Category Archives: Children
Releasing Illusions From The Shore
Creation’s sand sifted from our hands—
clutched for a moment by gravity
as it flowed, streaming silently,
to settle —in small scattered piles within us.
Thought and mood changes from grain to grain.
Perils and adventures rise and fall—
again and again from one position to the next.
All things change us—
All pleading for illusions un-hooded truth—
Only a mindful soul in peaceful acceptance
Prepares the meeting room table
for each sunset, for each full moon, for each new sunrise—
Guests are encouraged to speak
with innocence and understanding
as they… the children are;
where they become the sand—
Released from the creation of their hands.
*****
(In silence, I mourn Creation’s loss, from above…
there is not a child born, that does not —seek our love).
~~~~~
From sand to diminishing pottery, my soul pours out the last of life.
It’s existence to non-existence, in remembrance
—of holding its last grain of sand.
Lulu and Larry [The Legend of ‘Little Pond’]
On a pond in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire
—there was ripplin’ dimples on the shore
—toe dunkin’, foot slippin’ in mucky mud sinkin’.
—Tad poles at their feet were being ignored
As Lulu and Larry stepped further from shore.
“Watch out for old ‘Sticky tongue’!
That bullfrog is as big as a horse!
And he knows you’re in his ponnnnnnnduh.”
Shouted, older brother Horace
From the window of the family car.
Lulu heard a snap and a hard slap
on the water by her side.
Looking for Larry, finding only a big ripple
circling, melting at her knees in a chilling rise.
There he was! gone!* without a bubble or a scream
in ‘Sticky Tongue’s pond on a hot summer’s eve.
PS: Horace rolled up his window as running Lulu joined him –they locked all the car doors and hit the floor. As for Larry? His parents are still lookin’ fer’.
Yup! Cross my heart and hope to die .I don’t swim there, but I fish there; catching on a hot summer day, a wiggly reflection on the surface of the water, of sticky tongue’s lair.
**********
This is for those of you who sit at the end of a movie and listen to the music reading the credits:
Note:
I received this glittering notebook as a gift from a wonderful writer friend Kelli T.–teaching as Adjunct faculty (English of course) at Plymouth State University NH—now living the glamorous life 😊 in Minneapolis. A great writer whom I have accepted gracious encouragement from.
The notebook has been kicking around for a while, buried among many journals. Some leather-bound, cloth bound, some on paper bags and some on any colored napkins.
PoPo, my 10 yr. old grandson who has such an imaginary virtual reality and somehow still maintains human sensitivity, along with his older brother Gav, were staying with me for the day. Which I enjoy often.
Trying to figure out how to get their creative attention, my attention was drawn to this glittering notebook. I reached over, sparkling as ever, opened it and wrote the first draft.
I made them French toast and as they were eating it (plenty of butter and syrup), I read them this draft. When I finished they chuckled, continuing to eat, PoPo asked me to lock the door.
PoPo Teaches Grandpa A Lesson [rev2]
How stupid am I?
Well it starts out like this—
My Grandson, leaving a summer math class
carrying a piece of folded paper
—Followed by his gracious and grinning teacher
I asked, “What is that?”
Pointing to his hand holding the paper,
Hoping it wasn’t a note from the “warden”
Being shot by one of his righteous and never wrong Heroes.
He handed it to me—
It was a bunch of math problems
He needed to solve before tomorrow’s class.
Looking at it with a quick glance,
Spotting the first problem to be solved—
I asked, “What’s 9 times 3?”
Looking at the sky,
As we were going towards the car
Quietly said, “27”
Hmmmm!
Then he turned towards me and asked,
“What’s 9 times 0?”
I said “9”! Quite proudly—
Both he and his teacher burst out laughing
As she patted my grandson
On the back, saying, “see you tomorrow.”
Opening our car doors, he said,
“Grandpa, you know what ever number times zero
Will always be zero.”
Driving off
I looked in the rear view mirror
And saw him wearing my baseball cap
Usually left in the back—
He was wearing it backwards
And giving me this shit eatin’ grin.
It was a long ride back
Thinking how smart I really am.
Breakfast Before Their School‘s Mid-Terms
In the foothills of New Hampshire, on the threshold of the White Mountains, the sun began to warm the valley. The warm spring morning sprayed glistening frost into fog. Another growing up season had passed. The children were getting dressed with some apprehension.
I looked out the kitchen window and I could smell, feel spring, and see it lightly, loftily, taking its place. The morning greeted me with multiple shadows getting more confident and larger behind cereal bowls and warm buttered coffee cake.
Budding on branches
Spring’s new born generation
Peaks beyond shadow
dVerse~ Haibun Monday: The Shadow Knows 4/3/2017
Grow Over The Wall
It has always been hard for me to describe the birth and the growth of three sons. They, became so entwined in my birth, that all I could do was to enjoy their wrapping around me; until we let each other go, with love unharmed.
Child like seedling small
Born in the soil of mother
Grow over the wall.
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Posted by ZQ on January 9, 2017 in Children, Haibun Poetry, Pine Cone Diaries, Zen
Tags: Growing up, https://dversepoets.com/2017/01/09/haibun-monday-28/#comment-118685, Pine Cone Diaries, Zen