Monday, February 6, 2012

bad monday morning haiku


an absence of snow,
but no gentler a winter:
first essays returned.


returning spring--six
weeks hence, perennially
beyond reach. so mired

already, i reach
for the nearest comfort: food,
booze, reality

TV, more booze, sleep.
how did this happen? i watch
a single crocus

singularly push
its way upward, off and on,
winter's gentle bite

no match for gentler
creatures. yet i no longer
push. i maintain. i

am no crocus. pushed
past all sensitivity
but not past despair,

i think of my past
and ask again: how did this
happen? this place, this

meaninglessness, this
unrelenting winter, this
me without a spring.


  1. Greta, I am sorry you're having such a lousy term, but I'm not as sorry as I should be because it's causing you to produce such remarkable poetry. I love this. I really do.

    I have had similar terms. They come and go. I hope your next term is better.

  2. Gretta sighs and writes
    Perfect Monday poetry!
    I can add nothing.

  3. February is the cruelest month...

  4. "me without a spring" is beautiful, but scary. Don't give up completely, Greta. There is a student or two out there, somewhere, whose mind is stirring because of you.

  5. Beautiful and sad...thanks for sharing.


  6. Greta: thank you for the beautiful haiku. It expresses the emotion I wish I could see in my students' writing.

    I hope that "being rich" will help you make it to Spring. :)

  7. This is so beautiful, Greta, I wish I'd been one of the easy-on-the-eyes men you didn't have as an undergraduate. Too bad that's behind us now.

  8. Thank you, all. Irritated Isis, you've helped me accomplish one of my primary objectives in this world: to get people to write more haiku. I think that verse makes the world a better place.

    It has been a rough 12 months. Coming here helps. Writing about it helps.

    And Froderick, that may be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.

  9. Oh, dear, Greta. II is brilliant -- sort of like "The Wasteland," only bleaker. I do hope some sort of spring, actual and/or metaphorical, is on the horizon.


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