Poetry Friday: We're doing haiku sonnets!

 Last month, Tanita Davis shared the details: 

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to join our August poetry challenge!

Here’s the scoop: this month, we’re doing haiku…sonnets. If your response is a baffled “What?” no worries. Basically four 3-line haiku plus a couplet of either 5 or 7 syllables equals the traditional 14 lines you’ll find in a sonnet. If you haven’t written a sonnet, or “little song” in a minute, Folger has a Shakespearean guide, while the Poetry Foundation has the deets on other forms. Are you in? Good! Start today so you can be ready to share August 28th in a blog post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. See you then!

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So, as usual, I got to work right away. 

Oh, wait, no. 

I didn't. 

I checked my planner yesterday and found the note I'd made: "Tanita's August Poetry Challenge — post on Aug. 28th." 

Ummm ... okay. So, this morning I got to work. 

I don't know if this is haiku, or if it's a haiku sonnet, or if I should've tried to nail down some iambic pentameter (I guess not? Because ... haiku?) Anyway, I just started in on something I've been thinking about a lot lately — the way that, when your kids grow up, they begin drifting in and out of your house in varying patterns. (College, staying with friends, traveling to see the long-distance boyfriend, moving to a new town after getting married, coming home and sleeping under your roof again for a holiday gathering...) As a mom, I have never stopped waking up and asking myself, "Where are my daughters today?" 

Here's the haiku sonnet I came up with. 

Counting heads

Karen Edmisten 

Being a mother, 

someone said, is counting heads.

Where is everyone? 

Easy when they’re five.

They are all at home, of course.

Yard, kitchen, their room. 

Adult kids, new phase. 

I wake up, reorient 

to each day’s difference. 

Who’s under my roof?

Is anyone traveling?

Is everyone safe? 

Counting their heads never ends. 

I count each head in my heart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marvelous Mona Voelkel has the Poetry Friday round-up today. 

Poetry Friday: Thirteen Ways of Looking...

I'm joining the Poetry Pals/Sisters/Princesses for their monthly challenge. Tanita shared this prompt for September: 

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of September! Here’s the scoop: We’re wandering through Wallace Stevens’ “13 Different Ways of Looking…” at something. Maybe it’s not 13 ways – maybe it’s only seven. Maybe it’s not a blackbird or anything alive, but something inanimate. Whatever happens, your way of looking will be different than mine, and I’m here for it. Are you in? Good! You have a month to craft your creation and share it on September 27th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals.

I'm cheating a little because I wrote this one a while ago, when my daughters were young. And saying I "wrote" it is a wee bit of a stretch since I borrowed lines from Stevens and interspersed them throughout my version. But I've always liked it and thought it would be fun to share it again, especially given this month's challenge. 

If you joined in the challenge, let us know! 

(Original lines from Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird are in italics. All the good lines belong to Stevens, but hey, the children are mine.)

Thirteen Ways of Looking at an Interruption 
Karen Edmisten
(with apologies and thanks to Wallace Stevens)

I
In the stillness of night,
The only moving thing
is a child.

II
I was of three minds:
sleep, motherhood, sleep.

III
I pretended not to care that I was awakened.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
There is my "to do" list, and then there is God's.
These are not the same thing.

IV

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a child
Are one.
Add, mix and stir: my daughters' "to do" lists are mine.


V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The life with the child
or the thought of that life.

VI
Chatter filled the long day
The company of children
Transformed a mood. Sometimes
for better. Sometimes ... not.


VII
O, dear control-freak-self,
Why do you imagine a different life?
Do you not see how the life
you've been given is unspeakable gift?

VIII
I know of a tidy life,
of elegance, rhythm and control.
But I know, too, That a child is involved
In what I know.

IX
When my children have grown,
They will mark the edge
Of one of many circles.
I will be grateful for their imprint.

X
At the sight of children
I used to say, "Not for me, please.
An unwelcome interruption."
But something shifted. I gave myself
Over to motherhood, and held on tight.

XI
Once, a fear pierced me,
that I would never rise to this task,
would not die to self.


XII
3:20 a.m.: A nightmare. She needs me more
than I need this sleep. 
I rise. I go.
A child will not wait for morning.


XIII
It was nighttime all day.
I loved her and I was going to love her.
The child sat entwined in my limbs.
The interruption sweetly complete.

~~~~~~~~~~

Join the #PoetryPals and loads of other bloggers and poets for the Poetry Friday round-up. The incomparable Irene Latham is hosting this week at Live Your Poem.