Haiku Mood|NaPoWriMo Day 16

Fibromyalgia Fun and Pain, A Haiku

Yesterday was fun.
Physical therapy fun.
This morning, great pain.

Colorado Spring, A Haiku

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This is me and Daddy in the Spring of my life. I was 8 months old. He was 48 years old. 

Sun was shining bright.
Flowers and trees bloom.
Now, wind blows in cold and snow.

Family Tree Changing, A Haiku

Old limbs fell in wind.
We are old limbs now.
Are we strong enough to love?

Grief Brings Wisdom, A Haiku

Elders teach us life.
While young, we won’t hear.
Grief brings wise enlightenment.

Pleasure of Love, A Haiku

Lips touch, passion born.
Love comes, pleasure blooms.
Age gives us warm simple love.

© Elaine Wood-Lane
4/16/15


This is Milo, my first grandchild, who is about 8 weeks old in this picture. I’m 53.  I so look forward to watching this little guy grow up and see what his generation will be like!


I awoke very early this morning (3:00 AM) in significant physical pain and with some grief as well. Mother’s last sibling died over the weekend so the “older” generation of my family are all gone now and it dawned on me that now I am in a member of the new “older” generation. This generated lots of thoughts and feelings regarding the seasons, both in nature and in human maturity. I feel I’m in my Autumn season. It’s a shocking revelation. Anyway, I was in the mood to write simple, brief haikus about all this. I love haikus. They pare my many words down to what I really want to say. Peace and love to all of you today, Elaine

Dear Poems|NaPoWriMo Day 15

Tulips 2015

Dear Poems,

Here are some flowers
of spring for you, to
say thank you for putting
up with me.

Why do I write you?

Why do I think that
words I put together
join forces to
describe my chaotic, quixotic
thoughts and feelings?

I’m a 53 year old
who has always overthought things,
analyzing everything I’ve said,
or done, or will be
saying or doing tomorrow.

You see, everyone thinks I’m
this wild and crazy free spirit,
but I’m not, really.

I think about every single word I
say, even the tone in how I say it.

I’ve always kept those thoughts
and worries secret,
except when I write you,
dear poems, then all kinds
of things just bubble right out.

Sometimes when I write you, poems,
the words that express my thoughts
and emotions flow just right.

Sometimes, when I write,
the weirdest, funniest things come
out in a stilted, awkward,
sing-songy way that sounds like
a first grader who has had too
much red Koolaid!

So, dear poems, have I improved at all?
Should I cease this ridiculous idea
that what tumbles out of my mind onto the page
could actually make someone’s day
happier, lighter, more gentle and kind?

Please let me know, dear poems,
should I stop or should I go?
Waiting anxiously to hear from you!

Sincerely yours,

The writer of your verse,
Elaine Wood-Lane
© 4/15/15

Today’s prompt was: Today, I challenge you to write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self (i.e. “Dear Poem,” or “what are my quatrains up to?”; “Couplet, come with me . . .”) This might seem a little meta at first, or even kind of cheesy. But it can be a great way of interrogating (or at least, asking polite questions) of your own writing process and the motivations you have for writing, and the motivations you ascribe to your readers.

I’m not sure I was that sophisticated, but this did allow me to express some of my thoughts, doubts, and quixotic thoughts!

The Nosy Parker|NaPoWriMo Day 14

Girl One:
Well you know she’s got to leave him!
I mean, she can’t continue to ignore
what is going on and needs to
get out of there as soon as possible!

Girl Two:
Well, you never know, his motives
might be good. I mean, he’s
not a ruthless man usually.
I’ve never seen any true evidence
that he’s doing something wrong.
Have you? Or do you just dislike
him so much that you’re projecting?

(Nosy Parker tries to block out
all the sounds in the salon so
she can hear better.)

Girl One:
He’s so ambivalent that you
can’t really tell if he’s aware
that he is talking out of both
sides of his mouth or if
he is deliberately misleading her.
I think he’s smarter and more
aware than you give him
credit for and ultimately
has a plan to get rid of her!
She has to leave before it’s too late!

Girl Two:
Well, that might be so,
but, I think she shouldn’t
leave half-cocked.
She needs to confront him
first before she leaves.
Oh, and I think she should
have another situation lined up
before she does that.
Then she can be the ultimate
winner in the situation,
don’t you think?

Girl One:
You’re right. She should
definitely be looking for another job
before he fires her outright.
Then she would be the
true winner in the situation!
I wish I could see the look on his face
when she tells him she’s leaving
because he has lied to her one
too many times!

(Nosy Parker: Oh good grief! They’re
talking about their boss! I thought it
was going to be something juicy
about a husband having an affair.
These career girls don’t know
how to live a normal life! Hmmmph!)

