Yesterday

I cannot NOT be inspired to write of this life, share my work and the miracles therein. We have been
instructed by Frank at dversepoets.comto write a Haibun today of  something “pleasantly surprising”.


Yesterday

Yesterday was a surprisingly pleasant day. After the fog, sunlight filtered through feathered pink-yellow-grey clouds, spreading a soft bluish blanket of hush across the bluff at Ebey’s Landing. The sea resonated with the sound of string instruments being played in the lighthouse drawing room and Olde English Christmas carols being sung by young people.

She and I spoke of her friend who had lost her husband suddenly that morning. Then, she told me the exciting news of her daughter expecting a baby girl in May.  From a thin frown, her facial expression turned to the most full, radiant smile.  Christmas greetings and hugs were exchanged among the  intimate small crowd of docents gathered for the afternoon holiday event. As we warmed hands over a small brambling fire, a family of deer gathered to feed in the meadow nearby.

I had no idea that morning what the day held.  I could not have imagined such distinctly meaningful moments happening simultaneously and in the particular sequence they unfolded into the evening.  The contrast some days is not as evident, but the enigma is always there for us to reflect on and imbibe.

Pain and joy exist
Everyday bittersweet
Tears part of happiness

Life is a Marx Bros.film....

Symbolism is the prompt for today at dversepoets.
I took a stab at it but have struggled with the difference between it and metaphors, similes, and personification over the years, but it is late now.:-)


As I muster the nerve each day to face
life's realities,
I continue to be taken aback.
No conductor at the wheel,
train out of control,
I am losing track
My mind conflated,
time is suspended,
the pendulum has stopped
Are we free falling,
why is there no feeling inside?

In the name of research, please,
question me twenty years from now.
Tell me then the
ridiculousness has been a bad dream, the news spinning ad nauseam cannot be happening;
say life resembles
banana boats in milky ways, or chickens are falling from the sky.
Truly, it's more like
A Night at the Opera,
than anything real
to you or I.

The Thanksgiving Visitor

At dversepoets.com today, we are writing of the word ‘visit’. I recall many memorable visits as well     as having been the visitor on many interesting occasions, but the following story takes the cake and I   was merely the reader/observer.

 

The Thanksgiving Visitor


“Buddy, you’ll catch your death,”
Aunt Sook chided.
Sixty, yet still childlike,
she’s his distant aunt.
She delivers a warm blanket to him,
an 8 year old, hiding,
seeking comfort in her wood shed.

Others do not understand
their friendship for it transcends
the ordinary realm.
Visiting her country home
for the holiday, Buddy
shares with her the harvesting
of pecans to make fruitcake,
flying kites, laughter
and inside jokes.

Running a risk of being read
much like a book report,
let me say, Truman Capote's
simple trilogy
speaks volumes of the living
Christmas spirit in
heartwarming antidotes
of holiday joy and mirth.
The pair are two peas in a pod,
a mutual admiration
society; the story,
a true treasure trove
of memories.



The Thanksgiving Visitor, One Christmas, and A Christmas Memory, were all made into TV movies.