our minds are verdant
with possibility, yet
we are such infants.
the grass is no more
green over there, perception
fools our truth-blind eyes.
It’s time for TJ’s Household Haiku Challenge, where this week we are invited to write on the subject of green – or take our inspiration from the lovely photo he has provided for us.
Please do head on over to his blog and take a look at all the delicious haiku – and why not try a haiku for yourself?
time oft hangs heavy
but our growth can be stunted
in this fast-paced world
I can be a bit of a flibbertigibbet, hopping from one prompt to another. I love continuity and stability at the same time. I’m a bit of a Schrodinger’s Writer!
I found this prompt courtesy of my new-found blogging friend, Shadeau (thank you, dear lady for popping up in my reader today!).
So here is my entry into the Ronovan Writes weekly haiku prompt, where we are invited to write on the themes of time and grow. I did use ‘growth’ instead, I hope nobody minds!
Why not take part yourself?
What does your day sound like?
The groan that escapes through a mildly bitten lip as you haul your carcass out of bed.
The muted shuffle of slippers on laminate floor and the rasp of terry towelling against skin as you multi-task your way to the bathroom.
The squeak of naked foot against the bath as you slip into the shower – quite literally.
A sigh this time as the soft, warm water- needles pummel your skin,
and the voice of your thoughts, your thoughts, your need to stay just there, just there forever
(or at least for as long as the hot water lasts).
But it’s a work-day, or a shopping-day, or a car-washing-day, or a take-the-kids-to-the movies day
and you have to desert your naked haven and get-damn-dressed.
One day, you promise yourself,
your day will sound like ripe cherries squeaking against your teeth as you bite into their shiny skin and the juice runs down your chin.
One day, your day will sound like your daughter’s gleeful chuckle when she found the Easter eggs hiding in the crook of the branches of the old plum tree.
One day, you promise yourself, your day will taste of freedom.
On my way home, I was listening to an interview on the Radio 4 Woman’s Hour podcast, with Felicity Ford who is a sonic artist (and knitter). She was talking about a project she engaged on to encapsulate the knitting history of the women of the Shetland Islands. This made me think about what a day would sound like (and then I I slipped into taste).
Can anyone identify with my poem?
Freya Writes... 