Poetry Tuesday: Many Haiku for reading: It won't take you long

Thoughtful

The lies we believe

Only keep us safe until

We choose to wake up

The line in the sand

Again washed away by waves

She draws another

On Gardening

Potatoes planted

Refuse to send shoots upward

Where the hell are you?

My nemesis taunts

Choking my efforts at growth

Mother f*#@ing weeds

On Chickens

My fresh free-range eggs

Better be worth all the sh*t

I clean from the pen

 I don’t understand

Why they poop in their water

It can’t taste that good

On Children

Peacefully breathing

The rise and fall of their chest

Watching children sleep

Loud obnoxious trolls

Destroy things and ignore me

I call them my kids

 Daily Prayers

Thank you for today

Help me use my time wisely

As I seek Your will

Forgive me when I

Fail to help a hurting soul

Open my eyes Lord

 Say What?

From my fingers drip

Words onto paper like ink

Meaningful blotches

I shiver though warm

Exhausted and can’t find sleep

Blue is flavorless

Today is another blogathon theme day. We're all posting Haiku's; namely because they are short, relatively easy to write, and many of us bloggers are feeling the stress of blogging every day. We've crossed the halfway mark though; only 7 more days to go! I can't believe it.

I tried to write a few Haiku that were relevant to my day or to this past week. I also am a strong believer in taking literary license when necessary; omitting a syllable when I need a word to fit. Makes writing Haiku that much easier!

The light at the end

Of the tunnel is fin’ly

Not a speeding train

My seeds are planted

The waiting has just begun

Hoping for new life

Two sick kids at home

Today I am a servant

To their every want

Uncharted paths are

Intimidating for most

Breathe and enjoy them

Life is so precious

At the beginning or end

Savor each moment

For times I fail to

Express enough gratitude

Thank you for ev’ry thing

I'd love to read your Haiku! In fact, I'd love to read your Haiku comments so much, I wrote a Haiku about it:

Bloggers love to read

Comments from their reading fans

Buck up and leave one!

untitled...

there are times i feel like a child
small, helpless and not in control of anything.
i’m not really a mother who’s supposed to know all the answers,
or a wife who puts her dreams aside
so her husband can follow his.
i’m a little girl who’s scared to stay alone-
waking when the house settles to check windows and doors.
i’m naive to the horrors that plague our world-
not comprehending the cruelty I witness
everyday.
in school, at work.
my NOW life takes over again
bill payer, lunch maker, gift buyer, laundry doer, toilet cleaner
and
the only word my children know
when they are upset. or need something.
or simply want to whine.
i am not the person i dreamed i’d be.
not the always patient parent you see on television commercials,
not the laid-back-go-with-the-flow type.
i am not as organized or on top of things as i had hoped.
i am not the cookie baker or happy memory maker i always imagined.
in fact,
i am selfish and wonder why someone cannot take care of me-
at least sometimes.
every now and then i’d like to be tucked in. and soothed. and worried about.
real life once more;
grocery shopper, floor washer, carpet vacuumer, party planner and...as always,
child-watcher-mother-wife-
and those are just my chores tonight.
perhaps someday it will be my turn
to chase dreams, to become the person i’d hoped.
my turn to be the
story-writer, poem creator, soul inspirer, life-lesson teacher, spiritual director, smile bringer…
or maybe
in the eyes of my children
i am all those things now.

Stitching

In her rocker she sits
a welcomed break from her daily stitching
grasping her mug again and again she talks
a reservoir of tears
dammed by lower lashes

Against the heating pad she rests
steeping her pains as she steeps her tea
perhaps thinking of a younger time
days of cooking, farming, doll clothes making
before the accident, the war and all the heartbreak

In sandpaper tones she speaks
the ache in her back, the nation, the sadness of the future,
illegal immigration, our worlds obsession with oil
milk in her tea swirling white as Europe
Lecturing should have's, ought to's and next times

Her affections run parallel to the criticism in her plaid
blue always comes after red
and the sting that accompanies failure paralyzes
like the stitches of her fine sewing

With seam ripper I sit, breaking threads
unwilling to be coerced into a form that longs
to be something else
not a sleeve or an inseam or reinforced pocket corner

Tea and time consumed, she returns to her sewing
the familiar vibration of the presser foot
manipulating fabric and form
delighting her perfectionistic ache

RV