 Here is the link on my page of the Medium platform or stay here and read here. I have a great temporary gig in which I monitor students as they take online tests. I selfishly have been able to mine this time for my own purposes. Being confined to this time and this place has been like a nest in which ideas come to roost, and I birth them into poems. It feels like raised consciousness. It feels like I am living a poetic life, seeing layers of meaning in the everyday. It has to do with being forced into this empty space — needing to keep my attention on the students, but also needing to be stimulated. Some of the time, I am waiting for the next group of students. I keep a little sketchbook with me, and lately, I’ve been grabbing, jotting down, and capturing, these little poems, mostly haiku, to sort out the random thoughts that come to tease my attention. I took the bait, and wrote these poems — written in the first two hours of my workday. Poem 1 — It started with the drive to work in the morning: Stuck in traffic I notice The palm trees shivering in the breeze The clouds, pastel-tinged, hovering Over the ocean Dripping its soft shade Onto the wet, gently-rippling surface. On the side of the highway Because I’m crawling by, I see that my dentist has moved to a new location. It’s not my choice That I’m stuck in traffic But it is my choice To notice.  Poem 2 — As I’m walking across the school’s well-kept campus, I “commune” with a certain tree which always makes me happy at this time of year.
And there’s God In that flowering tree With purplish-pink pastel blossoms Like tissue paper The tree called rubbish tree By the custodians God is there And there’s God In the flower falling Floating gently to the ground To join the other rubbish flowers On the well-kept lawn God is there And there’s God In the custodians raking Complaining about the rubbish God is there And there’s God In the bird flying Above the rubbish tree ….. Poem 3 - As I’m sitting in the quiet of the room, I thought about how my elderly mother is so impatient, so instead of leaving that thought in my gut, I wrote: As you age Are you more impatient Because you know You have less time in your lifespan And you hate wasting it On slow food service Or sitting in traffic Or in the doctor’s office? I hope not I hope when I get there When I do feel impatience I will recognize it as a sign To savor the waiting And fill it with presence And gratitude Poem 4 — And then, when I took a drink from my flask, into which I squeeze lemon every morning: Drinking water From my stainless steel insulated flask I recognize the lemon juice That I squeezed this morning Picked from our tree In the front yard Planted by my mother Over thirty years ago Now overflowing With huge, juicy Puckery lemons Poem 5 (set of 6 haiku) — I was disturbed by something I had heard on the radio in the morning, on NPR, about an interview with a psychologist who worked with the CIA to torture prisoners being held at Guantanamo. He claimed it was his moral duty to protect Americans and he feels no guilt about the work he did. But thinking about this, feeling outrage over it, inspired me. This is a major issue for a pacifist like me — to communicate the need to not dehumanize those you deem “dangerous.” And then to think about — what can I do about what I see as evil and unjust? The last two haiku speak to that attempt to DO something. So here’s some political haiku: Dehumanizing Permits war, torture, murder No one deserves this I start to wonder Does God approve of torture Does that bother you? America first That’s no justification To be inhumane What can I tell you To make your heart open to People not like you I try to see the Ugly in me to transform The ugly in you I will speak with love With clarity, for justice When faced with darkness I wish I could say this is normal for me. But it is not. I aspire to be this inspired, this free, this in tune with the muse. More and more.
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