Summer Reading Program

The kids get wild when they watch the show,

High energy

Mass participation

Whether it be music, juggling, balloon sculpting or exotic animals.

They laugh, shriek in mock terror, snicker, and dance.

Then after the show they spill out into the small town library,

Checking in their reading logs at the SRP table,

Vying for time on the computers, or roaming the beige metal shelves grabbing books.

The colors that usually dance solitarily on the covers now join the flash mob of the bright colored children’s clothes.

Excited chatter fills the small room and echoes up to the fluorescent lights high above

As they bump into each other, showing their finds and seeking parental approval of each found treasure.

Slowly at first, a few trickle out through the security scanners to the parking lot,

Anxious to leave the chaos and noise to a quiet house.

But within a few minutes – maybe 10 –

The torrential flood subsides as the families go about the rest of their day,

And the library reverts back to its previous quiet.

Infertile

Potting soil

seeds

water

and sunlight

Every Spring

I try

but nothing

grows

I follow advice

have read all the books

and blogs

Time

attention

and care

and all I have

to show for it

is wet dirt

Puzzle Pieces

Spent most of my life making homes of places
with pictures and drapes
Easy up
Easy down
Covering up white walls and white blinds
with a collection growing over the years
Each new place varying only by layout and floorplan
Different sight lines
but same drapes
same pictures
As easily removed and packed up
as I was

Now I look around our first home
our own house
six months after the last move
All those things are still packed away
out in the garage
Books still in boxes
Shelves in pieces propped in a corner
White blinds and walls begging for a fresh coat of paint
stark against furniture haphazardly arranged around the TV
Nearly all color restricted to toys, crayons and books
littering tables and empty shelves
And the half-finished puzzle
our son has left on the coffee table

Out of Her Element

I know, I know. I haven't posted anything new in a really long time. I have many excuses, but I won't bore you with that. I have been very bad. I have been very neglectful. I have not been writing like I promised myself and I feel just awful about it.

We recently moved ... again. I'm still in the process of establishing a decent work area for myself. It will take a while to get settled in the new place, so it could be quite some time in between blog posts. I apologize in advance to any followers I may still have. I'm sorry. Truly. I have promised myself to do better.

Enough of that ...

I was just going through a random bag and came across a folded piece of paper towel. On it was a poem I had scribbled on it way back in 2009. We had recently moved in with my in laws to share expenses, which meant leaving the urban sprawl of Los Angeles for rural living in the Morongo Basin. I not only had to adjust to new surroundings, but also to sharing a household with my mother-in-law. I don't really remember writing this poem. That happens sometimes. I find a random slip of paper or a napkin and, though I can recall the feeling or sentiment, I have no recollection whatsoever of putting pen to paper.

And, for the record, I can not imagine ever moving back to LA.

Out of Her Element

As the laundry blows softly in the intermittent breeze,

the laundress, reluctant to the concept,

having dwelt in the city her whole life,

where there’s little room for impractical clothes lines,

finds herself hanging sheets as a compromise.

To her surprise, the sound of the occasional billowing

and watching her little boy run in between the sheets giggling

soothes her uneasiness.

And she hums softly to herself

as she thinks of how the desert in July

is very much like her old Whirlpool dryer.

(written 7/2/2009)

Five-Seven-Five is Sublime

I have been inspired of late to write in haiku. For the few who don't know, a haiku is a type of Japanese poem written in three lines of seventeen syllables. The first line has five syllables, the second seven, and the third five. There are many beautiful haiku written in Japanese. Unfortunately for us, the structure does not translate into English. The greatest haiku, though extreme in brevity, have beautiful imagery. Often the last line has a punch to it, making the reader's head spin. The last line is supposed to make you think.

