Simple pleasures. A wide and varied collection of daily joy-bringers: being barefoot in October, wearing sandals until Halloween--in the northeast, the shine of beach bronze lip gloss, orange and red leaves, red and orange leaves, that first crisp bite into an Empire in the middle of an orchard, the sweet, sweet naughtiness of letting my son have one last swim-- in his clothes, in September. Here are some poems, then a rant, and then, some more poems!
Wet through to bare skin
In September boy makes waves
Don't say no to joy.
Clothes off, shower on
hot steam your magic curtain,
step into the stream.
Family apple trip
crowded orchard, pickers buzz,
stand alone, take bite.
Among the pumpkins
a toothy grin, blond toddler.
I carved that small face!
Simple pleasures. This week's http://onedeepbreath.blogspot.com haiku prompt. I am reminded of a previous prompt, solitude. Anyone not interested in reading one mother's rant against the vagaries of the unquiet life of a mom-writer, blog on. Just change the channel. Click next blog!
OK, with the eye-rolling, head-shaking, childless writers-in- peace out of the room, I will go on. I started this blog as a means of writing more. Actually, truthfully, just writing, period. I went from an occassional poet to a pretty regular writer. I went back to my graduate school days with assignments, deadlines, feedback, and the company of other writers. The simple pleasures of writing.
Standing at the sink
hands wet, mind clear as clean glass
Even my children seemed to fall in line. Napping at regular intervals, absorbed in Spongebob or Legos, handing over to me our cozy home, silent but for the fish tank, for one solid hour, almost daily.
Cartoon chorus starts
children sleep, in crib, on couch.
Let the words begin!
Ah, then there was the big K. Kindergarten. More quiet time, or so one would think. With the advent of school comes the advent of my own little art school. Lessons and schedules and art shows to plan. Projects to prepare, phone calls to return. Days get shorter. Night comes sooner. That darn bathtime routine somehow gets longer. I think we are starting baths at 5:30 now, still end at 8. I got greedy. Signed up for another online writing course. More. More!
It's the full moon, I think. Too much caffeine. Finding my center becomes as circular a process as a dog turning round and round before a nap. I stock up on Aveda products for my bath. Surely, aroma therapy will not fail me.
In the bath, fine scents.
Toddler breaks in, plunges bowl
Lavender peace circles drain.
And so, here I am, it's nap time. At least I'm writing! And I smell good!