Is Arizona really this hot?

I found this unattributed poem among my dad’s papers after he passed away. Since my parents lived in Arizona for just over 35 years after Dad retired, I don’t think he minded the heat.

Major apologies here!! I tried and tried to get this poem to format the way I painstakingly entered it into my post as verses of four lines lined up the way you would do for a poem. But WordPress refuses to let me do it, I don’t know what else to try, and I have life going on and no more time to spend trying to massage it into what should easily copy from my Word document to WP. So please excuse the way it looks and just enjoy the poem.

The devil wanted a place on earth, Sort of a summer home. A place to spend his vacation Whenever he wanted to roam.

So he picked out Arizona, A place both wretched and rough, Where the climate was to his liking And the cowboys hardened and tough.

He dried up the streams in the canyons And ordered no rain to fall. He dried up the lakes in the valleys, Then baked and scorched it all.

Then over his barren desert He transplanted shrubs from hell, The cactus, thistle, and prickly pear. The climate suited them well.

Now the home was much to his liking. But animal life, he had none. So he created crawling creatures That all mankind would shun.

First he made the rattlesnake With its forked poisonous tongue, Taught it to strike and rattle And how to swallow its young.

The he made scorpions and lizards And the ugly old horned toad. He placed spiders of every description Under rocks by the side of the road.

Then he ordered the sun to shine hot, Hotter and hotter still, Until even the cactus wilted And the old horned toad looked ill.

Then he gazed on his earthly kingdom As any creator would. He chuckled a little up his sleeve And admitted that it was good.

‘Twas summer now and Satan lay By a prickly pear to rest. The sweat rolled off his swarthy brow So he took off his coat and vest.

“By golly,” he finally panted, “I did my job too well, “I’m going back where I came from. “Arizona is hotter than hell.”

In the manner of haiku

Haiku has a 5-7-5 pattern but this poem has a 7-5-8 pattern. Using “can’t” instead of “cannot” would hit the 7 mark, but I like the feel and flow of cannot. Haiku is much more complicate if you want to do it correctly but that’s not my purpose. This has a haiku feel and that’s all I’m aiming for today.

Lethargy overtakes me

The world passes by

I cannot rouse myself to care

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams

                  It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
	the day that begins with fog that moves to sunshine
	the day my husband can ride his bike outdoors
	the day yards are being cleaned
		when daffodils on the south side of the house
		are readying themselves to open at any moment

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
	when children shout outside
	when my husband doesn’t close the blinds
		(because he’s finished with his PlayStation game
		and the reflections don’t matter for a bit)
	when laundry seems a pleasure
		as well as a necessity
		and the sweet smell whispers, “Spring.”

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
	the day the breeze is warm
		and “wind chill” a two-word epithet
	the day the beds are aired 
		and sheets smell clean and new.

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
        when windows open to let in spring.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

When we were little, we had the orange set of Childcraft, a division of World Book Encyclopedia.  Although I’ve gotten rid of many of the volumes (as they’re out of date in areas such as science), I still have the two that have classic children’s poems and stories.  Here’s one of my favorites that I also read to our girls from a beautiful board book.  Its rhythms are perfect for getting ready to sleep.  It makes me happy just to read it again.  And with that, I’m off to bed.

Blooming

The blackbird plants were in bloom this morning
          with a fine crop of birds.
Bodies inflated with air
         wings out
         they loosed their urgent songs
         in the morning air.

https://www.bird-sounds.net/red-winged-blackbird/

Noku #1

My husband coined the term “Noku” for poems that sound and feel like haiku, but don’t actually follow the “rules.”

I’m just back from a lovely, warm visit to Arizona, which means dealing with a pile of mail, things that have to be done around the house (laundry, for instance), work, etc. I’ll be blog visiting again as soon as possible this weekend and I hope your weekend is a blessed one.

B&W Day 4…It’s coming!

The colors of fall have finally arrived and are reaching their peak.  But we know that on the other side are scenes like this.  I’m good with that.  I love winter and I love snow.  Without snow, winter is perpetually grey, cold, and boring.  With snow, it’s Christmas every day.

Falling Snow
Amy Lowell

The snow whispers around me
And my wooden clogs
Leave holes behind me in the snow.
But no one will pass this way
Seeking my footsteps,
And when the temple bell rings again
They will be covered and gone.

Linking to Ailsa’s Travel Theme “Frozen.”

 

Autumn…a haibun

The first leaf fell today,
	lacking even grace of color,
to lie quiescent on the sidewalk
	‘til wind-blown travel claimed it.
Soon millions more will throw themselves
	to willing death,
flaming brightly before reduced to
	crackling beneath feet in futile protest.

Days grow shorter, nights stretch longer,
	nights where passion once flamed brightly,
now passing also into death,
	unwilling on my part,
	kamikaze-like on yours.

The fire that now burns
	devours all the love
	and leaves not even embers
	that soft breath could coax back to life.

Autumn's harbingers
Lie dying before my eyes
Love once green now dead

Semi-silent Sunday…Mountain night

Memorial Day…Never forget!

Memorial Day, whenever celebrated, whatever called, is a day we should welcome, lest we forget those who fought and died for the freedoms we enjoy.  Here’s something I wrote for a previous Memorial Day.

 Above us

“In Flanders field the poppies blow…”

And grow, too
(as well they should
given our bones and flesh and blood
gone to fertilizer)

gone to grow
not peace
but yet more war
another layer of human fertilizer
above us

When will they ever learn?

No doubt
never
“Man” being what he is

But there are things worth fighting for
and so we gave our all
(and cheered those left behind
to live and grow
above us)