birdhouse lookers

HUMP Day Haiku

chickadees looking

one showing, but no offers

teasing me, are you?

birdhouses

HUMP Day Haiku

will this be the year

chickadees choose my birdhouse?

been waiting so long

hung a new one, too

perhaps location matters

house for rent, birdies

HUMP Day Haiku

March, twenty-one years ago, 

my Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.

It had already metastasized to his bones.

 I remember the shock and denial that I felt.

 It was like being told the sturdiest tree in the forest

 was going to fall in a storm. 

Following this recently-written haiku

is a poem I wrote in 1997, five years after his death.

The poem is about the last week of his life.

Looking back, I liken those seven days to

one of God’s “severe mercies.”

That’s my Dad and me in the photo.

diagnosis grim

family responds with tears

each moment measured

___________________________________________

The title for this poem came from

the annual NCAA basketball tournament,

commonly known as March Madness.

My thought was that they had no idea what 

madness in March was all about.

“March madness”

1992

coffee-colored stain on sheet

Dad!

why won't you answer me?

I'm calling 9-1-1

something's wrong

he’s wheeled out on a stretcher to the ambulance

my God!

is this his last chance to be at home?

Mom looks so alone

I'll take care of the phone calls that need to be made

you go with Mom, John

don't be afraid

tests show a tumor

on his brain

doctors will put in a shunt

so it will drain the fluid that keeps him from

answering our words

God, can you hear me?

this is absurd

my Dad's going to live

he's not going to die!

Jim, please be brave

so I won't cry

one week has gone

the room is filled with

morning sun

cards wishing well

line up along the windowsill

tomorrow will be spring

what hope will it bring?

this room has become a familiar place

I see hope on no one's face

me and Mom,

Jim and John,

alone with Dad

Mom looks so sad

we wait by his side

knowing there's no place to hide

from the certainty of death

another breath

good, Dad

breathe out

breathe in

don't let cancer win

not today

spring is on its way

Dad's lips look dry

softly

I touch them with a moistened swab

breathe in, Dad!

his lungs finally fill

I go to stand by the windowsill

then...

the man in the bed

makes no more sound

the silence is suddenly drowned by

my mother's cry

"PATRICK!"

but he can't hear her

call to him  

she and I

and John and Jim

know that

quietly

without a fuss

he left us

tears dampen shoulders

and the sheets

for him now gone

and us

we

weep

minutes pass

I find his nurse

"please come” I say

no need to hurry

both Dad

and

winter

died today

In memory of Patrick Warren Campbell

July 20, 1922 to March 19, 1992

going home "on the moon"

 My Aunt Jean died six years ago today.

This poem was written in her memory.

The title came from a comment made by Jean's youngest sister,
Aunt Jessie, who was with her when she died.

in its trek across the sky

did last night’s moon

shed light

into the room

where sisters, a daughter

 and death

hovered near?

did its radiance shine

on those

waiting to hear?

at the end

did moonbeams

caress the hand that held yours close?

did silent teardrops

glisten

in its glow?

death came at night but

 your laughter

echoed

against the moon’s pale light

while we said goodbye

it illumined

the path

as you traveled

home

March 2006

HUMP Day Haiku

This week is "two for one."

There's the haiku I planned on posting

plus an impromptu.

I've learned one needs to be flexible.

one purple crocus

petals open to the sun

blooms this winter day

_________________________________________

not even the dark

of a snowy March morning

keeps her from dancing