haiku in 2020 time

crow in morning light
pecks a dead rat on a fence
while cities burn


The crows and I are becoming familiar these days. I give them peanuts occasionally, and they frequent the birdbath. I like to think there is mutual respect.

Meanwhile, my heart hurts for the damage human beings keep doing to each other and the planet.

So there is the haiku that framed itself in my mind this morning as I ventured out and retreated back.

more haiku for these times

I wonder how the

Earth will be after we take

our toys and go home

 

 

Thoughts on a rose-colored dawn when more and more people are dying.

haiku dawn

the rising sun glows

 beyond its orb, gilding roofs

 and long rows of trees

 

haiku dawn in the time of coronavirus

 

stay safe, look for beauty, flatten the curve, my friends

haiku in the time of coronavirus

Townsend warbler's
lemon-yellow mask brightens
the subdued grey day

haiku moment

evergreens whisper,

peach clouds await putti in

Tiepolo sky

end of day haiku

haiku while walking

cold wind from the north,
a leaf skittering along
my sole companion

haiku at dawn

this bruised-sky morning
brightening into painterly
streaks of rose and peach

Sometimes I think my haiku is a melding of how Nature affects my mood or vice versa.

I did not try to photograph the sunrise, because my phone camera never catches the real-time colors. I have to let my words capture some moments.

A truly beautiful book

Beautifully written, urgent in style, important in message.

Those words come to mind about White Rose by Kip Wilson. I urge people to buy this book if you can or order it from your local library. This historical fiction written in verse is among the first books published by the new Versify imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, led by Newbery Medalist Kwame Alexander.

White Rose was the name of a small group of German university students who attempted to wake up the populace to what Hitler was doing. They printed pamphlets and wrote street messages, urging people to resist the Nazi regime.

In the end, they were caught and did not make the impact they had hoped when they put their lives on the line. But their story stands today as an important lesson in recognizing and speaking out early against fascism.

Sophie Scholl, her brother Hans, and their friends have not been forgotten in history.

One of the things I like about the way Kip Wilson writes Sophie's story is she makes it clear that it took time for Sophie and Hans to stand up. At first, they joined the Hitler youth groups, which were framed more like scout troops, enjoying the camp atmosphere but not the propaganda. Their father was briefly imprisoned for being outspoken in opposition to Hitler, as was Hans later.

They were uncomfortable when they saw Jewish friends being harassed ("as if Jews aren't people like us at all"), but it took them time to put their necks on the chopping block (quite literally) and form the White Rose. Sophie's boyfriend Fritz was even a German soldier.

Here is one of the verses, stunning in its impact:

 Fritz tells me
 officers' mail
 isn't
 censored,

that I should
feel free
to say
what I like,

which is good
because I have
plenty
to say.

Snow day

sea of white, whirl of
snow-smoke, junco flung sideways--
picture-window scene

If you haven't guessed it's snowing in Seattle. Low temps in the 20s this week, which for here is cold. I'm enjoying the pretty and scribbling haiku.

haiku to an eclipse

pale opal hangs in
the sky caught between the stars
and towering pines

Haiku upon watching the Super Blood Wolf Moon Eclipse. I felt like I should dance or something.

The neighborhood kids decided to howl.

 The clouds kept their distance until after totality and then gently took back the night.

first haiku of 2019

January sky--
cotton-candy dawn follows
evening's pink-snow ridge

Blood Water Paint

I knew nothing of Artemisia Gentileschi before I read Blood Water Paint by Joy McCullough. I loved this beautiful, harrowing novel told in a combination of verse and prose.

This story based on a real life is more relevant than ever despite Artemisia living from 1593 to 1653. She struggled for recognition for her work and dignity in her life even though her father took credit for her paintings and her tutor raped her. Artemisia took her accusation to court and suffered terrible consequences.

And yet this is a story of perseverance and a belief in truth. Artemisia is bolstered by the stories her mother had told of the Biblical women Susanna and Judith. The stories were far different than the ones told by men about those women, and they instilled strength in Artemisia for all she would do.

This is a story of perspective both in painting and in life.

I highly recommend this extraordinary book.

when morning inspires haiku

this winter morning
rose and pewter sky--soft wool
nestled below

When you retreat

A few weeks ago I attended a retreat that met all my expectations--the Weekend on the Water  held by the SCBWI-WWA at the incredible IslandWood on Bainbridge Island.

One thing I really appreciated about this retreat was that organizers made the extra effort to reach out to participants, coming up to talk or sit at their table, rather than keeping to themselves. I know it made me feel welcome and comfortable. I imagine the dozens of people in attendance felt the same.

Weekend on the Water originally was held at a different place along Puget Sound.

IslandWood, which was developed to teach environmental awareness and sustainability, is deep in lovely forest, but there is water: The Pond.

A docent led those of us who were interested on a walk that included these marvels:

Tree House #1 is built so the central tree can move within a ring, swaying without disturbing the structure.
and
Tree House #2 where you can write in the woods or study the forest canopy

Suspension Bridge

 

 

Bird blind located at a bog, which is about 10,000 years old. A bog is an enclosed basin, whereas a marsh has water running through it. Since a bog is acidic it keeps trees stunted within the basin while they grow to full size along the perimeter.

Communal room in a sleeping lodge

Did I mention the FOOD? Some of the best I've eaten anywhere and I forgot to photograph its beautiful bounty until the last meal. So here is a salad in all its freshness.

The meals are served family style, and the staff goes above and beyond to be sure everyone has what they need.

