Hot-flash sets my blood on fire.
Chew on ice. Repeat.
Menopause: a haiku
Hot-flash sets my blood on fire.
Chew on ice. Repeat.
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I’m chilled; time for tea.
Hot-flash sets my blood on fire.
Chew on ice. Repeat. -
Spying a bit of magic
After a long week at work, I’m usually too tired or too mentally drained to be very creative. Which breaks my heart because writing short stories and poems and journal entries and novels has always brought me such joy.
It feels like my imagination has been hiding in a safe room, unable or unwilling to leave. I’m convinced she’s hanging out with my muse since both have been MIA in recent years. As is my nature, I keep that safe room fully stocked with books and food and fresh water so who knows when they’ll come out again. Yet once in a while, when I peer through the tiny window in the door, I can spy a bit of magic.
On Thursday morning, the northern hemisphere welcomed the Summer solstice. While the solstice marked the arrival of torment for me — damn you Summer migraines — it was also the longest day of the year. As someone who vastly prefers the nighttime, I took some comfort in knowing that from this point forward, my blessed darkness was on its way back.
To celebrate, I applied that bit of found magic to a challenge issued by New Hampshire Pubic Radio: Sum up this season by writing a haiku. I managed to write two, and I’m thrilled to say NHPR broadcast both of them:
Summer Solstice in New Hampshire as dawn broke this morn
summer’s light bathed New Hampshire
the solstice is here* * *
Summer Solstice
first day of summer
season of heat, bugs, migraines
bring back the darkness
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You know… clouds!
Clouds
Cascading
Cascading water
A waterfall
Clouds
Lots of them
Light and puffy
You know…clouds!
And flowers, covered with dew
And trees hanging over
And you and me
…naked on a rock.This poem was once featured on a TV sitcom with a fabulous ensemble cast. Can you name the program? First person to click on the contact link and send the correct answer will receive a prize.
[Update: The answer was “Taxi.”
Congratulations to Kay P. for coming up with the correct answer. Your prize is on the way.]
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“The doorway of a poem, it’s the sound it makes!”
Donald Hall, former poet laureate of the United States and the state of New Hampshire, no longer writes poetry. At 88, he believes writing poetry is a “a young man’s game” which takes “too much testosterone.”
This is completely understandable when you discover how Hall wrote. On average, he would pen 80 to 100 drafts of each poem. For the poem, “Another Elegy,” he revised it 400 times. Now imagine how many words he’s written for the 50 books of poetry, essays and plays he’s published.
That’s dedication.
To learn about Hall’s writing method, click here to listen to an interview with NHPR’s “10 Minute Writer’s Workshop.”
–Photo by Palto
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“I, Too” by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.–Photo by Krystle Fleming
