Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  The Woods Awaken Yellow balls of springing leaves festoon the maple trees. Not far behind, the bush and vine dot themselves with green. Mallards waddle the seasonal puddles to scoop-up fallen seeds. The grass gets greener, greener and longer, as springtime rains proceed. The deer these days leave the trees only under cover of night. Arriving home I found four in my drive caught in my high-beam headlights. Now that May comes soon, it will be a boon to us who love the birds The orioles, the grosbeaks, and those amazing hummingbirds.  The tiny birds migrate from way South, whose aerials are quite phenomenal. They beat their wings until they almost sing, this is a supernormal animal. The world is greening, and I am beaming, for green is my favorite color. Color-coordinated with my eyes, it is a prize that to me is almost stellar.   

  Haiku - April 30, 2023 Man part of nature? With lawns so dandelion-free? Bees don’t think they are

  Haiku - April 29, 2023 Ninety-some poets A river of metaphors Flowing  like the Fox

  Haiku - April 28, 2023 Conference today Amazing group of poets Bring your metaphors!

  The Sound of a Silent Planet If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Isn’t this a decidedly anthropocentric statement? Wouldn’t the crash of the tree be heard by the deer, the squirrel, the bird? The sound of the falling tree, the indigenous people would say, would be heard by every being - the plants, the animals, the Earth itself. Humans are just one of the potential hearers. Who hears the death cries of the hummingbirds, the bees, other creatures, being devastated by man’s poisons?  Man must attune to their death knell, for again, what the indigenous people, the ones most in touch with nature, tell us is that what man does to nature, he does to himself. If we destroy a species, for example, by the use of herbicides to produce a perfect lawn - really a monoculture bereft of nutrient for bees - we destroy part of ourselves. It may be easy for man to hear the crash of a tree falling, but man must pay attention to other voices as well. The

  Haiku - April 27, 2023 The pair has returned! Wood ducks in the yard Woody and Woodette

  Haiku - April 26, 2023 The woods gives us much Large birds at the bird feeder Turkeys now and ducks

  Haiku - April 25, 2023 Pat’s life reading books Words are cascading backwards Her dyslexia

  Haiku - April 24, 2023 Movement in the woods Big shadowy silhouettes Two turkeys resting

  Haiku - April 23, 2023 An Indian chief Blessed us at UU today We owe him a lot

 Face-Off at the Bird Feeder Two very different animals vied for the seed lying on the ground. They, a deer and a turkey, tried to stare each other down, The deer was rapt in his attention on the displaying gobbler. The turkey turned his attention away from a hen, and stared unblinkingly at the deer. After a long minute or two, the deer didn’t know what to do, Didn’t know what to make of this red-headed creature with feathers displayed like a shield. The deer forsook the seed, and backed-off.  Ol’ Tom resumed his amorous advance on the hen, his feathery display one of love not war.   

  Haiku - April 22, 2023 Deer versus turkey Who intimidated whom? Old Tom backed him down

  Haiku - April 21, 2023 Exercise, eat well Four years until I’m eighty Health is up to me

  Haiku - April 20, 2023 Woke to pounding rain A lightning flash, thunder crash Rain all day today

  A Sprung Spring   Written with words coined from the imagination… There are hidants emerging from the bitumenilious. Sprizzards blow, a flytilla of snain, a rave of snurf and prain in the wingways. Somewhere in the skyre,  flightning flashes, a beatonme rumbles. There birds flit in the trilagree, flegs shelter under the spree. One day it’s 29 degrees, the next 79. What to make of this cheather? Is it galarming? Clange? Something says spring has sprung, but, in this way, it’s a bit alarming. And translated… There are hidden things emerging from the billowy, dark clouds. Spring blizzards fly like migrating birds, they’re snow turning to rain. They’re a rough wave like snowy surf and pouring rain in the bird migration paths. Somewhere in the fiery sky, a flash of lightning, a drum beat of thunder. Birds fly through the filagree of tree branches. Four-legged animals shelter under the spruce trees. One day it’s 29 degrees, the next 79. What to make of this changing weather? Is it global w

  Haiku - April 19, 2023 In the yard last night Motion lights kept turning on Seven deer grazing

  Haiku - April 18, 2023 Sunny day today A good day for a long walk Songbirds at Heckrodt

  An April Day in Fox Crossing No foxes crossing, but… Robins bobbing to the Red-wings winging to the  Woodpeckers pecking to the Grackles grackling to the Black-caps chickadeeing to the Finches flitting to the Cardinals blushing to the Turkeys gobbling to the Geese honking to the  Deer prancing to the Raccoon munching to the Rabbits multiplying to the  Grass greening to the Trees budding to the South wind caressing  What are they all saying? Spring is here! 

