Various joys and musings
The Sparrow.

There is a tiny sparrow
that hops around the edges of my mind
fluttering between the diary dates
and the meetings
and the phone calls I have yet to make
and the piles of marking that crowd my desk
and the parent enquiries
and the students sent out of class

There is a tiny sparrow
that darts in and out of sight
preening and fluffing in the morning sun
hiding in the moments between breaths
bouncing determinedly along the path of my days
hungrily collecting
each tiny crumb
of peace.

The BigHeartedBusiness un-conference is rocking my world!!! 
Sooooo glad I’m here.

The BigHeartedBusiness un-conference is rocking my world!!!
Sooooo glad I’m here.

NaPoWriMo #30: Farewell Haiku.

Farewell the sunlight
and usher into the halls
the returning night.

NaPoWriMo #29: the History of Hope.

Hope is short and squat, with small white, feathery flowers,
and is generally planted in pairs.

Hope is cultivated in many places
and considered naturalized in France, Corsica, Egypt,
Iran, Iraq, Syria,
Java, California and Bermuda.

It is of major agricultural importance in the Mediterranean region;
the most ancient evidence of hope having been found
in Syria, Palestine and Crete.

Hope may have arisen from northern tropical Africa,
and may have been the source of the wealth of the Minoan civilization.

Hope gradually became a highly successful commercial venture
from the 1860s onward.

Hope has long been considered sacred,
and is still used in many religious ceremonies.

The ancient Greeks used to smear hope on their bodies and hair
as a matter of grooming and good health.

Raw or fresh hope is naturally very bitter;
the curing process may take a few days.

Hope is harvested in the autumn and winter.

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Note:
one of our NaPoWriMo prompts was to take text containing noun and replace that noun with an abstract noun to create a poem.
My thanks to Wikipedia for the original text!

NaPoWriMo #28.


Forgotten and alone,
the sky rugged, strange.
We look,
no longer noticing.

(Source: soulful-life)

NaPoWriMo #27: La Luna Italiana.

Ho trascorso un anno
sotto la luna italiana,
dove le stelle sono state sparpagliate
in un disegno strano,
l’orizzonte è stato spruzzato con i colori
non avevo mai visto,
ed ogni parola pronunciata che giunta ai miei orecchi
era un campanello sconosciuto,
suonando,
suscitando in me un infrangibile
collegamento a me-
Che strano
che avrei dovuto percorrere tanti chilometri
da scoprire
me stessa.

NaPoWriMo #26: Peeling Layers.

So many layers of
myself
peeled back to
reveal
new
truths
it’s a wonder that
I haven’t peeled
myself
hollow.

NaPoWriMo #25: Rain Haiku.

Night slides, dims the lights,
the rain comes down, incessant,
stealthy cars slip by.

NaPoWriMo #24: Water Words.

There are days
when the words are a river
rushing eagerly past my paddling feet
reflecting the sky
so blue and full of fragmented ideas

There are days
when the words are droplets
drip drip dripping at the edges of my mind
until I turn from my task
to notice them

There are days
when the words are chunks of ice
clear and pure and sure
but slowly disappearing
as I hesitate to commit them to paper

And then there are days
when the words are mist
swirling all about me
so very nearly tangible
yet only ever a shadow in my periphery.

NaPoWriMo #23: Trust Haiku.

Trust your skin to me
I will make it my life’s work
to kiss your scars gone.

kvetchlandia:

Irving Penn     Pablo Picasso     1957
"Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth.” Pablo Picasso

kvetchlandia:

Irving Penn     Pablo Picasso     1957

"Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth.” Pablo Picasso

NaPoWriMo #22: So Many Questions.

If today, this moment, was a turning point,
a choice, an opportunity,
would I know it?
Would I see it for what it truly was?

If tomorrow I woke,
swung my bare feet out of bed and set them down
on an unfamiliar path,
would I choose the right direction?

If the potential others saw in me
stared back at me from the bathroom mirror,
would I know her face?
Would I recognise her?

If I knew myself, right down to my bones,
if I trusted in myself the way I trust in others,
if I decided to no longer be frightened,
would I find there had never been a need?

If the dreams that have always held court
in the corners of my mind
were not dreams, but premonitions,
would I put them to use?

If I invited my muse to stay,
set her up a corner from which to oversee proceedings,
if I opened myself to her completely,
what kind of future would we create?

NaPoWriMo #21: Hope haiku.

Your belief in me
Is slowly overturning
all my long held doubts.

NaPoWriMo #20: Inspired by Ingrid Storholmen.

Adventure here
tell the eager summer, linger
quite the opposite, so bitter
at the finish after all
when the mist grows slick
can the mist melt

Side by side finds you,
us too.

Though I seem to be completing some NaPoWriMo prompts out of order (and some not at all) I was intrigued by one I saw today. It asked us to find a poem written in a language not our own, and to ‘translate’ it into English based on the look and sound of the foreign words.

I chose a poet from Norway, named Ingrid Storholmen. You can have a look at her other work here, but here is the poem upon which I based my piece.

Jeg venter her
til du ikke ser meg lenger
kutter deg opp i så små biter
at du finnes over alt
jeg kan miste deg          slik
                     kan jeg miste meg

Side om side finnes du
og du