Poetry Monday, Once Again

Tags

adoption, birds, Flowers, haiku, mountains, Seasons, serenity, Snow, Sun

Note from Elaine: I’m adopting poetry for this first post of 2017, contributed by a writer friend whose work I’ve admired for many years. Her beautifully crafted images capture much of what there is to love in northern New Mexico. Join Roberta as she takes you through Northern New Mexico’s palette with intimate details, sweeping panoramas, and all kinds of weather!

Grace Notes of 2016 in Jaconita

A form that’s perfect for today.

by Roberta Fine

JANUARY
Snow enhancing trash.
Crystal-crusted broken hoe
Crowned by red-topped finch.

FEBRUARY
Wrinkled, folded hills
Holding ancient secrets.
Spinning fireside tales.

MARCH
Finely crafted nest.
Feathered weaver’s masterwork.
Lying on the ground.

APRIL
Silver silhouette
Truchas Peaks shining in new
White Communion dress.

MAY
Hummingbird stealing
Insects from spider’s rich cache
In window cobweb.

JUNE
Slim moon slice smiling
In arching black velvet sky
Empty of storm clouds.

JULY
Coral fruit crowning
Lushly-leaved apricot tree.
Feathered thieves dive in.

AUGUST
Monarch’s stained glass wings
Fanning magenta blossoms.
Sipping as it clings.

SEPTEMBER
Apple scented breeze
Stirring hollow wooden chimes
Into two note song.

OCTOBER
Caught in burnt-red sprays,
October sun igniting
Locust’s vibrant leaves.

NOVEMBER
Yellow butterfly
No bigger than a nickel
Finding last flower.

DECEMBER
White veil laid smoothly
Overnight over Sangres.
Valley brown, leafless.

Poet Roberta Fine lives and writes in Jaconita, New Mexico. She finds inspiration from the diverse seasons and scenery of the Southwest.

What are your favorite scenes from home and environs in your corner of the world? Please send comments, and tune in to Elaine’s website every other Monday for a fresh blog post about adoption, hiking and life.

Roberta Fine has adopted Haiku as her medium of expression

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Haiku Monday

Tags

adoption, birds, Flowers, haiku, healing, Moon, Poetry, Seasons, Snow, Sun

Note from Elaine: I’m in the final stages of editing a novel (All the Wrong Places) to be published in late 2016 or early 2017. The process has so consumed me, today’s post, one of my favorites, is a repeat.  My goal for this new year is to focus on gratitude for everything. I’ve flipped the script, from anger to appreciation. Understanding at the heart level has come about after years of searching and reinvention. As an adopted person who’s “adopted” many routes to healing, I’ve found that reading poetry is a balm. It is with great delight that I re-publish these haikus by my poet friend Roberta Fine.
Twelve Graces of 2014

Above the Clouds

January
Baldy’s white cap thins
Brown skull showing through the white
Waiting for a storm.
February
Fresh snow on Sangres
Opal tinted at sunset
Glow fading slowly.
March
Lady hawk surveys
White fields from catalpa tree
Great head swiveling.
April
Buried bulbs revive
In frozen lifeless garen
Reaching for the sun.
May
Clinging to twin trees
Raven pair tear at pine cones
Then leave together.
June
White threads vein mountain
All that’s left of winter snow
Garden pants for rain.
July
Fledglings line up
To take a turn at feeders
Lone bird pecks at ground.
August
Ravens’ raucous call
Splitting summer morning peace
Dewdrops shine on leaves.
September
Head held high, lone rose
Surviving frosty warning.
Someone’s chopping wood.
October
Tawny gold valley
Flaunting bold farewell to sun’s
Declining power.
November
Red chrysanthemums
Capturing sun’s chilly fire
In sundown’s last glance.
December
Fuzzy moon peering
Down through tree’s bare black branches
Suggests snow tonight.
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HAIKU-short poems that use words to capture a feeling or image of nature, beauty, or a particular sensory moment.. They are usually written as three lines: the first contains 5 syllables, the second line 7 syllables, the third line 5 syllables.
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Poet Roberta Fine lives and writes in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Finding inspiration from

A World War II Valentine

Tags

adoptee, adoptive parents, China-Burma-India, Flowers, Long-distance correspondence, Love Letter, separation, WWII

Love letters across the miles…

The romance of my adoptive parents, Richard and Reva Beard, was contained in a cache of 1940s love letters. Richard intended to write about his war experiences. When it became clear that Daddy was too mentally frail to write, my brother sent the letter collection to me. The best of the letters ended up in From Calcutta with Love-The WWII Correspondence of Richard and Reva Beard.
The two had been teenage sweethearts in Findlay, Ohio. Married in 1937, they put off starting their family until my father-to-be earned his doctorate from Ohio State University.  For six years, while Richard earned his PhD in clinical psychology, Reva taught elementary school. When it turned out that they were not able to have children, they decided to adopt. The outbreak of World War II, however, further delayed the formation of a family.
Richard served as a clinical psychologist in charge of a Neuropsychiatric ward at the 142nd General Hospital in Calcutta, part of the China-Burma-India theater of the WWII. For 18 months, our future adoptive parents were separated by 6,000 months. My mother-to-be lived at home with her parents in Findlay, Ohio. She continued to teach school and inquired into adopting a baby. The two kept in touch through daily handwritten letters.  When the war ended, my adoptive parents found me and my brother.
After my father passed away, I realized that his story of the wartime separation, contained in daily letters home, conveyed the love that was strong enough to add my brother and me, ages 17 months and five, to their family. I’m particularly fond of this love letter straight from the heart.
India
February 14, 1945

Dearest:
To my Valentine—my Love.
It was the middle of the afternoon before I realized that I had an unopened gift from you awaiting me. I went to the footlocker immediately upon my return this evening, and with great delight found your snapshots and the leather snapshot container…
Thanks so much, honey, they mean a lot to me…
Someone told me that they were having a movie in the 82nd area, and so I walked over that way—sure enough, they were, but it was the same one I saw last night. Upon my return to the basha I pored over a November copy of the Reader’s Digest. “Rajah of the Soul” proved interesting, though I’m afraid none of his methods have infiltrated to this community…
As I predicted, the music of falling rain and the rumble of thunder lulled me to sleep last night. This morning we awakened to find the rice paddies partially submerged and the drying ponds given a new lease on life. Where the boys had worked so hard leveling and scraping down a tennis court, a smooth placid lake lay, disturbed only by a croaking frog.
This afternoon, Lt. Scanlon, our medical administrative officer, came in to confer on some forms which he is making out for our Medical Corps officers. He spent the whole afternoon with me.
My darling, I hope my flowers reached you—or that it was possible to get flowers.
With each petal I bless the sacred moment that brought you into my life. You are my love, my existence.
With your name on my breath,
Goodnight sweetheart,
Your husband,
Dick

Lt. Richard L. Beard in his WWII army uniform, before he became my Dad