blossoms emerge —
incessant rains engulf
hopes of children
I sometimes feel as if a haiku isn’t enough of a post, as if eight words aren’t worthy of a week’s worth of creative work. And then there are blossoms; it is incredible how much of our own experience they bear on their tender petals and stems.
cold lilac breezes —
whispered and gone
When posting my last few haiku, I have described my struggle to write, how I have had to circle around and coax out the words. In contrast, three pieces have emerged in succession in recent days – this haiku, a free verse poem, and a piece of prose. While two are not yet complete, I marveled at first at the difference. But I suppose that is simply how it is – as a writer, as a father, as a husband. Quite striking and not-so-remarkable all at once. I’m looking forward to sharing all three in the coming week.
deep night rain hammers
outside on the old tin roof —
I drove home from work after midnight last night. It was my son’s eighth birthday. The cake from his celebration that I had missed sat half-eaten on the counter, surrounded by cards from his grandparents.
I haven’t had the time to capture poems and words lately, even as small snippets of them have run through my mind, my days. As I crawled into bed next to my wife last night, I heard the spring rain outside. For a moment, clarity.