  Haiku - April 17, 2023 Temp seventy-nine It was summer yesterday Today twenty-nine!

  Haiku - April 16, 2023 Sleepy heads perk up As does the hot, dark liquid It’s steaming coffee!

  Haiku - April 15, 2023 Saturday today Named for Saturn, “god of peace” Earth needs to learn peace

  Haiku - April 14, 2023 What to do today? Our world travelers have left Fund their great work still

  Haiku - April 13, 2023 House guests overnight At Great Auntie - “Grauntie’s” - house Our world travelers

  Haiku - April 12, 2023 Brad, Rachel, Petra Here by way of Kathmandu Well-deserved home leave

  Haiku - April 11, 2023 What to do today… Complete the IRS forms Doctor appointment

  Haiku - April 10, 2023 Busy day today Microwave delivery Two writer’s meetings

  Haiku - April 9, 2023 Snow mostly melted Temperatures are spring-like The wood ducks are back

  The Journey Within      No journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal                  distance into the world within.                                                                                                                                                                                       Lillian Smith The world within… The words a metaphor in themselves, for how can a world be within? Poets, like wandering sadhus, look to find out. A conscious one journeys into the outer world with awareness and heart,  his sensibilities attuned to the essence of all he encounters: rock, water, wind, sky, bird, human.   Surroundings different from the daily mundane shine a light on the eternal moment, alive inside. One takes a walking meditation, whether along a lakeshore, a wooded trail, or a city street.  While seeing what’s outside, and noticing at the same time what’s inside, poetry can result.    

  If We Don’t Correct Our Ways Here I am in a second floor waiting room. It overlooks an asphalt parking lot, a busy road, a cemetery, and an interstate highway. Is there anything I see that’s good for the planet and its people? The asphalt restricts green habitat, creates oily mess, and warms the planet. The road and highway do the same, plus pollute the air. The cemetery alone is good, because it reminds us where we are headed - prematurely - If we don’t correct our ways.

  Haiku - April 7, 2023 Blue through the window Sky promises warmth and cheer A good day to hike

  Haiku - April 6, 2023 It’s now April 6 I’ve put it off long enough Time to do taxes

  Haiku - April 5, 2023 The white disappears The gold of finches appears Is Spring really here?

  Haiku - April 4, 2023 A poem by 6 What to do now that I’m up? Go back to dreamland!

  A Little Ditty on Goosebumps      I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.                                                                                                                                   Mark Twain To know a trouble is to be on the bubble, waiting for it to pop. But, of course, in Mr. Twain’s case, him it didn’t stop. For humor is the antidote for such worrisome bombs, Which lie there ticking concocted by one’s qualms. Mr. Twain was a humorist high in history’s place, His humor, a wisdom and his saving grace.

  Haiku - April 3, 2023 I wrote a poem! Complete by 7AM Writing in my sleep

  Heart Dance      How come you can hear a chord, and then another chord, and then your heart breaks open?                                                                                                                                    Anne Lamott Music does that Not just to enter the ear, but to vibrate deeper Vibrate as the sound waves of love To jiggle-open heart’s door To allow the open heart to hear To put Mr. Shy on stage To beam like a baby To cry like a child To limber up the body and make it move To release feelings and let them flow To do the heart dance Music is good medicine Be careful, though, it’s addictive Your face might crack from all that emoting

  Memory      I have a terrible memory. I never forget a thing.                                                        Edith Konecky “Forget something?” my wife asked. “My tie?” I queried. “No, your pants!” she declared. “I’m trying on shirts,” I responded, not very convincingly. I was trying my best to calm her fears of my memory loss. Well, I am 76, you know. And yet, I do remember what I had for breakfast…when I was a kid, that is…Sugar Pops. Today it was, let me see, toast and coffee? Wait a minute, that’s what I always have, isn’t it???  Oh, oh. Maybe I am getting forgetful. Is that why I’m making “to do” lists these days? That is, when I remember to. But maybe, what Edith Konecky clearly suggests, sometimes it’s just better to forget. Except, of course, for one’s pants.

  Haiku - April 2, 2023 Black coffee and toast That’s what I have for breakfast Cardinals eat seed

  Becoming the Other, Poetically Words of a laureate Words like a lariat That pull poet and subject together An immersion of self in the other Where the poet is an empath for the other Where the poet lives in the other’s experience Where the poet is their tears, their joy Where the poet becomes their rising sun And enlightened words result 

  Haiku - April 1, 2023 It’s April Fool’s Day I caught my wife unawares The first time ever