I like playing with the structure of haiku, in English of course. As someone who tends to be overly verbose in her writing, the limiting nature of haiku makes for a good exercise in saying more with less. I've gotten fairly good at it, except for the last line being the grand finish it is intended to be. I am seldom very good at that. Often times, I end up with a bunch of haiku on the same subject, none of them good enough to stand on their own. However, I don't like to be wasteful, so I sometimes "recycle" these short, inadequate poems into one longer one. The individual haiku become stanzas in a poem that I think is stronger and more expressive of my intent. That is what I ended up doing recently with a series of haiku.

I am sharing three poems with you. The first you will find at the end of this post. It is an example of a haiku that lacks that special punch. But it still has some charm, and so I decided to share it. The second is a longer poem, a series of haiku, concerning a subject that is often on my mind. The illustration is from the National Gallery of Art website: http://www.nga.gov/home.htm. It happens to be one of my favorite depictions of the Crucifixion. It was supposedly painted for the private devotions and prayers of a Dominican nun.  The third is another single haiku and a little better than the first. It was inspired by my in-laws' recent landscaping project. It has a little bit more zing to it. The illustrations are indeed the before and after photographs of the landscaping project in question.

Here is a haiku to start the ball rolling.

Opportunity

All my energy
Drained in monthly bloodletting.
Knock on door ignored.

My God was hijacked - a series of haikus

The Crucifixion by Andrea di Bartolo

Ruled by pharisees
No room for differing thoughts
Smothered by Bibles

Love, grace and beauty
Seen in a child's smile
Betrayed by man's hate

God is merciful
What would Jesus do, you ask?
Love and accept all

Instead what is done
In His name will surely bring
The Apocolypse

Bring in the horsemen
Brand us all with 666
What right do we have?

Judge not lest you be.
No one's white robe is spotless
Still the gavel falls

I no longer hide,
But reclaim the Truth I know
We aren't all like that!

The Truth corrupted
Into grotesque monster created
In man's own image

Disfigured mutant -
Religion used as weapon
For power and greed

Misrepresented -
So much evil in disguise -
Christianity

My God was hijacked
By modern day pharisees
Crucified again.

Paved Paradise - a haiku

She didn't like rocks.

It was too hard to sweep leaves.
Concrete rose garden.

Summer Storm

Out of nowhere
The wind blew sans merci
Hot, hard and fierce
Birds squawked --
Swooping and diving
Pushed around in the air currents --
Nearly indistinguishable
From the trash and debris
Swirling in the sky
Against dark, grey, angry clouds
That came from every direction
And nowhere in particular
Triple digit heat kept most folks inside
Except for the cars –
Fighting against that wind
To stay on course
Moving down the highway that cuts through
This little dusty town --
Were soon pelted
By rain falling hard and fast
Angry rain in a surprise assault
Furiously slamming everything
With a million tiny fists
Before stopping
Just as suddenly
Moving on down the highway
To the next sleepy desert town
In need of being taken down a notch

Simple Girl

Simple girl
With simple tastes – that’s me
Simple meals that satisfy
– steak and potatoes –
Really that’s all I need
Inexpensive pleasures make my day
Mid-day hike thrills more than any ballet
And I prefer mutts to pedigree

A bottle of Merlot tastes the same to me
Whether two buck or forty-five
And I rather drink it chilled – no jive
Just as happy with a Hershey bar
As with imported Belgium truffles
Never needed clothes to impress
Or cared if the crowd laughed at my ride
Wouldn’t mind living clear and free

Past where the sidewalk ends
where the neighbor’s junky yard doesn’t matter
Miles away from the nearest gravy train
And the dirt road washes out in the rain
As long as the house and land are ours
The food tastes good
The heat works in winter
And you’re there too – next to me

Simple girl – that’s me

Love Letter

It’s the contents of a letter,
Written in love,
That warms the heart.

It’s not the envelope that contained it,
Not how it was folded,
The glue used to seal it,
Or the stamp affixed in the corner.

It’s not the paper the words are written on,
Whether it be tea-stained parchment
Handcrafted and brittle to the touch
Or crisp white loose leaf
With precise ledger lines.

