wordswim

Pear Tree Haiku

Pear tree blossoms hang,
Saying hello and goodbye
All at once. Sadly.

Rapunzel Update!

Finally! Happy 2012! Hopefully I'll write many poems and blog posts this year. I'll try!

The first two images were taken in mid-December. The snow was a few inches and lasted a few days. Sigh. We had a lovely green Christmas, although we flew to Florida Christmas afternoon, so we also had tropical colors!

The third image was taken in January, right after we got back from Florida.

The final image was taken last weekend, after we once again got a bit of snow. Gone now!

It's January
Brown grass and wet windowpanes
I wish for snowfall

A Crazy World

It goes like this, some days.
A ghazal gone wrong, a nap overdone.
A haiku with too many syllables,
a doll with too many joints.

As March draws to a close, the warmth
of a wave seems so far away.
It crashes softly, ice in its veins.
Can you hear me? I'm dancing in the
rubble, filled with words.
They protect me and they weigh me down,
sublime and discrete.

If you had to pick a poison,
what would it be?

Anne Margaret Landgraf, © 2011

sad weekend haiku

Dark words consume light.
Faces disappear in hate.
Stop shouting. Listen.

Sweet love that stays true
can shield and save, reflexive
to the end of life.

Holiday Haiku

Christmas Eve remains
a magical day of joy.
snow, wrappings, laughter.

Sunday morning poem

Acorns underfoot now when I walk barefoot on the wilted grass,
cows in the field, grass warmly gold.
Late summer has arrived, but this day extends to the horizon,
existing only in the blue haze of reality.
Existential color surrounds me,
gives me hope.

morning poem 4

Thursday. Awake early, a chill in the air. Surprised
by the furnace, worry seeps in.
Files * crashes * deadlines. But the morning moves on,
stress departs, and a customer calls with happy thanks.
I relax with Mr. Rochester.
Always a book.

morning poem 3

Wednesday. Slow to move,
undone by words bloated with hate.
A house on the sea, tethered only to the sand?
I long for dialogue, respect,
a conversation of humans.
I water the lavender.

Morning poem 2

Tuesday. The fog has lifted and the
cranes eat noisily. Summer spins
itself out as the grain moon rises. A spool
of golden squash unwinds into a dream
of color. It is August.
I am here.

Morning poem

Monday. Inanimate yet hungover;
grey with possibility and time.
I missed the sunrise.
The first leaves on the ground appeared yesterday,
still green, but lost.
What did they miss?