I doubt anyone on hive would call your urge to participate in your own contest "stupid." We all know you do, and that you give over-the-top here even under extreme duress.
Writing haiku employs your personal voice, and I can see yours clearly in these three. I always marvel, enviously, at the lyrical fluidity of your stories - you are highly descriptive with remarkably few words.
These three are no different. Somehow your having to pare down to fewer syllables has put a new power into your words.
All the heat in your poems has me sweating over here, a hot flash I'd thought I was well and done with. During my first read through, I saw your garden, simply, hot, and thought the unease in them was yours at the heat. That they were quite literal, almost superficial. Of course I know you, and that you are anything but superficial. So I read them again. And again. I began to see despondency in them. It wasn't until my third or fourth read that I saw, so very clearly, your father's last painful and gasping days.
The one that, at first, seemed the most literal now says something very different to me:
Weather charts flush red = medical equipment alerts
paddocks painted pale yellow = liver problems
bird baths half empty = water/life washing away
Then the last line hits me hard: the possums' gain in his passing will be your loss.
I'm so sorry River, I can't say anymore I am so very sad for you. I'm pretty sure no one here would hold it against you if you gave yourself a little break here on Hive.
I'm unencumbered for a week or two, so I can do the creative garden curating for this and next week.
Aw @owasco you are too kind. Thankyou for giving my haiku attempts so much careful attention. I'm super chuffed.
I didn't think of liver issues for the second, just the hint of illness with the 'pale' and trying to mirror the lands struggle with Dad's. We are still waiting for oncologist to get back to him with a plan - perhaps they'll either say there's nothing to be done, or they'll prolong his life a little. Either way my hope is half empty, and that's okay.
I'm glad you saw the idea in the last line. I imagine those bloody possums actually being able to rest when he's gone - no one to shake them out of trees. Life goes on, doesn't it?
I'd be really grateful for you to give comments as they come. I can't seem to get to them with a comment til the last minute. Of course we are trying to get things together to go away as well, though we won't leave if Dad is actually given a time frame that means it's pointless to go and come back. That's a whole other story.
I like to write in the challenges so that other people are reminded to do the same, plus, it's an interesting challenge to force myself to write to a prompt. Did you catch my Christmas story last week? If you have time I'd love you to read it but don't feel obligated. I appreciate you so much, @owasco!
I was insanely busy last week, but I'll read it today, and keep up with the entries.
I've been wondering if you're still going. You must be so stressed out right now.
Ha I have moments where I retreat into my woman cave, out on my noise cancelling headphones, and do a yoga nidra to settle the nervous system. We are treating it like a job, writing constant to do lists and getting through it.
Dad wants us to go. He's hopeful he will have another year of three. I doubt it. He wants photos of Iceland and Morocco to edit, to live vicariously through us. If he has extra time due to whatever he'll drugs they give him, we will go. My bro in law will call it if it's looking closer and I can jump on a flight.
It's a very odd time. My bro in law says I have no choice but to go. Sometimes I'm paralyzed. Sometimes I just forget.
Why would you not have a choice? You always have a choice.
Exactly. But he was trying to say that life goes on, and that it'd be silly to hang around if Dad's got a year, say, as I'd probably only see Dad once a week anyway or it'd be weird for my parents 😂 My folks are very insistent that things are as normal as possible. And to get on with our lives. .
Jamie will still go and meet the car if I decide to stay because things are close to the wire.
Oh my gosh the car is already on the way? You're that close to going? I can understand their wanting things to be "normal."
Yeah, they're troopers, and don't want fuss. Someone told me once that however much you worry about your parents, it's their journey - they met, got married, had kids together, had a life - it's not actually my responsibility to micromanage them. They've got this, like they've had all the other things in their life. That was immensely liberating for me. I'll be on the same journey before too long. Of course I'll be around when he takes his last (I hope) but logically, as Dad said, we've said all our goodbyes before when we thought he was dying last time. There's nothing that needs to be said. That's also pretty cool. Not a lot of people get that.