Winter’s coming soon, Cold outside and warm in hearts, At this time love blooms.
Twenty years ago On this day in September, Your life was taken. I remember you, From the news that awful day, But we’d never met. Those who knew you well, Know you still and love you well, May you rest in peace.
Thought it was Sankrit, But from Japanese it came, To English one day. Into Japanese, It came from Middle Chinese, Borrowed from Sanskrit.
Yesterday has passed, And today is almost gone, And tomorrow’s next.
In my heart an X, Is drawn each time I am hurt, Can they be crossed out?
In dusk the day lies, And slowly darkens to night, Secret kept till dawn.
When the gray fog lifts, And you see the underneath, The truth’s beautiful.
Who am I to write, Stories that only a real, Writer should dare to.
In silence may we, Find the courage to go on, And meet what’s ahead.
The absence of war, Or better yet a deeper, State of harmony.
A yearly challenge starting November first write 50,000 words.
From our mothers’ hearts, All the joy we find through life, Memories of us.
Down the block I hear, Children laughing high and clear, Carried with it hope.
Standing in between, Catching all the words that wound, Most invisibly.
No one wants to go, To it but when we do we, Are taken care of.
Good grammar’s nice but, What’s more important is the, Story you unfold.
Everything makes sense, In the light of a clear day, Surrounded by love.
Doing the right thing, Isn’t easy but it is, Necessary now.
Buffeted by wind, Bringing its song to the world, Better days below.
Now it’s time to rest, When important work is done, With a clear conscience.
As soon as life starts, Time begins its relentless, Read to the ending.
Sometimes in the night, I hear your voice and I think, That’s what love sounds like.
When I die I’ll leave, The world as all enter it, Loving humankind. I will not give in, And allow hatred to steal, My humanity. I will write stories, And leave them ever after, To those who’ll read them.
Sometimes when we lose, Unexpectedly we find, That in truth we’ve won.
When life won’t be still, Take it as a sign that you, Must go where it goes.
With yellow I can, Draw the sun and happiness, Far from cowardly.
When I hear the sea, I feel that all things ancient, Are nearer to me.
When we meet the one, Who will love us from now on, Will we know it then?
Write the story now, While it’s fresh in mind and heart, Or leave to simmer.
The first draft is done, Now hard work truly begins, I must revise it.
Honey at sunrise, Sweetness and light all in one, Make the breath of dawn.
Grief is like a sound, In the heart that never dies, ‘Till death stops the beat.
I don’t usually need to do this for haikus, but this one requires it to be said that it is fiction. Upon her she feels, The chills of fever rising, And knows this is war.
Now I’m looking up, See a rainbow in the sky, All our hope and love.
Dear Haiku, You are pretty cool, And people like you a lot, ‘Cause you’re quick to read. Not too long to write, Lots of meaning in each word, Syllables must count. When I think of you, It’s with greatest affection, Because you help me. Not only to gain, More traffic to my website, But toContinue reading “A Letter to Haiku”
If their world were real, Then the characters might say, Come and join us here.
In moonlight we walked, You took my hand and told me, How much you loved me.
The greatest gift is, Sitting and sharing stories, With someone you love.
Identity is, Something each one of us has, Must each be alone?
Write just the first line, Then continue the process, To the bitter end.
Water flowing swift, Takes me where it wants to lead, To a better me.
Stars pin-point the sky, Like characters in a book, We haven’t read yet.
When the moon shines bright, And night is still all around, Hope and goodness rise.
Singing in the trees, Laughter from the ground below, Carefree things we miss.
Time’s not on my side, When I try to do what I, Want to accomplish.
When I’m deep in words, Hours can go by without, My being aware. Is it kind of sad? That life can go by so fast, While we write of it.
Here’s your pillow soft, And your bed in darkness lies, See you at first light.
Sudden change might be, Scary but it also brings, Opportunity.
When it’s time to go, And the sunset’s beautiful, Gladly head for home.
