I’m touched to find a tiny book of mine, published in 1986, recently Book of the Week at http://www.thehaikufoundation.org/2016/10/17/book-of-the-week-eyebrows-of-geese/
Across the sky
Of returning geese
Vase of dried flowers
Before the mirror
Outside the window — prairie
Ache in my old scar
These were written at Ragdale, in the Chicago suburbs, were you could walk in a remnant of untouched prairie. The cover of the chapbook was done by my mother-in-law Abbie Winson, a forerunner of her later calligraphic work.
Ekphrastic Haibun: Remnants
For months my friend and I have exchanged quotes, jokes and news of our families. On more than one occasion she sent me cards she had made herself… a collage of paper flowers, lace and sequins on stiff card paper. I marvel at the suppleness and dexterity of the hands, now stiff with arthritis of this former concert pianist, who sends these miniature works of art, half a world away.
I am reminded of a postcard by Charles Spencelayh, an English painter, around 1920. Its title is “The Lacemaker (Mrs Newell Making Lace)”. Recently ,I sent her a packet of different scraps of coloured lace and some U.S. stamps to cover the postage she would need to send some more cards.
koi swim through
lacy blue clouds
It feels like an odd time to me–long warm autumn, election approaching, some of my life in stasis. And how are YOU?
My blog Miriam’s Well is a bit hungry for your work. Send me a short piece, a poem, a prose musing, an image, a haiku, just a bit of how you are, what you long for, what you appreciate…
I’m also happy to feature PUBLISHED work of yours with credit & links, so if you have a poem you like that deserves more audience–send it along.
email@example.com–send submissions both as attachment and in body of email.
Classic Santa Fe scene at the courthouse, and I enjoyed it.
Voting brings back memories of wet dark Novembers, polling place smelling of elementary school meatloaf and rubber rain boots. My mom would bring us in to the curtained booth with her, to extol the virtues of democracy and Elizabeth Cady Stanton.
My dad was more of an autocrat. When I was in college, he’d send me an absentee ballot already marked–by him! I just had to sign and send it back.
So, last night I dreamed that Hillary Clinton sent Tres Chicas Books a poetry manuscript to consider. It was pretty good! My husband Rich said, “In your dreams, Mir.” Then I remembered more of the dream. I had looked at the poems and realized that if she didn’t win the book would sell less, but it was still worth it. Win or lose, at least she’d have a book of poetry. Rich said, “We all know what is important to you.”