Day 13

Too Many Candles on My Cake


Every year
on my birthday
I say I'm halfway
home.

I like the anticipation
the sense of being on my way,
yet in between,
gloriously immortal
an old spider trapped in amber.

Life's a journey,
not a destination.

So sayeth the sage Steven Tyler.

Day Twelve - a dorky dozen

The Home Place


Embarrassingly, cows now call it home -
and I mean that literally -
this broken down house
this shack in a pasture.

Or maybe that should be 'economically'
because it's just sliding down the scale
of inhabitability.
It still belongs to the domesticated.

This is the house my mother was born in.
The house where my own story starts
as a twinkling in her eye
as a nebulous when I grow up.


We are never that far from home.

Día Once

snow on the roof holds
the cozy candlelight in,
yellow and gracious.

Day 10...

Home is the sailor, home from the sea:

(You used the word twice, Houseman. I'm taking 10 points off.)

Waterlogged

The sea is my true (and secret) home
the fluid gravity makes even a walrus graceful
In fact, size helps the ocean goer.

Home is where we feel ourselves, yes?
Swimming in circles, a water rat on a nautical wheel
My sibilance is stolen, sabotaged

You're never as smart as you think you are, missy.

Day Nine

The natives are restless...

Reading Wolfe


You can't go home again
at least, not according to Thomas Wolfe.
Who, incidentally, liked to look homeward a lot.

I've been to his house.
The tour guide said it was a good thing Wolfe didn't come home again.
Nobody liked the way they came out in the Angel book.

So, it was published posthumously
but by fate, not design.
Wolfe would have made a big mea culpa out of it.

Alive, I mean.

But if it were too little, too late, he's none the wiser.

He loved the idea of home a little more than the actual home, I think.

Day 8 - A New Topic

Home, and thoughts thereof.

Home is a candle
burning against the darkness
a haven of light.

Sorry for yet another haiku. I will make a better effort tomorrow!

Day Seven

Green waves on white sand
all things under the sun pause
a turtle swims near

Yep, sorry about another frickin' haiku.