It’s not how the words are written,
Either drawn in flowing cursive,
Rigidly printed by hand,
Or typed in computer generated font.

Nor is it the color of the ink.

It’s not even the words used,
Not the language in which it’s written
Or whether in academic or vernacular.

It’s the contents of the love letter that
Conveyed to the recipient
The passion unbridled,
Emotion unguarded,
The true essence of the sender –
The soul.

I'd love you if you couldn't cook

I’d love you if you couldn’t cook.
Heck, I’d love you even if I could.

I’d love you if you hated sports, watched all the time,
or still played ball.

I’d love you if you were 10 ft. tall, but I’d also
love you if you were just my size.

I’d love you if your skin was darker than mine
or if it was whiter than a sheet.

I’d love you even if you were shaped like me.

I’d love you if your hair was blond
and even if you had blue eyes.

I’d love you even if I was shaped like you.

I’d love you even if you voted for W and
even if you never hugged a tree.

I’d love you if you thought the earth was flat,
Dinosaurs never were, and that the sky was purple.

I’d still love you even if no one thought I should.

I’d love you if you spent all day with Lara Croft,
watched TV all day, or never cracked a book.

I’d love you if your family was completely nuts.
I’d love you even if mine was somehow sane.

I’d love you if all you ate were beets,
you couldn’t stand chocolate and
absolutely hated tea.

I’d love you if we lived on food stamps,
or if we were richer than Midas.

I’d love you even if we never married.

I’d love you if we never even met.

Silverback

The Silverback
Stands erect
His sleek back arched
Shoulders thrust towards the sky
His chisled chest heaves
As he throws his head back
And lets out a roar
And with a snort
He takes off running
His hands in tight fists
Pummeling the ground
With each rhythmic stride
Green branches, shrubs and small trees
Splintering and flying off
In all directions
Small animals scurrying away
In fear
Faster and faster
With each step
Each pounding of the ground
Has more force
The land shuddering under
The force of those
Mighty clinched fists of stone
Till he breaks through the foliage
Into the clearing
At last
He stops abrubtly
As he catches sight of her
When she turns to face him
He bellows out another
Powerful roar
Lowers his head
With the intense stare of
Piercing eyes
He then growls low
And steady
From down deep in his throat

"Come on People Now"

“Come on People Now”

God said the meek shall inherit the earth

I say let them have it

With the foul air and polluted waters

You quote your cannon and I’ll quote mine

Either “live a lie until you die”

Or “stand and be counted”

The choice is mine and yours

Having freedoms and rights

Is as pointless as having a voice

If you never speak

So “Shout” and “let it all out”

Already

Dunnica Harps

(written January, 2007)

"Gone but not forgiven"

This poem was originally posted on my MySpace blog May 10, 2006.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

"Gone but not forgiven"
That'll be my epitaph
See I make no apologies
heh, don't make me laugh
I wear what I want
regardless of age, style or class
You can judge me all you want
You're somebody else's pain in the ass
--not mine
I do what I want and don't give a shit
if it ain't right or proper
That dumb ass driving that shiny SUV
ain't nothin' next to a man on a chopper
Any man of mine better know his mind
and not sell out to the status quo
I need a lover who's one of a kind
not some red tie clone strivin' to stay in tow
My folks they raised a strong willed girl
and I aim to do them proud
Now these politicians telling us how to think
Well they just make me want to scream out loud
I've got a mind and know how to use it
and y'all are just full of shit
If you don't like what I've got to say
what a shame 'cause I ain't sorry one bit
I've got the right to speak my mind
to be outspoken , even at times down right crass
You can judge me all you want
You're somebody else's pain in the ass
--not mine
So if you've got a problem with who I am
with something I say or do
Speak your mind, you've got the right
but that problem that belongs to you
--ain't mine

Dunnica Harps