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Insight and Choice Words

The colossal misunderstanding of our time is the assumption that insight will work with people who are unmotivated to change. Communication does not depend on syntax, or eloquence, or rhetoric, or articulation but on the emotional context in which the message is being heard. People can only hear you when they are moving toward you, and they are not likely to when your words are pursuing them. Even the choicest words lose their power when they are used to overpower. Attitudes are the real figures of speech.  -Edwin H. Friedman

 

You can speak wonderfully about something you think people should be doing, but if they are content to sit on the couch, nothing you can say will move them. You can tell people that you love them, but if they don’t love you, your words don’t mean anything.

Even During Winter

digging up roots
there is nonstop growth underground
*even during winter

 

*I have anxiety, it does not have me.
When I write about winter, I am writing about hard times. Whether I am speaking of: a woman’s difficulty having a child, or depression, or another season, winter equals hard in my poetry.

I know it is now Spring; I wrote this poem just last month for National Haiku Writing Month and didn’t want to wait to share it until next Winter.

roots of moss, flower root

Art Gallery Senryu

dad in the museum, father in art gallery, dad looking at artifacts

modern art gallery
my dad critiques
the farmer setting a corner post

The picture above is of my dad in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art looking at artifacts in the ancient art collection. I was too busy to get a picture of him next to the piece that this poem is about while we were in front of it. On the way to the museum, I was telling him about how in the contemporary gallery of art, there is a video of this man setting a corner post. It is a video that plays on a monitor that is mounted on the wall of the gallery. The question the piece poses is: can anything done well, or done with passion, be called art? I would say yes, I think my dad and my brother disagreed. So did my husband. My dad watched the video for a little while (I think it is 2 hours long) and said something about how the farmer actually hadn’t done the best job. I just loved that moment and I was really enjoying myself that day and this little haiku came to me. So I wrote it down in a text message and sent it to my husband. When we visited the Nelson-Atkins Museum and Crystal Bridges last year, that is what I did to save my short poems. When we got home I looked through my sent messages and wrote them down.

A haiku and an announcement.

moon in mist, cloudy night, moon in the clouds, moon with cloud, luna

the ice is off the trees
sinking into the mud
worm moon

Apparently the full moon that appears in March is known as the “Worm Moon” because this is the month that the worms come back out. The ice melts into the ground and makes the ground soft enough for them to poke through. I have seen a ton of them this last month, how about you? My flowers are all poking up through the ground, are yours?

Also, I have moved to a new Facebook page. Please visit it and consider “Liking” it if you still do Facebook. Some bloggers have huge followings on Facebook but Facebook is not a site that pulls in readers for me, and never has been. If people will follow me on this page and like my posts I will keep using Facebook. If I do not get more interaction on it than I was getting, then I am going to delete all of my Facebook pages. I have a lot of things to do and messing with Facebook doesn’t have to be one of them if that is not where my readers are. Remember that you can also follow me on Twitter and Bloglovin’. Give me a share so I know what platforms you like!!

Opossum Haiku

sunset, pink sky, evening on the farm, sun going down

 

spilled grain
muddy footprints
opossum in the barn

 

Springtime is here. What activity do you see that lets you know it is spring? Are you seeing different birds? What routines do you have to change now that the season has changed?

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What is Sunday for?

God’s altar stands from Sunday to Sunday, and the seventh day is no more for religion than any other—it is for rest.—The whole seven are for religion, and one of them for rest, for instruction, for social worship, for gaining strength for the other six. – Henry Ward Beecher

 

I really like this quote and used to share it all of the time. I haven’t shared it on my blog yet, so here ya go!

White Petal Haiku

tree with ice on it
 
white flakes
become white petals
winter flies into spring

 
 
It’s that time of year where we get really cool photographs. Roses and other flowers encased in ice and snow. New birds start arriving, and in the blink of an eye it’s spring.

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Patriot Quote

Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigues of supporting it.

-Thomas Paine, The Crisis, No. 4, 1777

Daffodil Haiku

daffodil, yellow petals, spring time flower

head bowed
the daffodil
reminds me to be humble

 

Have daffodils started blooming in your yard yet? What is blooming in your yard? I love the daffodils that are bicolored white and yellow. I wish I had some. I transplanted a few in the fall like you’re supposed to do but they haven’t bloomed. That was two years ago. I am going to dig up some of my mother’s daffodils this spring before they bloom and move them and hopefully I will get some blooming daffodils in my front yard. I just feel like a yard isn’t complete until it has daffodils in it.

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The roots of the best poetry.

“The best poetry has its roots in the subconscious to a great degree. Youth, naivety, reliance on instinct more than learning and method, a sense of freedom and play, even trust in randomness, is necessary to the making of a poem.” -May Swenson

How often do you just start writing? How often does one line or a thought come to you, and you just know you have to make that thought into something.

How often do you decide that you want to write a certain poem, and you write with a form in mind? How often is your work about having written something, and not about playing with words? How much freedom do you give yourself?

Do you agree with Swenson?

