Haiku

I rely on two sources for my daily dose of news: The New York Times and NPR. Due to travel and study and family history, I am committed to staying engaged with the world at large and the events on the global as well as local stage that trickle down to impact each of us in ways both big and small. Just like voting, I think it is the responsibility of a citizen to stay informed. And, I have a deep and abiding respect for hard nosed and thorough journalism, essential to a healthy democracy, which both of these news agencies provide.

At times, however, I admit I do tune out for a week or two. The news is far too dire, my spirits fall, and I lose perspective: too much conflict, too much poverty, too much corruption. I need to find a bit of hope, a little laugh, some inspiration to step outside of the box. No surprise, my news sources often come to the rescue and didn't disappoint this time either.

In April, The New York Times sent out a call for haiku. What better way to celebrate spring than with some poetry! I love the way an artistic endeavor can inspire and lift one's soul. When I opened the newspaper on Sunday, I found just what I needed: thought-provoking and playful verse in the tradition of the 17 syllable Japanese poems. The haiku thawed my mood and inspired me to write one of my own:

write poetry first

when words and deeds seem feeble

for art must live on

Collector

I just returned from our family beach vacation on the Gulf. Each April, we walk the length of the beach, back and forth each day, looking for shells. Honestly, I can be truly obsessive about the whole endeavor. In fact, get me outdoors, and I tend to collect as I walk: acorns, pine cones, stones, leaves, a host of natural oddities like feathers, nests, and eggshells, and photos, always photos.

Of course, I collect lots of other things, too. (Doesn't everyone collect something?) I am attracted to books, books, and more books, and pottery, ribbon, and writing utensils, to name just a few. Oh, and buttons, which may be a bit of an oddity, since I am not a real sewer.

I believe I choose the things I do for their visual appeal and intellectual engagement; my collections stimulate and inspire my cognitive as well as my creative self. Still, I am trying to limit myself -- one jar of acorns or shells or buttons should be plenty to display and finger and covet, books excepted, of course. I believe Ted Kooser would agree....

Jar of Buttons

Ted Kooser

This is a core sample

from the floor of the Sea of Mending,

a cylinder packed with shells

that over many years

sank through fathoms of shirts -

pearl buttons, blue buttons -

and settled together

beneath waves of perseverance,

an ocean upon which

generations of women set forth,

under the sails of gingham curtains,

and, seated side by side

on decks sometimes salted by tears,

made small but important repairs.

For a jar of buttons even inspired this writer to pen a poem of her own:

The Collector

If Frank Lloyd Wright collected pencils to re-imagine space, and

John F. Kennedy a turn of phrase to inspire and motivate, while

Billie Holiday curated exhibits of sounds never heard before, and

Harper Lee pieced together bits and pieces of our collective shame, then

Surely, I may sit at my desk, slowly turning a jar of amassed buttons,

A kaleidoscope of color and form huddled together like sand in an hourglass,

Some with threads still hanging, remnants of a past alteration, waiting for

The thoughts in my mind, unclear and incoherent, to group into a grain of truth --

Yet, I am possessive for even this writer’s block belongs to only me,

Though its value has yet to be determined as the hours pass.