Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Nature Notes Tips of tall spruce paint the sky a marbled blue and white, Mackerel sky, sign of unsettled weather ahead. The crown of the great white oak raises his limbs in joy for the beauty of the world. The robin, patient in her nest outside our door, reminds us of our own responsibilities for life. Sun shines faintly through the gathering clouds, warms, as best he can, this cool spring day. Bumble bees buzz around Patti’s pollinator garden.  The wall of green that is the woods hides its secrets well. That is, except for all the winged ones seen today, and most every day, at our feeders: Goldfinch, hummingbird, red-breasted woodpecker, downy woodpecker, grackle, robin, blue jay, red-winged blackbird, house finch, cardinal, oriole, black-capped chickadee. No turkey today, that was yesterday.

  Haiku for May 30th Enjoy your summer  So long anticipated Yet over so quick

  Haiku for May 29th The dandelion What’s its message for humans? It’s resilience

  The Truth       You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.                                                                            John 8:32 Who, what, when, where, why Questions to answer to separate truth from lie Verify, and even lies repeated by the powerful will die Lies repeated enough and unexamined become “truth” Easy to do on anti-social media, virtual unreality Where lies like a swarm of hornets fly Show me the evidence Get to the bottom of it Someone named Anonymous That person’s words are dubious Question the source Uncover the truth The truth will set you free

  A Home for Our Memories We return sometimes in our minds to walk familiar paths where once we lived. It is a sense of place, of family and friends, of loved landscape. A lake where, as a toddler, I first camped, and did so many times thereafter. A path through the woodlands which was one, as well, to my wife’s heart. A meadow where our young family spent a summer in a teepee. A place where people of the Earth call me friend. A starting place for our two sons, experts with words and wood. A terrain as varied as sand dunes and beaches along a Great Lake, And, inland, the glacial hills of the Kettle Moraine. A place where we loved to live for many years. A home for our memories.

  Haiku for May 28th Rain again today Good for the grass we planted And our dandelions

 To  End the Pandemic Vaccination Mask the nation Keep your distance It’s mitigation Travel restriction Room ventilation If you’re iffy You need testing If test positive You have no prerogative But to follow the science And your conscience. Vaccination Mitigation Normalization  Everyone’s obligation

  The Owl’s Question The Owl asks, “Whooo?” We answer... We are the Sun who shines on all. We are the Light who makes life possible. We are the Mountain who sees beyond seeing. We are the Eagle, the eyes of the mountaintop. We are the Fish who flashes silver in the river. We are the River who is one with the raincloud. We are the Water who flows in our bodies.  We are the Wind who is unseen yet unstoppable. We are the Air who is the breath within us. We are the Tree, the giver of the air of life. We are the Deer who raises her fawn in the forest. We are the Forest, the home where secret lives are lived. We are the Soil, fertile for planting. We are the Harvest, the bounty of the Earth. We are the Earth who is home for all people. We are the Wise Owl who, with his question, reminds us who we are. We answer the Owl within us, “We are Humanity, one with Nature.” 

  Haiku for May 27th Grand kids, here we come! Social distancing, no more! We’re vaccinated!

  Haiku for May 26th It’s sunny, not hot. A good day to take a hike. With deer and my dear.

     Ekphrasis of a Japanese Woodcut, Meiji Period It is the late 1800’s in the Japanese countryside. There is a sick infant. And a river to cross at night in a small open boat to get him to the doctor. The ferryman bends to the task, poling the boat with precision. The boat labors through churning slate-blue water, but makes headway. Mother bends forward protectively, comforts her baby wrapped in robes that also engulf her. Her husband, a mountain of serenity and strength, is a calming presence in a fraught situation. Life is a river to cross, swirling currents of danger, destiny in the balance, salvation in the moment.  

