midst emerald woods
gold earrings worn buttercups ---
figs and filberts fume
05 April 2023
A New Nature Themed Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Categories:
filberts, nature, summer,
Form: Haiku
My grandparents’ home was both tiny and plain,
Quite lacking in places to play,
But my brothers and I and my cousins, at times,
Still had fun when we went for the day.
From the bowl of mixed nuts, we filched filberts so we
Could play skelly across the wood floor
And a deck of Hoyle’s cards kept us busy enough
So the grown-ups we got to ignore.
When the dinner was served, we all gathered around
And attention was naturally paid
To the meal – nothing fancy, but tasty enough,
That my grandma had lovingly made.
All those visits were weekends or holiday times;
Since they ended, it’s been a long while,
But the mem’ries are sweet and suffused with such joy
That I think of them now with a smile.
Categories:
filberts, grandparents,
Form: Rhyme
Rereading the poems of others
and my own. Community across
time and graves. What's left
exceeds in significance
one's last moment. Yet
his last moment must have been
exceedingly important
for the poet.
Nothing he did that day will seem meaningful.
While we prosecute the war
a pileated woodpecker and red squirrel
compete for sunflower seeds.
A winter slow
to assert itself.
I can still see my mother's father and his bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts
quiet weekday mornings.
Both grandfathers read sports
pages religiously. I don't know
if my grandmother who gave me the
anthology of, to date, dated
unreadable poems read poetry.
I remember my mother's mother spoke
rarely as an animal.
Writing but not knowing where I'm going
unlike Joan Didion justly
cannibalizing candidates
who didn't read the Constitution, Bill of Rights or
Federalist Papers. It's late,
I have not vacuumed or shopped for food.
Instead I reread
Phil Levine's Salami.
Categories:
filberts, animal, community, grandfather, morning,
Form: Verse
Bruised little feet, up the stream, struggling,
The rocky, dry river pluckily facing,
Bitter memories, the little souls bearing,
Heinous scars,their tiny body still covering.
Around utter desolation again discovering,
In true hearts solace seeking,
A cleansing mother’s embrace wishing,
Regenerating father’s words longing.
Silent, the father, for a while, at them looking,
The wished words never uttering,
Helpless, to a little shack withdrawing,
A bleeding heart ,unobserved, dressing.
Tongue-tied, the mother, her dried eyes squeezing,
The lean, weedy girls feverishly hugging,
Glances, around now and then, furtively throwing,
A hand in her motherly chest ,resolutely, plunging.
A handful of hazelnuts to each of the two offering,
A smile on their pale faces instantly triggering,
In their pockets the precious filberts keeping,
The little menials down the stream now walking.
The mesmerizing hazelnuts once a while feeling,
Past, painful memories away fading.
Categories:
filberts, teen, words,
Form: Verse