do not know what that means.
This morning God spoke to me through the Psalms Psalm 127 where it says…
Unless the LORD builds the house,
its builders labor in vain.
Unless the LORD watches over the city,
the watchmen stand guard in vain.
In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
for he grants sleep to those he loves.
I struggle so hard to keep it all together. It doesn’t seem possible, so if I am going to make it, you all will have to say Jesus held her together. Because this is way too big for me.
I had to ask is the Lord building this house or am I reacting to my past and my hurts and struggles and then wondering why it isn’t working. Because it isn’t working. I want the Lord to build this house, this new life. I have a chance to do it, That means now.
I don’t want anything less than that… a house God built.

By Friday I am Tired

Long week. I teach tomorrow, but because of the heat I don't think I will roam the city. We are drawing with oil pastels. I am still trying to figure them out.

More haiku.


Flirting
fern's moonshadow
across her face



Modern Haiku
Vol. XVII No. 2 Summer 1987

Math and Haiku

I started writing haiku during math class. Now there is a connection dude.


between equations
light refracts
through the oak


I just made me feel better and more brain balanced. Math hurts my head.



our lot
the pine trees remaining
move with the wind


Modern Haiku Vol.XII, No. 2 Summer 1981

Math Anxiety and Haiku

have nothing in common that I have found yet. I started a quest with my counselor on anger. Not that I am an angry person... but I don't allow myself to get angry then I break, as Scott calls it. I call it meltdown. It happens when I get pushed around, cornered or bullied. It happens when I get overwhelmed, but my reaction looks like anger, it is but not the manipulative type. It is more self defense, my very poor way of saying, I can't handle anymore, I need to shut down. It is not insubordination or disobedience, it is the flight/fight thing or as I am discovery an anxiety attack. It is fear. And God is connecting these dots that have always baffled me. Bottom line I am not very good at dealing openly and honestly with my anger which is so closely related to fear.
In all this mix God has shown me several people I need to forgive for not protecting me when it was their charge and thus causing me great fear. But what else God has shown me is that in the midst of betrayal, the only word that fits, He protected me, He cared for me. I see it very plainly in that He removed me because I was not protected when I should have been. He is in control and I am in a high place.




cold moon
alone
in the whippoorwill's cry





Inkstone Volume 3 Number 4




I have a new part time job. It is teaching art. God is always right. He said an artist who teaches a teacher who writes.

I have crossed no lines. There was no instructions given. Like before it was left up to me to figure out. I figure I will do as God asks and love my friends and family......... that includes my church family. Some things have no law against them, one is love.

Cicada

or Locust... cicada is more Japanese, not so old south or Biblical. Cicada was my favorite magazine... from Canada. I have a large basket full of haiku journals/mags. I am in most. I don't know if I am a writer. But I have a very strong suspicion I am. It is a compulsion. The thing I like about it most, is writing leaves traces of the person behind. That is hard to explain, like a hand print left behind stating... I have been here. I think I am a writer because I think I have something to say and I am obnoxious enough to do it. I might not tell you to your face, but I will write it here. I am a timid person except when I am behind the the keyboard.



new day
clogs clomp
the cold cement



morning cycle--
only the cicada
and the turn of the wheel



with a heart
beat
the rain
drop
let



with the wine,
the day's
last light


Cicada volume 5 Issue 3 (1981)

Winter Solstice


mums
my sister sent
black with frost

a swollen sun
reddens
the canal


waterflowers
mud root
our blood deeper than...


old wound
wintered grass dances
while i cry


frog pond Volume V Number 1
The Haiku Society of America 1982


When I was alone... left to my thoughts and I tried to express my inner self... this is what I would have written. I have written this over and over again in many forms and in many times and places. I was alone and in pain. I missed my family. I tired very hard to put a life together for myself, to reach out and make friends. I became very good at it. My friends were a life line to sanity and wholeness. I suffered silently. I tired to work on myself, I worked on the marriage, my part. It just never worked.
It was my dark secret. I was the unloved woman. I tired to figure it out. It has never changed. It was from the beginning to the end. The happiness I had, the life I had, I had for the most part on my own. There were good times, just enough like a junkie with a drug to keep me going, hoping, believing things would change for the better. Then one day God said he had enough. He was going to take me out and place me on a high place. Still I tired to save the marriage.
So when the blue apple girl goes back into the abusive relationship, I think I understand her insanity. Believing things will change.

