trees | a poem in my pocket

window to writer’s world

04 Aug 2020 27 Comments

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: grove, ideas, mind, trees, window, writing

writing is a process;
mental and physical
engagement with my
surroundings; a scene
from the window or a
moment within mind.

i welcome green ideas
wholesome, peaceful,
like the life-giving trees
in farm grove; oxygen
for brain in warmth of
full summer season.

but sometimes my
words reveal darker
thoughts like dormant,
leafless trees; barren
and bleak in cold of
dull wintery wood.

This is the view from window above my writing desk…linked to dVerse poetics

waiting for epiphany

01 Jan 2020 16 Comments

by lynn__ in haibun Tags: calendar, canoe, desk, farm house, snow, trees, twenty-twenty, white-out

at home in our white-sided farm house, i’m poised to write as i sit by my small white-laminate study desk in our quiet, white-walled guest room. bare square of first day of new year on the white-paged calendar stares back at me. i look out white-framed window before me into our white-drifted snowy grove, hoping for inspiration but mind feels blank, like tv screen white-out.

over past year, i’ve often gazed out this same window, inspired by natural scene of trees with white-sunlit leaves waving in breezes. i’ve watched white-puffed daydream clouds sail summer skies while squirrels played in the grass, rising on haunches to show white-furred bellies.

why would someone park canoe trailer with white-topped carrier full of life vests right in center of my woodsy window view? old skeletal metal rack with two aluminum white-stickered canoes mounted upside down and tied with bungee straps distracts my vision. without the sun, everything feels cold on this white-iced winter day.

it’s twenty-twenty

year clear for perfect vision

life needs fresh outlook

I wrote this on Jan. 1 and it seems to fit with Bjorn’s “beginning(again)” haibun challenge at dVerse poets pub.

celebration of lights

26 Dec 2018 Leave a comment

by lynn__ in haiga, tanka Tags: candles, child, Christmas, evergreen, pine, star, trees

Linking to Carpe Diem Haiku Kai “countdown” to Christmas…

senior living

16 Sep 2018 2 Comments

by lynn__ in distillation, senryu Tags: chimes, clock, dawn, door, dusk, naps, sit, trees

This is my delight,
thus to wait and watch at the wayside
where shadow chases light
and the rain comes in the wake of the summer.

Messengers, with tidings from unknown skies,
greet me and speed along the road.
My heart is glad within,
and the breath of the passing breeze is sweet.

From dawn till dusk I sit here before my door,
and I know that of a sudden
the happy moment will arrive when I shall see.

In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone.
In the meanwhile the air is filling with the perfume of promise.

©️ Rabindranath Tagore

Challenge: Try to create a haiku from this poem by Tagore and than create a Troiku with your “distilled” haiku. Link to Carpe Diem Haiku Kai. My attempt follows…

i sit by my door
watching shadows chase the light
from dawn to dusk

i sit by my door
see the people passing by
everyone hurries

watch shadows chase light
sun dapples quivering leaves
of old poplar trees

from dawn to dusk
quiet hours marked by clock chimes
awake between naps

©️ lynn__

where walk takes me

30 Apr 2018 20 Comments

by lynn__ in haibun Tags: birds, grove, husky, rabbit, robin, trees, walk

I’ll walk down our gravel road, usually alone with God, or sometimes with my neighbor and her boys. We chat along the way and soon we’re back home. I used to take my husky…or she used to take me (I miss my fast and furry companion). I walk a mile or two for the exercise and fresh air.

Other times, I’ll meander through our grove of trees sheltering our house and farm buildings. I go to tune in nature, clear my head and calm my heart. I listen to bird calls, admire the foliage stage of the trees or mushrooms in the grass, and perhaps pick up sticks blown down by our last wind storm.

A bold rabbit hops closer and pauses to observe me observing him. Long ears twitch before he hops for cover under blue spruce. A black-bibbed flicker tap taps in tree until I pass below; he bobs and flits away. I startle a handsome ring-necked pheasant which whirs up, startling me. Bending down, I pick up a perfect robin’s egg that fell out of the nest, unbroken.

oak trees hold old leaves

prairie winds buffet farm grove

birds mourn fallen nest

Bjorn inviting us to take a walk with dVerse Poets this week…