Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Haiku for April 30th Yard’s carpet is green. Woods are golden emerald Spring remodeling

  One Morning in Spring Out the East windows: not long ago, bare trees, deep snow. Then there were just the year-rounders at the feeder: cardinals, chickadees, woodpeckers. And, below it, those that think they’re birds: deer and squirrels. But time flies if you’re a migrant, and springtime flights arrive daily from points South: Flickers, wood thrushes, finches of gold and red, blackbirds, grackles, cowbirds, robins. And, below the feeder, our turkey, unseen since autumn, takes her daily place at the table. The wood is filling-in with budding leaves, like green dots on an impressionist painting. Just now, a deer saunters across the lawn, looks in my window, continues on. The sun rises through the trees, makes green jewels of back lit leaves. Its rays highlight little blue flowers in the grass. Rabbits chase each other. Cardinals kiss. Time of rebirth and renewal.

  Haiku for April 29th Woodpecker, red head And a rosy-red belly Red-bellied woody

  When the Thesaurus Walked the Earth While reading the thesaurus today,* Attention I wanted to pay To a word I first spied, and to inspire myself I tried  To write a poem without delay. The word hit my eye, “mischievous,” And jogged an idea quite devilish: To extract from the jaws of the thesaurus, that wordy dinosaurus, Something trouble-making, rascally, and roguish. The open maw of the thesaurus  Held synonyms for that miscreant, mischievous: Boyish, playful, prankish, and puckish, Sportive, naughty, and impish.  The beast’s mouth then snapped shut, My poem stuck in the proverbial rut. I had words but couldn’t use them, if I did so I’d abuse them, To the poet, the unkindest cut.   To the reader, I ask your excusing For my muse, in action, gone missing. Let bygones be bygones, and woebegones be woebegones, Today the thesaurus I’ll no longer be perusing. *Yes, it’s come to this: I’ve run out of rhyme, misplaced the muse, looking for poetry in all the...

  Haiku for April 28th Think I’m a young man Lifting, lifting. Oh, my back! Think again, old man

  The Dark I’m an early riser, up before the sun. Look out my darkened window, and see a shadow run. Or was this mysterious motion merely in my mind, A figment, a fabrication, of the overactive kind? People used to fill the dark with beings outside their cave. Wore fearsome masks, danced ‘round the fire, off their fears to stave. So was this glimpse of gloomy movement a remembrance of those days, A vestige in my neurons of Neanderthaler raves? Or really was it a crook or beast ready to invade my space? I will kindle today’s watch fires - OK, motion lights - just in case.

  Haiku for April 27th Today’s to-do list Get more stain and paint the deck Before the rains come

  A Woodland Home As life is awakened in the warming days of spring, As migrant flyers arrive and of their long travels sing, The woodland host greets them in its best emerald bling. A curtain seems to close on our edge of the woods, A leafy mantle shelters unseen, nesting broods, High-rise homes for the birds, and a vast store of foods. Look through breaks in the trees where in the winter was seen A hungry herd of deer searching for anything green, The woods now abundant for their green food to glean. Our woods is their woods, to animals a home, Mostly hidden to humans, unless known by their roam, A safe place for nestlings until they’re more grown.

  One Spring Morning Late April sunrise Sun shines through budding branches Clear light turned light-green The maple tree glows Festooned with blossoming buds Our yard comes to life Greening Earth, blue sky Another glorious day Rest, relax, enjoy!

  Haiku for April 26th Here comes the turkey Walking like an Egyptian Big bird eats small seeds

  A Little Camper, 16,000 Trees, and a $10 Loan Repaid It was May, 1977. Patti and I and little Aaron, age eight months, were camped out in our old van in the Chequamegon National Forest of northern Wisconsin. Patti and I had spent the last month tending to the needs of the little guy, while also planting 16,000 seedling spruce trees under contract with the National Forest Service. Keith, our ranger, would deliver a couple thousand seedlings to our wilderness campsite every few days. Though amazed that we had a baby along, he was happy to see that we made great progress in getting the trees in the ground over the rough terrain.  Night time temperatures when we started in late April were quite cold for a couple nights. Anticipating this before we left home, Patti had sewn a thick, wool blanket to a heavy sleeping bag. Opened as a quilt - we called it “the 300 pound sleeping bag” - it kept the three of us toasty warm in the bed I had built in the van. We knew it was cold outside...

  Haiku for April 25th Spring trumps pandemic People emerge from their holes Get vaccinated!

  Haiku for April 24th Planked the deck today My son is the contractor It’s solidly built

  Haiku for April 23rd At first, hunts and pecks Then she flees across the yard Dog chasing turkey

  Haiku for April 22nd Twenty-three degrees Typical for the winter  Except it’s now spring

  Haiku for April 21st April twenty-first Dusting of snow on the ground And on the turkey

  The King of Myself      I am, indeed, a king because I know how to rule myself.                                                                                        Pietro Aretino                                                           Dramatist...

  Haiku for April 20th It’s a cold spring day Trees budding and snow falling A northern April

  A Return to Being Revelant I’m revenant (returning) to being revelant (transparent) about what is relevant (meaningful) and reverent (respectful).                                                                                         Young children are revelant, transparent of how they feel. Their cry is very relevant to them, a survival thing to ensure their needs are met. Even reverent to the truth of who they are, though their truth is limited. Mostly what they know is to get gratification. We all grow to the extent that our limiting ego shrinks. We...

