Category: haiku

Hummingbird

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

Hummingbird

Feeder hangs empty.
Buzzing hummingbird seeks food
for tiny belly.

******

The feeder sits empty,
a chore not yet accomplished,
not yet in the rhythm
after being away.

The feeder hangs 
beyond my reach,
requires retrieval of both
ladder and nectar.

Sometimes it’s too hot,
sometimes too wet,
sometimes I’m just
tired. 

Tiny bird body
buzzes from one feeder
to the next,
searching for sustenance.

I see the need.
But still I sit,
tied to the chair
by my own buzzing busy-ness.

Tiny bird body
tries again.
The buzzing
feels frantic.

This time, I rise
from the shackles 
of the chair
that binds me.

After all,
what is more important
than the hunger
of this one tiny being?

Was he watching?
Did the sweetness
of the nectar
fill the air?

Within seconds,
tiny iridescent body returns,
dips his beak
again and again.

Vibrancy lives in you,
little one.
Bright, quick, sweet —
la dolce vita.

Messenger of joy,
sate your hunger
here.

bliss

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 1 Comment

stepping into day
light radiates within me
each moment brings joy

******

there’s a kind of gratitude
that seeps into the body
permeates the cells
becomes the life-blood
of each moment

this kind of gratitude
once experienced
does not fade away
when challenges
arise

this kind of gratitude
takes up residence
waves away all efforts
to diminish
or dissuade

once seated within
the heart leaps up
to do the work
that must
be done.

the process of growth
unfolds
takes hold
sees gains
that last

patience
persistence
wisdom
flow
freely

yes life still contains
loss and pain
suffering and sorrow
we mourn
cry out in grief

in the moment
we shed tears
feel the sadness
rend our hearts
groan in despair

still
embers of joy
glow softly
waiting
to be stirred.

Day Thirteen: Landscape

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ Leave a comment

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

The landscape I see,
birds swooping, leaves fluttering —
the stirring of life.

***

I chose the place I sit,
the space in my dining room,
in front of the glass patio doors.
Instead of a place to sit and eat,
I have a place to sit and see —
birds coming to the feeders,
native grasses swaying in the breeze,
an old cottonwood at the edge of the field
stark silhouette of bare branches at sunrise
before it leafs out into the fluttering
of the broad leaves of summer.

Here is my laptop
for writing,
my art supplies
for creating,
a candle 
for appeals to Spirit,
a sachet of lavender 
for soothing.

This is my hearth,
the center of the landscape
that is me,
human arriving,
Saoirse becoming,
beloved on the earth.

Day Seven: Chill

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

Early morning chill,
Warming sun not yet risen,
Birdsong not yet heard.

***

The sky to the east
Lightens slowly,
A magic time for
Slow breath,
Quiet mind,
Grateful heart.

The Blue Hour,
It’s called.
Not quite dawn,
More twilight
As the sun still lies
Deep below the horizon. 

Vibrant, deep,
“Sweet light,”
Soft light,
A time of tranquility,
Meeting the chillness
With my favorite fleece.

Day Five: Rocks

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ Leave a comment

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

Rocks carefully placed
decades ago, now disturbed.
A new plan emerges.

***

In the first days, 
when this house was fresh
and new, awaiting 
my particular imprint,
I created a garden
of rocks and stones
and periwinkle.

A small circle of stepping stones,
the center a terra cotta birdbath
surrounded by tiny purple flowers
amidst dark green foliage,
a border of rounded river rocks,
one etched with the word “trust.”

A failed water valve, an emergency,
hours and hours of poking,
digging, scanning —
the rocks now piled in awkward lumps,
the birdbath crumbled,
“trust” disappeared in the detritus
of what was. 

In the days to come, 
I will clear the ground,
discover what remains 
and open the portal 
to a new kind of wholeness.

Day One: Sustainability

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

a poem a day in the month of may
The Liminality Journal — Kaitlin Curtice

It’s the little bits.
Sustain-ability is
done in small, slow steps.

Having turned 71 last month, I’ve been focussed on “a year of healthy living.” I’m not counting steps or calories. I do not own a scale for checking my weight. I’m not looking at macros or banning carbs. (My system, however, does not tolerate dairy or gluten.)

I do check the pedometer on my Apple Watch but not because I’ve set a goal for a certain number of steps. It’s more like checking my pulse. More a question for me to monitor: How am I doing with movement so far today?

I am also keeping a food journal. Time of day, general description of what I’ve consumed, precipitating event, sensations in my body, thoughts, feelings. Not attempting to change anything. Just noticing what’s happening and look for patterns. I’ve discovered much of my eating is unconscious, without actually tasting or enjoying the food. And that’s something I aim to change, as my intention for healthy living is to enjoy the food I eat and feel good afterwards. 

I’m also logging other health factors, mainly because I want to support my body in living a good life over the next few years … because I’ve finally learned that caring for myself matters … because I’ve finally learned I am worthy of love, no matter what. 

It seems that caring about myself in these small moments of movement and savoring my food and supporting my body are part of living well. Of loving myself well. Now and in the time to come.

Fluffy snow & singing birds

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 1 Comment

I’ve been wandering this morning. In and through and around words, thoughts, imaginings.

There’s a part of me that is feeling dreamy, not unmoored but also not anchored. I feel drawn to many things … a book, a blog, a podcast, a poem, a list of unfinished tasks, the promise of time spent making art …

We had a snowstorm last night. I was outside, walking back from our early morning meditation in another building, seeing neighbors scooping up snow. While I am always appreciative of the labor of my neighbors in clearing snow from our pathways, I noticed the ease with which they were tossing the snow up into central piles. This was not wet, heavy snow but rather light and fluffy. As I took all of that in, I heard a bird singing in a nearby tree.

Fluffy snow and singing birds. There might be a haiku in that. We’ll see.

I notice in the midst of the wandering, I feel happy. Light, like the fluffy snow. Joyful, like the singing bird. My heart feels both peaceful and jubilant.

Sometimes, I imagine peace as the cessation of anxiety. Calm in the midst of worry. Today, I think peace is this moment.

Snowflakes fall slowly,
Drifting onto fluffy piles,
Nearby, a bird sings.