With that sense of right, Save and then flick out the light, Story has been told.
Birdsong in the light, Smell of coffee fresh and clean, Call us to the day.
An idea is born, If it doesn’t write itself, Put somewhere to keep.
To all those who give, Us the nurturing we need, Happy Mother’s Day!
Stories write themselves, In a way that leaves no doubt, Magic does exist.
It is time to think, Of flowers blooming brightly, To give us some hope.
This is the last haiku of April. For the next six days, I’ll be posting story parts. Each story’s a gift, And together they add up, To give us all worlds.
With the color pink, Paint so many pretty things, And not just for girls.
When we write we are, Putting pieces of ourselves, Into a bottle.
We resemble flies, Buzzing on our planet’s corpse, Except we can love.
A first draft might be, Great to begin with but all, Will need revising.
For today and the next five days, I plan to post a haiku. I’m having some problems with my computer (no data loss), so it might delay things, but I hope I’ll be able to post a story part on the last six days of April. If you get the call, In an instant ofContinue reading “Haiku – April 19”
Today was supposed to be a story part, but I was delayed, so I’ve decided to post a haiku today and a story part tomorrow. Up on a shelf there, Is a book waiting to be, Read and loved again.
Imagination, Is the root of good fiction, Publish its flowers.
When it’s time to write, Pen or keyboard either way, Do not hesitate.
Tiny crowds within, Our bodies that we won’t know, Without microscopes.
The secret of love, Is giving and receiving, Without possessing.
If I write nothing, My characters will be hurt, And so I must write.
Stories always change, From idea to finished work, Don’t get too attached.
Writing fiction is, Having empathy with those, Who do not exist.
This is a work of fiction. The Basket Good Friday Laine found the body. We always visited Grandma at Easter. At Christmas she came to our parents’ house, and at other times of the year we visited her, but Easter was special. We normally went on Thursday and stayed three nights. I’m sure it startedContinue reading “The Basket – Good Friday”
April is both National Poetry Month and Indie Author Month. Each day throughout the month, I’ll post a haiku, a story part, or both. Full of creation, Restful beauty or darkness, Deep human nature.
Happiness can be, Found easily and yet we, Never stop searching.
Gray is in the clouds, And old buildings standing near, My hair feels their age.
Time will always win, We cannot live forever, Yet we do in love.
In the color red, Danger courage warnings blood, And delicious fruit.
With the color blue, Draw the sky and water too, Why should blue mean sad?
What if they say yes? Then a journey will begin, Is that good or bad?
Under the full moon, You can believe anything, Or nothing at all.
Lazy afternoons, Spent sitting outside with you, Are just what I need.
Once upon a time, Before coronavirus, Life seemed so normal.
Unwritten stories, Languish in a Writer’s mind, They must be told soon.
Tiny spark of life, One cell searching for a womb, To become our hope.
Surf pounds on the beach, Sunrise just an hour away, Be ready for life.
Love’s really something, Like a rainbow it is all, That is good for us.
If there is a chance, To do some good for others, Take it for yourself.
Technology is, The way forward but also, Very frustrating.
Birdsong a flower, Fresh with early morning dew, The night has been long.
Voices of loved ones, And a body of water, Good useful advice.
Birds soar making us look graceless but our imagination flies high.
The vaccines will come, Now we must wait patiently, For that to occur.
Time has its strange ways, Through unhappy times it slows, Good times go too fast.
An eight-minute walk, If you could travel by light, Sun’s both far and near.
Tomorrow it will, Be one year since FriesenPress, Published Wounded Bride.
A white church stands still, Silently asking us to, Be kind to ourselves.
Trust is the key that, Unlocks the door to friendship, Do you change the lock?
When I first started blogging, I didn’t have a clear idea of what I was trying to accomplish. I mostly just wanted a website to share information about my self-published book(s). A blog was just something WordPress.com gave you automatically, whether you wanted one or not, and I hadn’t been planning on using it much.Continue reading “What Does “the Indie way” Mean?”