What I learned from pulling calves.

book by margaret wise brown, my world book, goodnight moon

if I lived in a

gentler world, instead of here

I’d hug everyone

 

I had a revelation that I wanted to share it with you. I was taught to fight for life at an early age. I don’t think my parents were purposely trying to teach me to respect life with the things that they did, but in a way they did. I remember talking about abortion at school, I think I was in the 7th grade, and I remember being surprised that anyone would think it was okay to abort the baby that they were carrying. Looking back now I think my genuine surprise came about because my parents had subconsciously taught me that life matters even when it is small and unseen.

I grew up on a farm. At an early age I was encouraged to go outside and play in the shade. (I would say sunshine, but being a redhead I needed to be careful about being in the sun.) I was taught that I needed to run and play to grow, I was made to realize that our actions today affect our tomorrows. Being a picky eater my mom and dad often begged me to try new foods and to eat different kinds of vegetables because it would help me grow. I was taught that what I ate formed my body. I was taught that my inaction had consequences just like my actions did.

I can’t count the number of times that I had to jump in a truck in the middle of the night, or the middle of the afternoon, with my Dad and go help him pull a calf. When a cow is trying to have a baby, you can wrap ropes or chains around the baby’s feet and pull to help the cow give birth. Sometimes it was raining, sometimes it was snowing, sometimes Dad was late for work, or barely home from work when he would notice a cow in trouble. It didn’t matter if the cow was old or young, or early for the season, or if calving season was supposed to be past, we did everything we physically could to save that calf. Yes, saving that calf meant money for my dad when it was time to sell them, which is different because an unborn child actually costs you money. However, a pregnant woman holds promise just like a pregnant cow (stay with me!). You don’t know if the child in that belly will be a doctor who will cure a disease, or if they will be the secret service agent that will one day take a bullet for the President, keeping the US from being thrown into chaos. That calf brought my dad money to buy me clothes, that unborn child might be the humanitarian who clothes thousands.

I was taught how to dress for freezing temperatures, and other kinds of weather, because if it was freezing outside and there was three feet of snow on the ground, the calves were in even more danger of dying. During the snowiest and coldest winters, we would have to drive the fields every 3-4 hours to check for newborn calves. If we found one we had to take it to the barn, or my grandpa’s basement, to make sure it got dry and didn’t freeze to death after being born. Fighting for life was physically taxing, muddy, cold, and often done in the dark where no one could see your actions but the person sitting beside you. But we did it year after year, because that is what you do when you are a farmer. Sometimes Dad would be at work, my mom and I would have to help the cow ourselves, or call nearby homes until we found an uncle or cousin who could come help us. This was before there were cell phones so we would have to race to the house and call from the landline, and hope someone was near their landline when it rang.

Some people would be embarrassed to be seen in shoes covered in cow manure, or would be horrified to reach their hand inside of an animal and have their hand covered in blood. But to save a life sometimes you have to get messy and see terrible things. The cows would sometimes fight us when we tried to pull their calves. They would get up and run from us, or try to butt us with their heads. We often had to herd them to the corral and put them in the shoot and catch their head in a gate (made for cows) so that we could pull the calf. They wanted to stomp my dad and kill him, and would try to hurt my dad year after year. But my dad saw the promise in their bellies and spent hours and tons of resources to help their babies live. There are forces in this world that want death and destruction. If people are left alone to face the world, to make decisions with no guidance or no advice, they often choose death.

I choose to be actively ProLife and I will be tweeting about 40 Days for Life and other organizations. I will choose to share pictures and prayers on Facebook and Google+ in hopes that you too will see the promise being carried in a belly. I hope you can be brave enough to pull on some boots and stand beside me, even in the dark, and fight for life. There are several ways to do this. You can financially support an organization like And Then There Were None, or you can pray quietly in your home, or you can go with a group of people and hand out flyers in front of an abortion clinic. I hope that you don’t shout at the women (or workers) entering those places. I hope you lovingly talk about life and the promises God has for us, because shouting angrily about a loving God doesn’t make a lot of sense.

Often the women or girls, going into an abortion clinic are scared and think that no one loves them and they have no support. Those who read your timeline that are considering an abortion, are often in bad relationships and/or have no resources to care for a baby. They do not need guilt trips or threats, they need love, money and safety. Is there a way for you to provide those things to women in need?

I hope that I have been subconsciously encouraging my son to stand for life. I hope he one day is confused by the idea of abortion. I hope he never wavers in his assurance that babies are a gift from God and deserve protecting at all stages, in all conditions, regardless of ethnicity or socioeconomic background. I hope that when I talk with joy about pregnant friends he sees that babies are to be desired. I hope that he never hears me quietly whispering about “oops babies” or “accidents” or “mistakes” and begins to think that it is okay to refer to another human in that way. I also hope that he doesn’t hear me whining about those on welfare and think that the embarrassment of having to be on assistance is a good enough excuse to encourage a girl to abort a child. I will teach him how to tend to plants, and we will visit my father’s farm, and I hope he learns by my actions that life is to be protected.

Winter Wind

handicapped button
the door slides open
winter wind blows through

 
black birds, bird in flight, birds flying