  Haiku for April 19th Big bird on our lawn She did a curious thing Turkey sunbathing 

  Haiku for April 18th Shovel, shovel, dump Shovel through Earth to China Ch’ang an sui hao pu shih chiu liu chih chia (There’s no place like home)

  Terra Firma What were the grounds for digging all those holes in our backyard ground? To gain sixteen footholds for a structure, a deck above the ground. Let me say that the yard’s thick clay almost ran us aground. Even with an auger of high horsepower boring the solid ground, the drill got stuck in the adhesive muck four feet in the ground. That’s until the contractor’s skill, and the juice of the coffee grounds, awakened a solution for the stuck contraption, stuck so far down. He bridged the hole and suspended a winch over the auger run aground, and winched it up, no longer stuck, to cheers all around. We have a new name for our domain, given by my son, the above contractor of renown. He christened the yard Terra Firma, solid as a boulder, except four feet down.

  Haiku for April 17th I am fond of food. Sweet, sour, spicy, savory. What is not to like?

  The Sun is Arcing Higher Old Solius is well along his northward journey. He gets out of bed a good 30 degrees North of where he did a month ago. And, for a change, his head is not in the clouds. Warms us Northerners like the deer and the turkey, Lights their browsing path.

  Haiku for April 16th The owl asks me, “Who?” A moment later, “Who? Who?” Pushy questioner.

  Haiku for April 15th April snow showers Whiten the trees and the grass A winter encore

  Early Spring Palette There’s gold in the maple outside my window. Finches vanish among the yellow-green buds, camouflage for a nugget of a bird. No camo for them until fall, cardinals shine like Christmas ornaments in the green spruce, proudly display their royal red robes for prospective mates. Tannish wood thrushes look like wind-blown leaves as they rustle through a pile of them to find their breakfast, their table manners lacking, but their morning song melodic. Spring rains and mounting sun green the grass, and set a table of worms  for the sunny-breasted robins, who, with their signature song, give thanks for a bountiful day. Squirrels, grey and red, glean the leavings of birdseed, chase each other away from the grub, and scurry away themselves as the white-tail deer appear to somehow lick-up the seeds. Sky’s colors are grey, but that’s OK, as animals of wing, paw, and hoof color the spring world.      

  Haiku for April 14th Old friends from afar Zoomed-in across the country Virtual men’s group

  Haiku for April 13th Writing poetry Start one day, finish the next The muse needs rest, too

  What Cheer When driving through rural Iowa on Interstate 80 years ago, we would pass an exit for a town with an unusual name, What Cheer. Maybe it was the tedium of the drive, the catchiness of the name, or both, that led us once to get off the highway and go in search of this sunny-sounding place. About twenty or so miles down the country road, we rolled into a tiny town - the sign indicated 600-some people - and came upon a coffee shop. As we had many miles to go that day, and perhaps could satisfy our curiosity about the town’s name there, we stopped. The waitress obliged us with both. While pouring the coffee, she told us with a twinkle in her eye, the story of the naming of What Cheer, no doubt one of local lore. It went something like this... When the town was founded by a bunch of Scottish coal miners, they had a meeting to come up with a name. The discussion went on for a long time with people being quite intractable in their views. Finally the leader had enough, and said...

  Sir That’s how I’m addressed by youthful others, For whom I resemble their fathers or grandfathers. Still another dour omen of ageing, Most notably to me of the waging Of war between my vertebrae engaging In a territorial dispute raging. One spinal bone stubbornly tries remaining Where the other tries relocating. But beyond the woe of spinal crackers, The meat and potatoes of chiropractors,  Are dubious distinctions more obvious to the youths Who call me “sir,” a title, methinks, for those long in the tooth. “Sir” conjures up an old guy bald, paunchy, spacey, and shuffling, Who cannot remember what he had for lunch or if nothing. I’m not that sir guy as some might opine. Sure I’ve lost a few locks, a receding hairline, Gained a few pounds around the waistline, And have had to staunch aches and pains with the occasional bottle of wine. But I can still do a turn around town, On my five mile walk over the Fox without falling in, and drowned. And turning a phrase or two as well,...

  Haiku for April 12th April, May, and June Names for women and springtime Evoke renewed life

  April Awakenings The rains come in torrents and showers, Awaken early flowery bowers. Grass hues change to emerald green. Tree buds glint a yellow gleam. Daffodils and irises start to bud. They, too, welcome the copious flood. Cardinals, the red ones, challenge each other, For the right to woo a female lover. Soon males and females will be kissing each other, As the male places a seed in the beak of his lover. Rabbits get squirrely, squirrels even squirrelier, As animal magnetism brings them together. Robins, singing lovesongs clearly the best, Have discovered their lovers, and are building their nests. Red finches and goldfinches arrive from migration, Their colors welcome at the feeder’s location. Soon other travelers will arrive with the hungries: Orioles, tanagers, grosbeaks, and buntings. It’s a great time of year, for many the best, As April awakens with its zip and its zest.

  Paying It Forward, Naturally The Sun sends no bill for its heat and light. The Earth pirouettes and bows. Earth’s Soil is free for the leafy Tree, Its Leaves, for compost, shed from fall’s boughs. The Tree is rent-free for the nesting spring Bird The Bird responds aloud. The Bird eats six-leggeds harmful to the Tree. Its gleeful voice serenades the Clouds. The Clouds in turn rain down on the ground. The lifting Mists refills Cloud’s billows.  The Waters of the heavens refreshes Earth’s thirst, Earth’s response: abundant ground formerly fallow. Paying it forward is how Nature works, Sharing hand-to-hand. The People need to remember this, As they ponder their use of the Land.  

  Haiku for April 11th A little flighty Isolated for a year Pandemic fatigue