© Elaine Wood-Lane
4/15/15

Today’s prompt was to write a dialogue poem with at least two people having a
dialogue from two different points of view. I decided to have fun with this one and show how when a nosy eavesdropper listens in to conversations, they often can draw a totally wrong conclusion about the topic of discussion. Most of the time eavesdroppers are trying to hear something really juicy that they can then gossip about with their own friends. This particular eavesdropper had it all wrong, which is most often what really happens! 😉 I hope you enjoyed this little tableau!

My Favorite Place|NaPoWriMo Day Twelve

Following a stone pathway
down to a small brook gurgling
past a small cottage,
she sat down on a big log
by the brook, glancing
around her.

The smoke of burning pinion
from adobe chimneys
wafted through the air,
reminiscent of her favorite
place in autumn.

She loved the air here
any time of year,
but especially when
sunlight fell
mystical and gentle,
in air spicy and cozy.

In autumn,
giant cottonwoods clustered
along streams,
arroyos, and
the centuries old plaza,
       dropped~~
                     ~~fluttering~~
                                            ~~leaves~~
   to land in colorful crunchy piles.

The old woman’s wrinkled face
cracked
in a thousand directions
  as she smiled brightly, realizing
  she was
      in her
                favorite place
      in her
                favorite season,
    autumn…

Taos, New Mexico,
truly, land of enchantment!

© Elaine Wood-Lane
4/12/15

Ode to Blue Jeans|NaPoWriMo-Day 11


I always wanted blue jeans,
but never could find ones
to fit when I was very young.
They were either way too loose,
or they were way too long.

When I finally grew some more,
I finally found some that fit,
and was so excited,
I bought three pairs,
a complete entire set!

I finally was a a real girl,
I could join in with the crowd,
I no longer looked old-fashioned,
I no longer looked the dowd.

I wore blue jeans nearly
every day to school,
I wore them to church
on Wednesdays,
I wore them for dates
and fun.
I never wanted to
take them off,
except if it was hot
when there was
too much sun!

Many years have passed by now,
and last year hit a nerve,
I outgrew all my jeans,
I no longer had the verve!

I bought some nana jeans,
I’m sure you know the sort,
they don’t have zippers,
but elastic in the top like
bastions on a fort!

Well, nana jeans or not,
I still do love them blue,
they make me feel
quite comfy,
I don’t care how old I am,
they still make me feel so cool!

© Elaine Wood-Lane
4/11/14

Today’s suggestion for a poem was to write a sapphic, which are quatrains whose first three lines have eleven syllables, and the fourth, just five. There is also a very strict meter that alternates trochees (a two-syllable foot, with the first syllable stressed, and the second unstressed) and dactyls (a three-syllable foot, with the first syllable stressed and the remainder unstressed). The first three lines consist of two trochees, a dactyl, and two more trochees. The fourth line is a dactyl, followed by a trochee.

Well, I’m not up to sapphics! I’m more of a loose verse kind of girl. Lately I’ve been in a rather rhythmic, rhyming scheme, but much of the time, I’m just loose verse or a haiku. Haikus have rules, but they’re short. My attention span can handle those! An alternative was to write an ode to denim. So, I could very much handle that! I’m a denim kind of girl too! (Oh, I forgot. Mother told me 20 years ago I was no longer a “girl.” Anyone over the age of 30 was, in her book, no longer a girl but a woman. Oh well!)

No Wise Words to Say–NaPoWriMo Day 9

Jackson Pollock, Convergence, 1952

I have no wise words to say
on this most usual Thursday.

So far this morning I’ve read
countless poems
by brilliant poets participating
in NaPoWriMo just as I am this month.

I’ve watched a video of a nun
visiting great art of the 20th century
and heard her describe the significance
of Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning,
Mark Rothko, and Andy Warhol.

I’ve read new messages about
my sponsored Compassion children
in Peru and Rwanda and in my heart
compared my life of relative wealth
to their lives of hardship and loss.

All these things are what I love.
Walter de la Mare was the first poet
I learned about and loved.
Then came Robert Frost, Mary Oliver,
William Carlos William, and Billy Collins.
Somewhere along the way,
I decided I wanted to write poetry
that would be read and inspire
others like they inspire me.

I’ve seen Jackson Pollock, Rothko,
and Warhol’s art live and in person
at the Chicago Institute of Art.
Pollock’s painting was so large and
had such depth of expression,
that when I saw it, I sat down in stunned
silence, tears sliding down my face as
the full experience and meaning
touched my soul.

My Compassion children,
Dayana and Niyonkuru,
have my heart even though
I’ve never met them, seen them,
or touched their little faces.
They’re so grateful and loving,
and the letters and pictures
we exchange have connected
us across thousands of miles,
different cultures and experiences.

