Meaning, I composed my one hundredth piece of writing for 2009.
Original riddle ( I hope; I haven't seen it anywhere else):
How can a poem be written, submitted and published all in the same day?
Answer: _ _ _ _
#99 - HAIKU
seventy-third year
picking my first bouquet
of dandelion blooms
[c patlaster 09]
#100 - HAIKU
after watering
a vase of dandelion
blooms in the window
[c patlaster 09]
#101 - HAIKU
still a week of June
seven-thirty CST
eighty-six degrees
[c patlaster 09]
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
FIRST DAY OF SUMMER 2009
HAIKU
first day of summer
an early-morning ground fog
over the hayfield
[c-patlaster 09]
HAIKU
whiff of camellia
the added reward
for sitting outside
[c-patlaster 09]
HAIKU
the kitten
like all others before him
learns to chase his tail
[c-patlaster 09]
SENRYU
affixing a stamp
suddenly, I glimpse in mine
my late mother's hand
[c-patlaster 09]
first day of summer
an early-morning ground fog
over the hayfield
[c-patlaster 09]
HAIKU
whiff of camellia
the added reward
for sitting outside
[c-patlaster 09]
HAIKU
the kitten
like all others before him
learns to chase his tail
[c-patlaster 09]
SENRYU
affixing a stamp
suddenly, I glimpse in mine
my late mother's hand
[c-patlaster 09]
Monday, June 15, 2009
A week at Hemingway's Arkansas headquarters
I originally used Eden in the title, but erased it. There were some un-Eden, pre-apple eating Eden carryings-on that I resented, yea, disdained. But I digress.
Seventeen people attended the week-long retreat. Some were local teachers qualifying for inservice hours. Others were returning writers hoping to find intensive time to work on their writing projects in a(n) historical setting. In a QUIET place. Wasn't Eden a quiet place?
A self-described over-achiever, I could not appreciate those few among us who didn't seem to have anything to do but visit. Especially when they chose a place close to where I was obviously working. Maybe they were taking a break before lunch, but it was waaaay before lunch and they stood and talked. And talked. I finally took up my work and looked for another place. I moved around the building thinking to go sit under a tree on the Hemingway-Pfeiffer "big house" lawn.
But on the front steps of the adjacent educational center sat the late-comer (another story) talking on her cell phone. Drat! And disdain! I wheeled and walked back to the concrete block wall separating the handicapped parking area from the woods. I sat in the thin shade of a persimmon sprout; day-lilies and young sumac grew as tall as the wall.
I raged on the page. Soon, here came the two talkers around the building and up the walk. At lunch, one of them asked if they had bothered me. I said, "A little." She apologized profusely. "The next time that happens, tell us to please..." I thought, there should never be a next time, darlin'.
More later.
Seventeen people attended the week-long retreat. Some were local teachers qualifying for inservice hours. Others were returning writers hoping to find intensive time to work on their writing projects in a(n) historical setting. In a QUIET place. Wasn't Eden a quiet place?
A self-described over-achiever, I could not appreciate those few among us who didn't seem to have anything to do but visit. Especially when they chose a place close to where I was obviously working. Maybe they were taking a break before lunch, but it was waaaay before lunch and they stood and talked. And talked. I finally took up my work and looked for another place. I moved around the building thinking to go sit under a tree on the Hemingway-Pfeiffer "big house" lawn.
But on the front steps of the adjacent educational center sat the late-comer (another story) talking on her cell phone. Drat! And disdain! I wheeled and walked back to the concrete block wall separating the handicapped parking area from the woods. I sat in the thin shade of a persimmon sprout; day-lilies and young sumac grew as tall as the wall.
I raged on the page. Soon, here came the two talkers around the building and up the walk. At lunch, one of them asked if they had bothered me. I said, "A little." She apologized profusely. "The next time that happens, tell us to please..." I thought, there should never be a next time, darlin'.
More later.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Jottings from last week's journal
DOG breeds I've never heard of: "basenji" and "Chinese hairless crested."
SEVENTY-seven soldiers with Arkansas roots have died in the U.S.'s wars: 70 in Iraq and seven in Afghanistan, according to reporter Robert J. Smith, Arkansas Democrat Gazette.
BIO from an obit: "He (age 81 at death) was born...in the original log house built by his great-great-grandfather Williams in 1838 in northwest Bradley Co."
Another BIO from another obit: "J. (79) loved her children and grandchildren (don't we all!) and often told them, 'I love you.' When they [answered] 'I love you more,' she ... replie[d], 'No, you couldn't.'"
PURCHASE: New In Town DVD with Renee Zellweger.
A malapropism: "required taste," for "acquired taste." - Hagar The Horrible comic strip.
A haiku: " burble of chickens/ adds to the bird chatter/ this late May morning."
SEVENTY-seven soldiers with Arkansas roots have died in the U.S.'s wars: 70 in Iraq and seven in Afghanistan, according to reporter Robert J. Smith, Arkansas Democrat Gazette.
BIO from an obit: "He (age 81 at death) was born...in the original log house built by his great-great-grandfather Williams in 1838 in northwest Bradley Co."
Another BIO from another obit: "J. (79) loved her children and grandchildren (don't we all!) and often told them, 'I love you.' When they [answered] 'I love you more,' she ... replie[d], 'No, you couldn't.'"
PURCHASE: New In Town DVD with Renee Zellweger.
A malapropism: "required taste," for "acquired taste." - Hagar The Horrible comic strip.
A haiku: " burble of chickens/ adds to the bird chatter/ this late May morning."
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