Great white banks of snow, Frosting heaped on a cake that, Only nature bakes.
What we build right now, Is a foundation for the, Dreams of the future.
Thank you to all those, Who share good things with us all, You brighten my day.
Time is a monster, That takes from us all we love, But gives us that love.
Poisoned images, Work their way into our hearts, What are we sharing?
Finishing things up, Means less time for the moment, But more time later.
If you work hard now, You will be much rewarded, But when is unknown.
When we do damage, Most things can be fixed but not, Always in our hearts.
Wind and snow blowing, Gray sky will bring a lot more, Till this is over.
Cultivate goodness, It will reward all of us, But maybe not now.
A clear sky today, Share that clarity with those, Who long for answers.
To all my Readers, Happy twenty twenty-one, Good fortune to you.
A sad year has gone, Too many people have died, May they rest in peace.
January comes, And with it no fixed topics, For daily blog posts.
A dark cold stable, A Baby is born today, Be a kid again.
Shepherds saw angels, From Heaven hallelujah, Do not be afraid.
Gabriel comes down, To see Mary and tell her, She will be Christ’s Mom.
When the winds blow strong, And deep snow is on the ground, Our hearts grow warmer.
Summertime so far, In the future it seems like, It will never come. Time is weird this year, Pandemic’s on our shoulders, One day it will lift.
Thinking of you all, Today the memory of, Your deaths brings sadness. You should be fourteen, Doing school online with Zoom, Along with your peers. I keep thinking of, The gifts under those trees that, You never opened.
True love is mindless, Like a jacket that just fits, What is true hatred?
December morning, Warm sun in chill air speaks of, Happy beginnings.
We know what we miss, Always now but never then, Precious history.
Stars shine so brightly, But to us they’re mere pinpoints, Except for our sun.
Occasionally, Caught unaware by sunbeams, We open our eyes.
There are those who say, We have the right not to wear, Masks if we so choose. Dictators once ruled, Neighbors denouncing neighbors, Hitler Stalin Mao. But Americans, Are free to love and to care, Use that freedom well.
Flames crackle and burn, Keeping us warm in winter, Yet they can kill us.
Beginnings are fun, We start something new with hope, But change is scary.
The soft earth opens, Dark and fertile giving life, To the seeds of hope. This is the last poem I’ll post until after NaNoWriMo.
Time and love and breath, Are what we need most of all. If we could share those…
We all need to eat, Experts tell us what is best, Who knows your body?
Back in June, I wrote a haiku consisting entirely of emojis. It was fun to do this shopping list, and today, I have another one for you, although of a different type. 🔋 💡 🔦 🕯 🔌 📷 🖨 ☎️ 📺 📻 ⏰ ⌚️ 🔭 🔨 🧯 🔧 🔬
Stand looking up at, The clear night sky above you, Hope and potential.
The sunflower shows, That the sun’s rays are echoed, In all that is life.
The world is changing, Faster than it ever could, Without permission.
Rainbow flowers float, On a blue pond in sunshine, Embrace life fully.
I’ve used writing prompts on a lot of Thursdays. Time flies, and I didn’t manage to write anything for today, so I thought I’d share the Writing Prompt Thursday category page. While you’re browsing and reading those posts, please like, comment, and share them.
If the sun could speak, It might say that we must be, Good to each other.
The one-word prompt was “detective.” Who is the killer? Who’s taken the life of one, Before time itself. Into the unknown, Asking questions of those left, To find the killer. The truth is out there, The detective must find it, Before it decays.
Christmas stockings are, Hanging ready by the hearth, Empty and waiting.
We all must have one, Or we would not know ourselves, Nameless forgotten.
Eight billion people, Stand with six feet between them, Each one all alone.
One hundred fifty, Days writing on this website, It never gets old.
I seem to be out of prompt ideas for now, so I’d like to share this category page with you. Next Thursday, I’m hoping to be back with something fun.