Today

Is Modern HaikuVol. XII, No. 3 (the editor from heck)

deep summer morning
the cicada overflowing
the meadowlark's song


No experimenting, not one liners, no drawing with words, better watch your syalables and keep it in a breath, do not intellectualize, it is being not a thought... allow things to be as they are.

Something new is opening up for me. It seems like a natural. And I struggle to believe it is true... even with that I will walk through the open door

new house
where
the moon rises

FLA, God's Hand and Saturday

pouring the candle wax
the sky settles
into a peach dusk



thunder in the skin scent
we open the curtains
to watch the rain




window to the pines
where we watch
the mouring dove



in the wetness
after the rain
the frog's rain song



sand against my skin
from the sea oats
the cicada grating



Wind Chimes number 3


It helps to know these were written in Florida taking in the sights and sound and feel of the place. It is another culture than here, a slower pace, more relaxed and for me focused on the rythmn of life. I felt closer to nature and I lived in the boonies, 10 minutes from the Indian River, 15 minutes from the beach. I lived in flip flops and I learned to be a sky watcher. If you are one, you know exactly what I mean.

I had a difficult week, but there were so many pratical lessons there I am grateful for a better perspective.

The biggest thing is more and more I am letting go and forgiving. I am enduring in God's strength, I realize this because my life is very difficult right now and I don't know how I am doing it. I am not on my own, it is the Lord. That is something to boast in.

I haven't talked about Saturday and my little art class. It is divine and heart ache and I found out the young girl with the blue apples went back into a physically abusive situation. I was surprised, I always am. I grieve. I can only pray and she is on my mind.

I spent an hour with my mentee and we just talked and drew. The deadline for the art school has passed, but she is going to try to apply anyway. There is no art this year for her because art funding is cut. So I am determind she and I will have art all year, if I can manage it.

Second hour we were full. Four ladies and their kids, about 7 from babies to 10 years old. So it got crazy and I quit drawing, I stopped talking and listened.

When they left they thanked me profusely and said it relieved some stress to be there and draw with oils pastels. We just explored the medium. I was surprised by this. I think they meant for an hour they forgot their troubles. I encouraged them to return, craziness and all.

It was priceless.

Then I explored the city.... in the heat.

My sister sent me a Mary Englebright picture that says... Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. That is art ministry.

Another surprise

I don't even know what I have in that basket of poetry magazines. This is from the Florida State Poet's Association Anthology Five(1987)


Passover


Breaking bread
dried wine bottoms a glass


leftovers
among the ruins
of yesterday's gathering


the candle wax
already
fallen
where it may


This is a good one. We celebrated Seder with our former roommate Susan who is Jewish, now a completed Jew. She lived with us on and off. It was my impression of the celebration. I just wanted to comment that it was passed, something old, maybe beautiful, but discarded. Susan wasn't practicing her faith, me neither. We invited our friends, I think there were eight of us. Rob and Cindy came. Rob is Susan's brother. Chris came. He became a believer a little I before did, Susan a few years later.

Saturday Morning Find

Cloud hidden moon
reappears
in the iris' rustle





I found this in the print out of The International Haiku Contest- commemorating 40 years anniversary of the Modern Haiku Association (Gendai Haiku Kyokia), Tokyo, Japan

This haiku was rejected by the editor I mentioned last time. So who knows what is good or bad haiku.

I also use it in the watercolor haiku moon which was exhibited at the Brevard County (Melbourne Florida) Art Museum's Annual juried show. A big deal for me.

haiku, hands, art... Oh My!

From wind chimes issue 25.


Hal Roth was the editor of wind chimes and became a friend who encouraged me to write. He self published the magazine and sold subscriptions in the little world of American haiku poets that existed in the 1980's mostly consisting of artists, poets and college professors. Some of the presses where associated with universities on that the editors taught most likely literature. My mentor was well respected in this little world and opened doors for me. What I learned was persistence, how to handle rejection, the rewrite and just observing life or allowing life to observe you and catching the moment.





