Baby Haiku

fall photo,yellow mums,gourd,painted pumpkin,head of cabbage,

traces of the
baby you used to be
when I hold you


I could have sworn that I already posted this haiku to the blog, but I can’t find it when I search for it, so maybe not. I know that I posted it on Twitter the night that I wrote it. I am going to try to post a haiku every day this week to make up for being away lately. The more you hit Like and Share the more motivated I am!


Senryu with Icing on Top


buttercream icing
my childhood birthday parties
homemade cake by aunt Beck


I can’t taste homemade icing without thinking of my Aunt Beckie.

Frosted Poetry

tiny icicles,frost,winter,hard grost,iced over,


the old man tells us stories

man tells us stories


of when he was

a boy

before the white


to his face like

hoar frost



I wrote this for a #ShapePoetry prompt on January 15, 2017. The poem’s shape is supposed to remind you of the tiny white frost that sticks up like spikes.


Day 19 NaHaiWriMo 2017

cherry blossoms

trying to beat the squirrels

to the fruit this spring


Today’s prompt was “cherry blossom” and I was thinking about when my mom had a cherry tree. She always tried to get enough cherries for one pie. But it was hard because she had a lot of squirrels and they would eat the cherries as soon as they turned ripe. 

You can follow me on Instagram and Twitter and Facebook. I would love to connect with you on Twitter as I need more followers on that site.

scribbles in a notebook,poetry notebook,writing,blogging,haiku,writer,poet,

Symanntha Renn

February Winds

G bubble gun

February winds
son’s laughter
sweeps past my ears

I wanted to share this haiku from a year ago. It is really windy in February. Some of my favorite memories are of me and my son in the yard enjoying being outside. I can’t wait to get back out there when it warms up.

A Storm of Memories

leaf of hosta,rain,raindrop,

Storm of Memories

rain drops fall
down my cheeks
as a storm of memories
pounds my brain
this squall hit quickly

This little piece was inspired by a #heartsmeal prompt on Twitter.
If you use Bloglovin’ please follow me on there too!
They are having a contest during the month of August. The top three bloggers who gain the most new followers during the month will be featured on both the Bloglovin’ site and blog! Please help me out by following me on their site. I have a link to them at the bottom of my navigation pane, which is on the left.

Ignorance| a poem

single rose,lone rose,rose bud,winter,rose in wintertime,

Ignorance on the floor below me
She doesn’t remember
She is struggling to understand
I try not to get angry
Remember she hadn’t been born yet
When the towers fell
If you are ever reading a poem of mine and you are unsure of what it is about, the tags I use will always give you a clue. If you really like the poem you are reading, you can click on the tags of that poem and find similar poetry to read here on my blog.

Pity and Applause

Emily packs a punch in her short poems. We are drawing to a close of my posting my favorite Emily Dickinson poems, but you can always choose the Poems by Dickinson category at the side and read through them at your leisure.



‘Tis easier to pity those when dead

That which pity previous

Would have saved –

A Tragedy enacted

Secures Applause

That Tragedy enacting

Too seldom does.

white roses, white rose bud, rose buds, rose's bud

In the Rocking Chair: a mother’s thoughts.

baby sucking bottle


In the Rocking Chair

Sleep: he is heavy in my hands

Secure: he is relaxed against my chest

Comfort: his breath is warm on my neck

Dreams: he twitches under my chin

Love: his warmth against me


I loved and hated those days all at the same time. I hated being stuck in a chair, I hated having to be so quiet, but I loved the feel of my little one in my arms. Do you remember those days? Are you in those days now?

A Faded Boy


A faded Boy – in sallow Clothes

Who drove a lonesome Cow

To pastures of Oblivion –

A statesman’s Embryo –


The Boys that whistled are extinct –

The Cows that fed and thanked

Remanded to a Ballard’s Barn

Or Clover’s Retrospect –



This poem makes me think of my grandpa as a child. What does it make you think of?

Banjo Senryu

olde tyme grandpa

grandpa’s banjo

the strings are still

but I still hear a song



My grandpa White would have been 93 today.

My Shift At Grandpa’s

My Shift at Grandpa’s was originally published here in Barefoot Review.

My Shift at Grandpa’s


Walking barefoot across the kitchen

I let him sleep because

You heal while you sleep

I sweep the floor

And do some dishes in case

He gets visitors today

As I wipe down the table

I remember playing cards together

Laughs echo down the hall

That no one wants to be in anymore

He can’t hold cards

Or cook meatballs or catch fish

But that was never my

Main reason for visiting anyway

It is our turn to give now

I give him his medicine and

Cook his meals a few times a week

I know that the weeks left

Are growing shorter and dimmer

The best canoe trip in the world

Cannot compare to the gleam in his eye

When he tells me about Pigtails

And how he walked her to church

Under a sign that said

No Army Personnel Past This Point

I smile at his old jokes

Because I know that

I’ll never hear this voice

Tell them again.


© July 20, 2012 by Symanntha Renn

Grandpa Renkoski and me

My grandpa has been gone for 9 years today.

black and white photos
all of the old men in them
start to look like grandpa