Of course, this was a writing/illustrating retreat so there was solid programming that focused on ways to feed creativity by finding an art/life balance.

Kirby Larsen (Newbery Honor Book HATTIE BIG SKY) talked about how to slow down and sit with a problem awhile when frustration sets in. She suggested a drift journal to jot down seemingly unrelated stories to see where they may go.

Joni Sensel, who writes YA and middle grade fantasies, discussed the idea of liminal space and creativity. I loved the exercise of placing your character on a threshold/a doorway and see what happens. The unknown can be transformation, growth, or something monstrous. Whatever direction it takes it represents change.

One roundtable discussion yielded these ideas I find fascinating: Do some art for each chapter to get a refreshed view. Think of three disasters that could happen and a solution.

There was so much more, including inspiring talks from Candlewick illustrator Jennifer K. Mann and author Beth Bacon. If you can find such a retreat, go if you can, recharge your batteries and your heart.

WHAT GOES UP

I met Wen Baragrey online about ten years ago, sharing writing and dreams and life struggles. What has always stood out for me is her wonderful sense of humor, love of family, and talent for storytelling. Her debut novel, WHAT GOES UP, incorporates all that.

Robyn Tinkerbell Goodfellow has a number of difficulties in her young life, starting with her name and her mother’s vocation of hosting fairy parties in their home.

But Robyn’s biggest concern at the moment is a space satellite is falling to earth. Her house has always been a magnet for falling objects like kites, balls, trees, and even a skydiver. She’s sure the satellite will be drawn to them and she will never meet her mysterious father.

The story is filled with marvelous characters and has an ending that brought tears to my eyes.

Published by Random House Children’s Books it is available now. I highly recommend it as a holiday gift for middle grade readers in your life (and even for yourself).

ah, Spring

the birdbath turns
murky now that a crow has
washed his dinner

haiku October

those wraiths of fog rise
from the lake, fingers reaching
for the mountaintops

haiku at dawn looking toward Lake Washington and the Cascade range

THUG gets all the stars

The first thing that hit me when I started reading The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas was voice. This book has VOICE, and that is difficult for a lot of writers to achieve.

The second thing that I don’t think anyone can miss unless his or her head is deep in the sand (or elsewhere) is how relevant this story is. I can imagine that some readers will take issue with some of Starr’s choices while others will be cheering her on and shouting, “About time!”

No matter what color your skin or where you stand on politics there is one fact about this story that cannot be denied: It is honest. This is the reality for many people living in America.

Briefly, in case you don’t know, the book begins with a bang when Starr is in a car with a childhood friend who is shot right in front of her by a cop, not because the boy has a gun or is otherwise threatening, but because he turns to ask Starr if she is okay. Starr’s journey through trauma and scary decisions about testifying propel the story on.

The question, as always, is what can we do about racism and inequality? The answer is we must all be like Starr and learn to speak out if society is to ever change. Here is something to cheer about: The Hate U Give has been on the NYT best seller list for something like 24 weeks already and is being made into a movie.

 Angie Thomas deserves the accolades she is receiving and all the stars.

Orphan Island is a place between here and there

Orphan Island by Laurel Snyder hooked and reeled me in. This middle-grade novel is lyrical, haunting, and unflinchingly honest as it navigates the waters between childhood and puberty.

A mysterious island, which is somewhere between here and there, is home to nine very self-sufficient children who live with no adults and an odd assortment of handed-down rules. These kids have distinct personalities and sometimes grate on one another, but they listen and learn, understanding that their survival depends on working together.

Once a year, a self-propelled, little green boat arrives with a new young one and takes away the oldest. The new child, barely out of babyhood, is soon schooled in how to collect eggs, gut a fish, find fruit, and even read.

Among the mysteries of the island is how and why they have a collection of tattered children’s books, which give them a window about life beyond their island. None of them remembers the time before and has no idea where the oldest one is taken when he or she must leave.

 The protagonist Jinny is torn apart when her best friend, Deen, is taken by the boat, and she is shaken to know she is now the oldest, the one who will go next. Jinny clings to memories of Deen, to their quiet moments and adventures. She has always loved him and this island with its fantastical sunrises and winds that catch a jumping child and set them down again. She doesn’t want to leave the joy and security of her childhood for the unknown.

What she does about it turns the safe and providing island inside out. In the process, Jinny’s eyes are opened to truths about herself.

This book is wondrous and profound. I recommend for all ages.

Here’s a snippet from the moment after Jinny tries to stop Deen from getting in the boat, after he tells her he’s ready to go, wants to find out what’s out there:

As he sped off, Deen turned to look back at her over his shoulder. He called out something. But what? Jinny could see his mouth open and close. He threw a hand sharply into the air, but whatever he said was lost in the spray and mist as they swallowed him.
 Jinny watched the boat disappear. Until all she could see was water and distance. It happened so fast. She found herself standing, reaching out both arms, in the direction the boat had gone. Both hands with outstretched fingers, grasping. As if there was something in the air she might be able to clutch.

haiku in green

the forest sets to
building its own fence, year to
year, log upon log

green as far as eyes
can see in the forest, layer
upon layer, breathing


There is a Japanese practice called forest bathing, which is not simply hiking but is a kind of being aware and at peace in nature. I think I've done it naturally for a long time without knowing there was such a practice. I relax in the woods. I inhale with purpose, look up with joy, reach out with wonder.

It is amazing how often I am renewed after a walk in a forest. Some people joke about tree-huggers, but I find a kind of awe and strength around trees. They live long and anchor in earth while reaching for sky and sun.