The common theme this morning,
for me,
is the beauty to be found in life,
in poetry, art, people, and God.

I have no wise words to say
about these things.

You have to open your own eyes,
your own mind, heart, and soul,
to see beauty in everything yourself.

God made so much beauty in
the world for us to appreciate.
Try to find some today, enjoy it,
relish it, breathe it into your soul,
and say, “Thank you,” for the beauty.

Peace and love,

©Elaine Wood-Lane
4/9/15

MILO

I want the whole world to know I am now a Grandmama!!

Milo was born yesterday afternoon, 1/24/15, at 4:04 in the afternoon in Aurora, IL. He weighed 7 pounds and 13 ounces and was 20 inches long. Mama, Papa, and baby are all doing well, although little Milo did put his mother through a long and arduous labor.

Grandmama Lane, who had anxiously been “nesting” at home and awaiting news of progress of the labor and delivery yesterday, had this to say when she finally received the call that her grandson had been born, “Oh! It’s a boy!! Is he ok? Is Erin ok? I’m SO excited!” and then proceeded to do the happy dance right in the middle of the living room floor and in front of God and everybody. Grandpapa Lane was quoted as saying, “So it’s a boy! Are Erin and the baby both doing well? Oh, good grief, Dee, quit that!! You’re going to hurt yourself!!” Needless to say, Grandmama and Grandpapa Lane are very proud of the new addition to the family!

Of course, being the sentimental poet that I am, had to write a poem after I slept long through the night to recover from my happy dancing.

MILO

Milo,
one new little human.
Another branch on
a large family tree
that has been battered,
riven, grafted, and
survived to put on
new branches and
leaves of love.

Milo,
a four letter word
attached to a precious,
new little boy
who made me a
grandmother.

Milo,
a new sweet,
tender spot of love
that instantly grew
in my heart forever.

Milo,
a little boy who
I hope will call me,
“Grandmama,”
in that sweet little
boy way that
melts hearts.

Milo,
a new son who
gave my son a
completely new
gentle, mature, proud,
tone of voice instantly.

Milo,
I can’t wait to
meet you and
hold your little
body in the same
arms I held your
dad in when he
was brand new too.

Milo,
a name that will
always equal
LOVE to
all of us.

Milo,
we thank God
for the blessing
of you.

©D. Elaine Wood-Lane
1/24/15

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Things I Love–A Poem

Longhorn-in-Texas-Bluebonnets-1

I love springtime anywhere,
but I think the longhorn cattle
in the Texas bluebonnets
love it even more.

I love music by
young people.
They rearrange notes
that come out
fresh and young,
sounding like hope.

I love Oikos
apple pie yogurt.
It’s health and home
in every bite.

I love new babies
and their sweet smell,
freshly minted in heaven.
(Do you think angels
dust them with that
right before birth?)

I love a baby
sinking into me
in the rocking chair,
while I hum a lullaby
until we both sleep.

I love poetry,
writing words,
feelings out loud,
to share my heart–
so someone can
feel it beating.

I love Alan’s kiss
hello each morning,
and my kiss
goodnight to him
right before sleep.

I love all
of my sons and daughters,
those of my flesh
and those of my soul.
I pray for them all
each day.

Most of all,
I love God.
I’m thankful
He still listens, because…
I talk to Him,
ALL. THE. TIME.

If I were God,
I’d break up with me
for so much talking,
but He assures me
He loves our talks
and would be heartbroken
if I stopped talking to Him
and telling Him what I love.

God is so lovely,
Isn’t He?
He IS love, completely.

He loved me first.
So I love and love,
and hope to be,
more love,
so someday, when I die,
all that will be left of me
is a sunbeam of love,
shining on the floor.

©Elaine Wood-Lane      4/16/14

Beginning of the Dream

Do you have a dream?
The hard part is beginning.
Then comes…the beauty.

Don’t be afraid to begin your dream!

I have to admit, my least favorite part of any project or dream pursuit is the beginning. Getting my footing, or rhythm, is always a little rocky. I’m unsure of myself, whether the dream or project is too big for me or silly or even something I should be doing at all. Certainly I can offer nothing new, worthwhile, or beautiful, right? But, if it’s an idea or dream that won’t let me go, I have to try! So, I begin. The first rows of knitting or crocheting or the first lines of a poem or story are always scary and awkward. After a little while, though, the rhythm is set, the pattern is known, and the words come more freely. Elation is my reward, and yours, for pursuing a dream!

Dreamy Lace Baby Throw, Lion Brand Pound of Love, Honey Bee
A small dream for a newborn life…

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