  Haiku for May 25th Jon Doll Zooms tonight It’s Tuesday Night Music Club Ask me for the link

  Haiku for May 24th Forgot the haiku A day late, a dollar short “George” doesn’t much care

  Soggy  A downpour, a deluge From which there’s no refuge A flood of near biblical proportions A cloudburst, a torrent Except for frogs abhorrent An inundation of our corner of Creation We’re drenched, we’re drownded Our picnic table surrounded Like the Ark by waters impounded We’ll slog through the swamp Can’t avoid getting damp Over our shoe tops in pooling water As back homeward we go With our soggy lunch in tow Through the muck and the mud we totter

  Haiku for May 23rd Our fridge stopped working The hottest day of the year Need ice and more ice!

  Haiku for May 22nd Fawns in the green wood Under cover of thick leaves Life springs eternal

  Green Cavern They can see us, the woodland creatures. We can’t see them, hidden in their green cavern. What was, in winter, leafless, dormant, snow-bright, Now, in spring, is closed-to-view, vibrant, but shadowy. The woods, a green grotto, holds secrets of life in its emerald walls. Thick branches, like stalactites, hang from the trees. Stalagmite stumps stick-out from the cave-like floor, Make us think they’re stout little creatures as we pass. You know they’re there in the thick understory - Deer, turkey, fox, raccoon, woodchuck, and others - For they all appear from time to time in the yard. But now they have their life tasks to perform - To mate, give birth, nest, care for their young. We retreat. They need no intrusion from us.

  What Am I: Riddles for Grandma and Grandpa’s Party I start out low, get higher and higher. I warm things up, then disappear for awhile. I’m tall and strong. At different times, I’m green, then yellow, then brown. I’m frosty cold, but can melt. I’m sweet 31 different ways. Kai and Connor don’t like me. (They love me!) I can be big or small. A pretty big one is only two miles from here. I can have sand in places on my borders. Some of my kind are so big you can’t see the other side. I’m higher than a kite. I can take any shape. Sometimes I leak. I have many rooms. They are for getting smarter. Kids like to come to me, but also like to go outside for  awhile. You can’t see me, only the effect I have on things. You can feel me. I can be gentle, blustery, move straight ahead, back and forth, even swirl around. Someone pushes one of my buttons, and, magically, a picture comes up. More magic: people thousands of miles apart talk to each other through me. When I’m a baby, I’m pretty dirty. I

  Haiku for May 21st Why do we plant grass? Fertilize, water, then mow But we can’t eat it!

  Haiku for May 20th No Mow May is now Dandy yellow is our lawn Dandelion yellow

  Haiku for May 19th Spring rains predicted Wet for the next seven days Frogs are in heaven

  Today’s View The tall deciduous, deliciously green, stretch to the sky, Catch the sunlight in their great crowns. Spruce trees, blue and white, get right to the point, Their tips aim straight to the heavens. A spike buck emerges slowly from the trees, Tastes the clover, looks at me, then walks across the road,  Perhaps evicted by the ten-pointer. Me? I’m happy just to be.

  Old Favorites The robin sings the glories of the sunrise. Sleeping-in a little longer, the cardinal sings songs of joy for the beautiful day. The jay, in his blue business suit, makes electric sounds a computer could. But the sounds a red-breasted woodpecker makes, only a mother could love. The wind chimes ring in the maple tree, reminding me of all the wonderful times spent in our old yard, where the birds and the chimes used to sing. Which reminds me also, it’s our 45th anniversary today. Old favorites.

  Haiku for May 18th Patti and myself It’s forty-five years of love Celebration time!

  Thom-tankh-amun Argggh! Forgot my computer cord 50 miles back.  Oh well, my daughter-in-law will send it in the snail mail today. But until then I’m unplugged. Kind of ironic that this e-marvel still depends On the proper firing of cerebral circuits  To remember a cord that gives electronic nourishment  To a now-lifeless hunk of silicon.  So until the e-teat arrives, it’s back to basics in my writing. Pen in hand, scrap paper and wastebasket at the ready, it’s Write, crumple, trash, start over, Write, crumple, trash, start over, Write, crumple, trash, start over, et cetera. And only writer’s cramp and a full wastebasket to show for it. Snail mail. How long did she say it would take? Sounds achingly slow. Like enough time to chisel my poems into stone like the ancient Egyptians. The immortal musings of Thom-tankh-amun in great stone tablets. Weighty words, if successful. Let’s see...I’ll need a chisel, a hammer, and some big, flat rocks. This time it would be Strike, crack, toss, star

  Covid Shot Get it. To not get it. Get it?

  Hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian Me, I stay away from hifalutin’ words With their snobbish snoots pointed up to the birds, Who always show up in white gloves, black tie Trying their best to impress you and I. I like words I don’t have to run to the dictionary For which to find out if they’re really...uh...fictionary, Or are misused to try to impress With verbiage that comes across way overdressed. An example this poem will end sesquipedalian, Even hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian. The former means words a foot-and-a-half long The latter, its synonym, in length a furlong. 

  Sleepwalk Up ahead, a figure walking. Looks like me - same glasses, clothes, hair - only a bit older. Striding the same path I always take. I walk faster, try to catch him. He stays just out of reach. Is he my Future? Seems to be robotically repeating a familiar phrase... “If only I had done it differently...If only I had done it differently… If only I had done it differently…” And who is that guy, seems a younger version of me, stalking from behind? Uneasy, I walk faster, but still I hear him grumbling, gaining on me. It’s a denizen of a Past that catches up to me too often, now ranting this refrain...  “If only I could do it differently…If only I could do it differently… If only I could do it differently…” I startle awake, alone, the phantasms fade. I get their lesson for me: “You can learn from us, not hang with us, we’re stuck in time. Leave the past in the dust, and the future in the fog. Be here now, that’s where and when you make things happen.” So goodbye, Past! Hold on, Futu

  The Trouble With Beards Your beard might make you look distinguished, but for sure it will make you look older. Birds, etc. might nest in it. It might get stuck in the zipper of your coat. You will get maple syrup in it when you lick the syrup off your plate after eating your pancakes. Your beard might find its way into your soup bowl as well, and then drip soup into your lap. You could be mistaken for a member of the old rock band, ZZ Top. You have to keep it trimmed, unless you’re a poet or a prophet.  If you don’t trim it, you better get poetic or prophetic, or you will just look pathetic. Icicles form on it in winter, and in your wife’s icy stare when you ask her for a kiss. Don’t blame her. It’s probably impossible to locate your lips amongst your facial shrubbery. Hmm, maybe you can melt her with a love poem. After you prune your whiskers, that is.

  To Write Poetry, A Reminder To Myself Make a “to do” list and throw it away. Write poetry instead. Daydream daily.  When you come back, write down where you’ve been. Write down your sleeping dreams. Interpret what they mean. Take a walk. Meditate. Get out of your head and into your heart.  Be present. Listen to the waves of your breath. Get into your body. Get out into the natural world. Feel what’s in front of you, the sound, the sight, the motion, the texture. Get interested in others. Be compassionate. Listen to understand. Be gently honest, transparent. See what response that evokes in another.  Imagine their loves, their losses, their fears, their joys. Then take a chance and check out if you were right by asking them.  Notice the light in your loved one’s smile. Hang out with two-year-olds and ninety-two-year-olds. Allow yourself to feel mad, sad, glad, scared, bored. Cry at a beautiful piece of music or smile at the look on a baby’s face. Remember that being inspired is being

  Haiku Dice When in the throes of “atramentarium scriptoris obstructionum,” or writer’s block, a poet may roll the dice, “haiku dice.” The dice, sixty in number, are imprinted with words  which can be selected to write a three-line, non-traditional, haiku-like poem. Some examples… Wise journey Travel many Feeling places My girl Opens my heart Promises love light Watching love Baby mouthing Warm noodle Precious partner Her sweet dancing Love candy Grand thing Baby born Bird sings Boy counts One, two, three Birds on wire Little bird Hides Big wind coming