Poetry

Back to School Haiku

/ boz bozeman / 8 Comments

Teachers measure years a little differently. Our year goes from September to June. On the 26th, my new year begins. Unlike the traditional New Years Day, I don’t need to make a list of changes or resolutions. Those will come in the form of the 70 plus new students I will get to know and teach over the school year. 

Ads for school shopping
Remind me I have a job
That fresh minds await

The feelings at this time of year are always mixed. I love summer, and its mix of productive tasks, like writing and landscaping, along with relaxing and recreation. Soon, my focus will change to the trials and the joy of teaching seventh graders as they navigate the challenges of childhood coming to an end and adulthood beckoning. Though this will be my thirtieth year, even with all my experience each year starts with the nervous excitement of new beginnings.

Visit TankaTuesday to join the challenge of writing syllabic poetry.

Back for TankaTuesday

/ boz bozeman / 14 Comments

Been a while since I posted, but I have been writing! Working on making my novel into episodes, with the goal of publishing on Kindle Vella when it is ready.

The haiku below relate to the work I’ve been doing outdoors in this summers extreme heat. Good to be back on Tanka Tuesday!

In smoldering heat
The black mulch glistens wetly
Sweat soaking my shirt

Hawks cry and circle
I point them to the mole holes
Whose mounds scar the lawn

The sun blazes heat
In the green leaf shade I rest
Leaning on the spade

It’s Nice

/ boz bozeman / 1 Comment 
It’s nice to say nothing 
It’s nice to talk expansively 
It’s nice to hunch forward and stare at something intently. 

It’s nice to walk slowly 
It’s nice to run fast enough to create your own breeze 
It’s nice to know the difference between squirrel chitters and bird calls. 

It’s nice to love gently 
It’s nice to love passionately  
It’s nice to have a dog sit on your foot as you pet its head.

Back for a challenge

/ boz bozeman / 1 Comment

The form below is called a Renga. The breaks show the different line requirements and syllable counts. More info can be found at tankatuesday.com.

Contrast the hint of 
flowers with the attack of 
weeds. Balance of Spring.

Hints of summer in sunlight
humidity, light and heat.

Then cool like the fall.
Leaves hush instead of rustle,
No hint of winter
Once bare trees are blossoming
Nature's first green is golden.

Eclipse in a Dish

/ boz bozeman / 1 Comment

I failed to get us eclipse glasses. Honestly I didn’t even think about it. We were so caught up in Uconn’s championship run and celebrating our birthdays that it didn’t occur to me to pick up glasses.

I had a solution. Years ago, I was washing dishes during a partial eclipse, and I saw the reflection of the sun in the water. Realizing I could watch the reflection safely, I filled a small dish with water and placed it on the garden window. I was able to “watch” it indirectly. One cool effect is that the depth of water means a layered image: the top image is nearly too bright to look at, but the refracted ones are like shadows, and give a really good sense of the shape of the sun as it is obscured.

This picture is as close as I could get to capturing the effect. The reflection allowed us to enjoy the partial eclipse here, but I’m sure didn’t compare to the total with appropriate lenses.

Here’s the poem I wrote years ago when I discovered this eclipse watching cheat code:

I watch the eclipse 
In a dish 
In the garden window. 

Even reflected 
The light stings my eyes. 

The water is still,  
Deep enough 
To give shape to the sun. 

I tap the rim and the water tilts 
Tipping side to side. 
The sun in a cradle 
Rocking, rippling, warped.

Leap Day

/ boz bozeman / 7 Comments

Yesterday was leap day. I spent it taking care of my wife, who is recovering from a hip replacement. Her situation reminds me of the transition from Winter to Spring. Winter would be her painful determination to keep going despite the physical obstacles she was facing. Spring has just begun: the healing and slow emergence into pain free movement after surgery. 

Sit still on leap day
And heal like the quiet earth
Growth comes again soon

Frost Heaves

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Weather changes the most familiar paths: 
Snow buries landmark stones. 
Deep puddles block the trail 
From boots and paws. 
Fallen trees bar the way. 

Today the ground  
Crumbles under my step 
And my foot is suspended 
Above the cracking path 

I’m surprised, 
But it’s not the first time 
I've stepped on a frost heave. 

For a moment I enjoy 
Pretending that the Earth is giving way, 
Opening 
And I will fall through 
And fall 
And fall  
Into an unimagined abyss.  

My eyes open. 
I'm standing on the trail 
My right foot is crooked, 
But cupped by the sustaining earth. 

Eyeing the ground. 
I seek out more frost heaves, 
Step on them lightly 
To feel the crust breaking 

Reliving the perilous moment 
When everything below fell away.

Early Spring Haiku

/ boz bozeman / 7 Comments

Not really feeling like spring today in Southern New England! Pretty good sized snowstorm passing through. But I liked the image that these kigo words gave me: Shallow Spring, bush warblers and returning cold.

I tried to work today’s weather in, but it couldn’t happen. The image I chose is one that I have been noticing for several weeks: flocks of small birds in bushes by the trail. They’re a fun and refreshing sight. 


Shallow Spring invites
bush warblers; returning cold
can't diminish songs.

Thanks as always to #tankatuesday

A challenge from nature and poetry

/ boz bozeman / 6 Comments

I love a challenge but this one was initially daunting. At tankatuesday, we were given a mission to write a bussokusekika, a Japanese form that is generally found at a specific Buddhist temple. It was challenging enough to write 3 verses with a 575777 syllable count, but I also wanted to honor its spiritual roots.

Luckily I had just taken a hike that provided an perfect image. Nature being a place of great spirit, I thought that this was fitting. 

I stop on the path
That ice has taken over 
A giant puddle
That stretches into the woods
And covers the trail forward
Ahead thin ice blocks the way

These woods are our home.
The right of the path slopes up
Boundary to ice
Water cannot puddle there.
I gaze through tangled branches 
I look for a way through trees

Anna cracks through ice
She shakes a wet paw and turns
Following my steps
I find a path through branches
A way through brush sticks and stones 
A soft trail through leaves and loam.