after the tumult of last week, this past week has been labelled normal, regular.
A few rockets landed on our kibbutz fields, but not our residential areas. This is normal, regular.
bouquet of words
fragrant thorns and blooms
this foggy morn
As always, I begin my day reading the day’s poetry contributions, personal news and then I put my hand to my keyboard and see what haiku is born.
The above was this morning’s offering. Words in their fragrance contain both gentility and barbs – all wrapped up in a natural package. The morning fog cleared away fast. And to my horror, I realized that my windows and screens were entirely plugged up after this winter’s sandstorms.
I wanted light. I wanted air. I wanted Spring.
and so I spent an hour or so trying to divide the dirt from the clean to end up with maximum sunlight in a rather unusually dark house.
What happened to the fairies that once came round to dust and shine while I spent my time writing books and gluing puppets?
Apparently they’ve moved on.
Puppets this week. Here is a pupil with a puppet who received a costume upgrade which unfortunately malfunctioned. Pants slipped down and were in general encouraged to do so until a female student offered a more dignified performance. She’s not shown and either is the little boy (for reasons of privacy, you know)
I attended the Voices Poetry Group Meeting, Be’er Sheva Branch.
We offered our work, escape into Greece, memories of the last war, re-finding Eden, a love poem to a beloved recently departed wife and my week’s worth of haiku – each day a dollop of mind during a war week.
All therapies welcome. Comment if you have a favourite therapy.