Hidden in a box
autumn leaves
mother pressed
in wax paper
and my longing for home





fog
the road I know
by heart





snowbound
fingerprints
on white walls




I also found a copy of a very nice review of my little book. There were two. One from an editor that was always so hard on me. I was completely surprised. (He was a literature prof., I think)

I was trying to think about the poem I posted yesterday, Recovery, what was on my mind when I wrote it. The hand were me. Although I wrote as if they were another, it was like observing my self... three phases. The bleeding and cut hand was me as I entered recovery. It is a picture of my broken relationships. The second hand being made smooth by the sand is me having my rough edges worn away. I was a rough person when I drank. The third image was when life and warmth began to replace the old and all through the poem images of being in this process on my own and often feeling like I spoke but no one heard. The hand as an image of my being works because of my identity was an artist. I am because I do. I went to the art gallery at Collin College tonight and one of the ladies use the image of hands with the ides of being. I said, "yes" There ya go.

People in general do not understand haiku

it isn't 17 syllables nor a nature poem








my darkness deepens
moon
crescent sets





wind chimes issue 22





Indian summer
dandelion seeds
whiten the spider web






water strider
skims across
my reflection






Recovery (short poem)


a wall
of voices broken
glass that night you slashed
your hand
and went to bed,
bleeding,
pieces-- not to be remembered.
full moon
cool and crisp,
my voice veiled in it's transparency.
the smoothness
of your hands
pressed and pounded,
my heart
in the breaking waves.
and hands so
warm-- I was crying.
thoughts shattered
and rearranged into smiles.
I know again my own fragilty.
rain
in an open window
I stop and breath
the silence.




Sky Lark Special American Women's Edition Number 52 (1984)
(India's leading English quarterly devoted exclusivley to modern poetry.)

New Old

storm clouds

drive way

awash with oleanders

cira 1987 wind chime issue 22

Heart Stones

sea mist my thoughts diffuse into twilight

off brand empty bottle her children unfed

while I scold the child milk scalds

in line fill out a form my limp son

years now the silent wound won't heal lost breast

in the blue river fog the crow eyes it

heart stone her visit ressurects old feelings

only a rumor between us river murmurs

at the end of the letter white out

off season the begonia start she gave me blooms

cold moon that night a hollow that couldn't be filled

nidnightinapoet'sheart

leaving the blame for you he leaves the deep orange sunset

spring sitting in her wildflower garden as the other woman

iris i painted her bare wall new life

morning star until it rises

late in summer as air lightens a swollen sundown

lace heart scent she sent in a box of maternity clothes

transition: his name in each breath

tornado watch black clouds split the sky

5 'oclock shadow in need of sleep sunburn

red eye leaving the dark jeweled city below

Note:Blogger looses a lot of the formatting and thus looses some of the art.

Reflection on being bed ridden on a long holiday.........

Well I was
sad and
whiney
I slept til noon each day
Doctor’s orders
a fever
body aches and pains
quizieness abound
so I subsisted on
Tylenol and juice
no food
no coffee
but tea was nice
both hot and iced
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)

I thought about
what I could do if
I lifted my head from
the pillow but
that was no fun
I watched two
movies and wrote
a review
I snuck out and
took photos
bought fruit and
then another day in
bed to recoup
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)

I slept through
worship
read my Bible in bed
thought about
writing those
devotionals
articles
and how to's
but not me
I did algebra instead
got an 80 on the
quiz I almost forgot
then Scott
left for New Orleans
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)

I went back to
work and
hurt some more
But now I am going to sleep
because I need it
Doctor's orders
you know how that is
and how well
I listen
so tell me
how much trouble
am I in?
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)

In Glimpses

I was in the ezine this morning. To see it you have to subscribe. It is called Glimpses by Heather Goodman. Heather’s description of it….

Glimpses ezine features people incarnating Christ in their stories, in their art, and as the Church. Each month, subscribers receive in their email an issue that contains a feature on a person or group, a work of art, such as visual art, poetry, and flash fiction, a devotional on what it means to live as the Church, and an opportunity to win a free giveaway. In the past, Glimpses has given away books, audio books, music, artwork, and artwork.

From Heather's blog.

Another website along the same lines of art and faith I have found that you may like is Image.

From their site.

Our Vision: Bridging Faith and Imagination

One of the legacies of the modern era has been the secularization of culture. For much of the twentieth century, the belief that God is dead, or at least inaccessible, has stripped a great deal of religious vision and wisdom from the modern imagination. Most of our leading critics and thinkers have been skeptical of, or indifferent to, artistic expressions of religious faith.
Read more

From my self portrait project from yesterday late. Called Embrace.

On the writing gigs one of them is on how to seal oil pastels, this marks a transition into a new medium with my mentee. We will broaden our times together to painting with oil pastels and paint sticks.