Kids play in sunshine, Laughter friendship happiness, Outlives all of us.
I’ve stopped writing letters as a regular feature, but I had a lot of fun with them. Here is the letters category page. I’ve been sitting here trying to think which letter is my favorite. For seriousness and sort of philosophy, it’s definitely the one to the Pacific Ocean. I’ve had to pick three “other”Continue reading “Looking back at Letters”
I’ve been rereading Harry Potter recently, and the word “dungeon” occurs rather frequently. They’re dark and fearsome, but what is a dungeon, exactly? I mean, I’ve never actually been in one. I’m working on a book called “Written in Stone,” a fantasy romance, which involves a dungeon or two, so the word’s going to comeContinue reading “Dungeon”
To open the sky, Or to hurt and to hinder, The power of words.
The torture chamber, Buzzes with activity, Lives ruined for nothing.
The one-word prompt was “second.” I am not the first, I do not live long at all, I get the last word.
Over nose and mouth, To keep the world safe for all, Mask if you can please.
Warm sun and cool breeze, Children laugh somewhere nearby, A beautiful day.
Prompt: Air. Take in a deep breath, The people who’ve lived before, Have shared it with you.
Chill wind blows over, The high craggy mountain top, Wish I could feel it.
Words live in our minds, We add new ones throughout life, Faithful friends always.
Dear Visitors, A thousand people, Have come to my site looking, For entertainment. You are each precious, And I’ll never forget you, As long as I live. Thank you for coming, Even when I started out, You encouraged me. To the next thousand, The next one and the next ten, You’re inspiration. Yours truly, HyacinthContinue reading “A Letter to My Website Visitors”
Pieces of our lives, Are glued together in ways, That make new stories.
Snowflakes flutter down, Flung indiscriminately, By God’s loving hands.
Over the mountains, An ocean lies waiting for, You to explore it.
Let’s help each other, Encouragement means a lot, As we live our lives.
What kinds of posts would, You like to read on this blog? Please leave a comment.
Get Wounded Bride now, Fast-paced detective thriller, The FriesenPress store.
I have so much fun, Writing haikus for this blog, Category page.
Somebody used the word “ramshackle” on Twitter. It’s a fun word, in spite of its not so fun meaning, so here’s a ramshackle haiku. The roof leaks badly, It’s freezing cold in winter, But I was born there.
Dear Summer, Spring is just too wet, Fall is nice but it’s not you, Winter is too cold. Yours truly, Hyacinth Grey
The kitchen fills with, Wonderful scents of spices, Holiday season.
Tick tick tick tick tick, Students in classrooms waiting, For the bell to ring.
🍎 🍐 🍌 🍉 🍑 🥔 🧅 🥕 🌽 🥒 🥦 🍅 🥛 🥚 🧀 🍞 🧈
The writing prompt for this haiku was the first word that popped into my head: “house.” The outside’s not much, Walls and windows roof and doors, The inside is home.
Dear My Internal Editor, You help me work hard, Through long days of revision, But sometimes you’re mean. Yours truly, Hyacinth Grey
I’ve been reading A Brief History of Japan by Jonathan Clements, which contains vivid descriptions of the armadas sent by Kublai Khan to attack Japan. This haiku is written from the perspective of an “observer” floating in the sea. A hail of arrows, Sounds of wind and war cries fierce, Hot blood meets cold sea.
Dear Time, If you were my dad, I would never once be late, Also not human. Yours truly, Hyacinth Grey
Dancer in silk robes, Infused with the rising sun, Inspiration tea.
I post a haiku on Mondays, but I can never have too many and I like starting them with writing prompts. Prompt (first word that popped into my head): find A computer screen, The mind wishing to know things, Hands on the keyboard.
Blue all around me, Oxygen tank on my back, The ocean is warm.
Abandoned buildings, Dusty gray and sky the same, Black mud underfoot.
The world upside down, Testimony of outlaws, Painted on tombstones.