Happiness Haiku

A listener of happiness author Gretchen Rubin’s  podcast recommended the practice of writing a daily haiku to promote mindfulness…noting the little beauties of each day. What a great idea, in a simple form: 3 lines of verse with 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. It’s quite fun, actually, and worth a try! Here are a few I wrote this morning:

Haiku 1

Morning light floods in

kitchen aflame with brightness

blue sky day begins

Haiku 2

Ring of Queen Anne’s Lace

bursting in my picture frame–

silent fireworks dance

Haiku 3

Sun warms my bare toes…

toddler drags me down the stairs 

delighted to play!

Thanks, Mum

Perhaps motherhood is less about who we are
and more about who we let our children become.

Thanks, Mum, for letting me become me.

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Thanks for letting me play in the dirt,
build forts in the woods
and climb trees taller than our house.

Thank you for my brothers–
companions in the world of pretend,
where winter was always coming
and we had to stock our pantry with
meat and potatoes–
pine cones and red chunks of log.

Thanks for giving me my own tiny garden
to grow flowers and cucumbers
and look for fairies in the morning dewdrops.

Thanks for letting me stay up late reading
“The Hobbit” and “Anne of Green Gables,”
and for those quiet chats before bed,
when the hectic bustle of the day was over
and you lay in your long cosy nightgown,
listening to me.

Thanks for taking me travelling
to live overseas,
to speak a new language
and see so many places
beyond our small town in Canada.
(It was awesome, eh?)

Thanks for making those thousands of school lunches
and the unimaginable amounts of laundry,
for letting me play soccer and do drama
and especially for coming to my plays.

Thanks for encouraging me to write, take pictures and chase dreams.

And as I read stories to my own brood of elves and fairies,
build forts and make gardens with them,
I smile at getting to be a kid again,
your happy daughter, still.

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The City of God Awaits

This day of silence
of waiting
of separation from our Beloved,
is it not our life?

As we flock to the streets where He walked
and weep that He walks there no longer,
do we not share one heart?

Longing for the Beloved
whose shadow has passed by
and disappeared like smoke,
choking us with grief…

Longing for
Immanuel,
Paradise–
a love that never fails
a light that never ceases
a warmth which will never turn a cold shoulder
and leave us truly abandoned.

Our tears are equally precious pearls
no matter the tongue
which utters our sobs,
no matter the place we pray
and beg for the kingdom of peace
to be now.

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Unworthy

There are times I feel unworthy of poetry
incapable of receiving inspiration
cause I’m overly immersed in soap suds and laundry
combing out tangles in hair
and sibling relationships
putting out constant fires
–flashes of jealousy and
fits of frustration so loud
it’s hard to hear the quiet whisper
of a newborn poem
wanting to meet the world

But I need to dismiss these unromantic doubts
because it’s not really about me
Is a candle worthy to illuminate the night?
Yet it is in it’s very disappearing–
that it gives burning light

Your love for me doesn’t depend on my greatness
but is rather a sign of Yours
Fill the empty cup of my heart
to overflowing
Help me exude Your warmth
and be with me
in my noise and chaos

Help me find the whisper of your presence
like flashes of gold in a mountain stream
and amidst all the pebbles
help me find poems

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A lovely review of “unexpected blossoming”

Reading Anna Eastland’s collection of poems from her beautiful book, Unexpected Blossoming—a journey of grief and hope led me into her honest, vulnerable, and talented writing. Her therapeutic poetry also opened a personal portal which had long been curtained. Thirty-one years ago, my first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at fourteen weeks. ~Janis Mcdougall

I am honoured to share with you a truly lovely and heartfelt review of my poetry book “unexpected blossoming: a journey of grief and hope.” This review came about by a string of connections…beginning with my former writing coach Caroline Woodward introducing me to her Tofino artist friend Joanna Streetly.

After guest-posting on her poetry advent calendar a few years ago, I returned to her blog to stumble upon a poignant poem about an eight year old boy, William, who disappeared one day by the seaside and was never found. (http://www.joannastreetly.com/written/writing/poetry/). The mournful longing for this little one, mingled with the mindfulness of his abiding presence in the surrounding countryside, made me feel Joanna could understand my poems about losing my baby daughter.

Joanna both bought my book and kindly delivered another copy to her local hospice. Some time later she shared my book with her poet friend Janis, who had suffered the loss of her first baby at 14 weeks. As the poems resonated with her, she generously wrote a short review on Joanna’s blog.

With Unexpected Blossoming—a journey of grief and hope, Anna Eastland offers consolation and invites readers to join a newly formed constellation of broken-hearts linked together by their collective grief. —Janis McDougall

Please visit Joanna’s blog and take a look to read the full review! http://www.joannastreetly.com/blog/april-is-poetry-month-2/

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P.S. My book, which is $10, is available through me on my blog (anna@eastofcrazyland.com) or through blurb.ca.(http://www.blurb.ca/b/7346068-unexpected-blossoming#). If you’re a grieving mama, please contact me about a free copy. 💕

Awaiting Spring

The faith of a flower bulb,
allowing itself to be entombed
in the earth,
awaiting spring.

Believing that from nothing
could spring something,
from the darkness,
new life.

Give me that faith
in Your ability
to bring forth greatness
from a tiny seed,
buried in the darkness
of weakness and failure,
of unkept resolutions
and missed opportunities.

Help me begin again–
a new spring–
and as the sunlight
pours down upon me,
give me the courage to grow!

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The Persistant Insomniac

Late at night

her eyes are wide open

as two full moons

beaming out in the dark.

Inside fires burn

flames flicker and refuse

the stillness of sleep.

 

She gets up

grabs her book

a sweater

a snack

and keeps a late night kitchen vigil

with insomnia…

–this date with quiet–

delicious silent solitude.

 

She feeds her soul

with bread and words,

then rubs her fingers together,

lights the surrounding gloom with sparks

and writes fire!

Spring Forward

Spring forward–

move the clocks!

Let the daylight stretch into the afternoon

like a sleepy cat

awakening.

 

But this spring feels late–

the snow lingers in patches,

though sobbed on by rain,

and grimly threatens to return

in mid-March flurries.

 

One wishes it was weather

more suited for blizzards

from Dairy Queen

but the chill damp air

crushes dreams of summer.

 

Undaunted we spring forward,

planning spring in our dining room–

filling every ledge and shelftop

with seedlings and sprouting things

baby bok choi and alyssum flowers

peas and beans with their bright green leaves–

tiny banners raised in triumph against the grey.

 

We are even sprouting an avocado —

its plump brown pit skewered by toothpicks

and half-submerged in water.

Every day I look with delight at the long white root

shooting out like a streak of hope

seeking life.

 

Spring forward

and if spring won’t leap with you,

give it a push!