Welcome to Four Lines! I have a goal I would like to write at least four lines of poetry or a haiku every day for the rest of my life. I'm excited about this challenge! Also, along with my daily poem, I will be reading at least four lines of another author's poetry. I'll try to include that here also. So I'm thinking - how difficult can it be to read and then write one poem a day? We will see! - Claudia

All poems on this blog, unless noted, are written by Claudia Callaghan.
© 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 Claudia Callaghan
Used only with permission. Please feel free to join Four Lines and request permission.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Okay, enough already,
easily wishing things away -
the cold, Friday's working hours,
an insensitive word.
It's a futile misunderstanding of the world.

Snow I love.
I love the flake and flood of snow -
romantic, challenging.
I love moonstone evergreens,
and shoveling and shoveling again.
Sun and stars shining on the ocean
are here in Minnesota
in sweet-heavenly sun on snow.

Yet cold is cold, without glory.
It is coats, boots, gloves, hat, scarf,
long underwear, sweaters, ear muffs,
on and off, on and off,
blah, blah, blah, gray-blurry gray,
and growing old in the United States.
Indeed.  I'm wishing arctic air away,
magnifying what I like least.

Okay. Acceptance. Baby, bring it on!
I wish only to be here in Minnesota now.
I'm going out in the challenging c..c..cold.

Under all these layers
is a warm me.




Hi hibiscus.
Here is water,
a kiss for the day,
leaf to my cheek,
a gentle word or two.

You are a rescue,
saved from snow,
like a neighborhood cat,
waiting for spring air.

There on the iron stand
in the corner of my living room,
you grow red flowers
in December.




Thursday, December 25, 2014

If only we could
fold and unfold
the world,
then this Christmas
I would share
my feast with you!


Here I am thinking about him
in the middle of the night again,
about our passing ships.

Here I am stuck on ice,
waiting for spring,
the ice breaker to arrive.

There he sails, a pirate
with part of my treasure,
east into the sunrise,
receding in my binoculars.



Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Misted and gray,
I stroll the street
in fluid, cool winter,
not frozen and white,
but misted and gray
with blue, stirring shadows.
Here is something
that touches my hand
and holds my breath.
Winter sunflowers!
Still taller then me,
they stand, old dancers,
outlined in charcoal.
Lovely and melancholy,
they cry,
they speak,
pearls without snow,
misted and gray.




Monday, December 15, 2014

Can we write together
       You and I
with no space between us?
     Give it a try!
All things are possible
   on my green earth.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Off Medication

He  searches and questions
from across the table,
beside her on the church pew.
She feels it between them
his searching and questions
and begins to think again:
I am not good enough.
I am not good enough.

I am not good enough grows.

She searches and questions
at the table, during work,
unable to sleep.
She searches and questions
into a deep, falling night.
It is a mission of destruction.
How easily she breaks
for she is not good enough.
She has never been
and will never be
good enough.

Saturday, December 13, 2014


Our hearts are not our own,
pumping every beautiful moment,
moment by moment,
all of our lives.
It is easy to claim it mine,
my heart,
this heart inside me.
I believe I choose
to give or not of my heart
as I choose to give
a bouquet of lilies in winter.

Who gives you the heart?
Who gives you the heart?
Is it given to you or 
are you given to the heart
pumping moment by moment,
every beautiful moment,
inside you freely?

I say, the heart is not your own.
It is mine as mine is yours.
It is the heart of every life,
every life that has lived, is living,
and ever will live. 
The heart is shared.
You know what the heart shares,
moment by moment,
every beautiful moment forever.
Love.

Thursday, December 4, 2014


Thank you for meeting
this late summer rose,
self doubt - spring-silver and indigo,
mockingbird with a broken wing,
intern of the river in every song,
with compliments, more
compliments, sincerity, love,
part of yourself
in me.



Monday, December 1, 2014

I need a shovel
to dig deep to find
my love for you.  No.
A backhoe won't even do.

Years a companion
easy to find,
years again till finally lost,
my love for you.

I gave up,
left you for dead,
so far-away-cold
my love for you.

But not gone.
I just can't find it alone.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Brown men and pigeons
in the Kmart parking lot
used to each other.

Pigeons and brown men
milling and flying
in sweet or snarling wind,
shadows in fog,
illusions in rain,
brothers and sisters,
knowing or not,
in the Kmart parking lot.

Pigeons and brown men
sweating in summer,
white in falling snow,
strong at 30 degrees,
still milling and flying,
sometimes rejoicing
in the Kmart parking lot.

Brown men and pigeons
used to each other
in the Kmart  parking lot.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

                        1.
Pouring water over black beans
at midnight before I go to sleep
I stop and look.
Onyx orbs in zentangle fashion.
I really look.
Beautiful. Unnamed.
Fascinating.

(No. Not a sip!)

                    2.

Stirring simple black beans this morning,
conversing with onions, garlic, cayenne,
bay leaf, olive oil, Himala sea salt, pepper,
a veggie bouillon or two.
A gathering off the canvas, page,
wooden floor.  Wafting!
lalala, dee, dee, lalee
Delicious!
Are you God?
My crew of angels
are not disabled.
They are perfect.
He Calls You My Gift

I am sorry.
It has been awhile.
You, like good wine
  I cherish and miss,
      are too costly for every day,
         too consuming.

Instead,
consumed by work,
work I learned to love,
   I pay, pave,
     - ok uncork,
        I pour and drink,
this living, my giving,
for my son and me.
    Yes.
      It is still good,
        like a cup of tea.

Am I abandoning you?
You, part of what
    the Creator unfailingly,
      graciously brings me,
       - perhaps you are my own heart! -
remain essentially
unopened.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Joy is being in every moment,
none excluded, I know.
  From Dana, I growl, emit nonlanguage
sounds.  It is a way of helping the universe
to evolve.
                           Skeptics, you baboons!
It is stepforward into silliness.

  "Grrrrr.." I say when she glares, a volcano
ready to spray lava into the room,
   because she'll remember her comedian self.
Suddenly she smiles leaning forward,
an eruption thwarted, and I hear her rumble,
a low human "grrrr..."

All is right in the world.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

We don't need to agree on things
my Russian counterpart.
We don't need to agree
that there are no countries
as I believe,
or that your country is great
as you do.

You think I'm a remnant hippie,
a tiny, insignificant piece of peace.
I think you are interesting
and smoke and drink too much.

Smoke, drink,
insignificant piece of peace,
It's all the same.

But poetry,
poetry,
poetry, oh Lord!
Heaven and all dimensions listen,
timelessly smitten as we.

If only poetry made our world go round.
We agree on that.


Friday, August 22, 2014

There are two miracles in my house,
two miracles I'm loving to observe,
emerald cacoons - beautiful,
beautiful as the cosmos expanding -
from monarch caterpillars.

I wonder, as my son writes music,
rain and thunder rythmns,
simple pen on paper,
wood on a snare drum.

I wonder, as my mind fills with notes,
colors and speed of light vibrations,
what miracles,
what miracles are here,
in other houses of the world
and beyond.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

We sit cross-legged
      facing each other,
      a tall lighted candle, 
a plate of delectable dark chocolate 
      in between us,
each with a cup of warm, gentle tea.
      We breath in chocolate, tea, 
       fire, each other's smiling auras.
      "Meditation!" he beams,
Where have you been all my life!"

Monday, August 18, 2014

He thinks we are separate
he worked hard
for what is his alone

unaware I am
hands to his feet
water to his land
atom to his atom
veins to his leaf

unaware he is
lightening to my thunder
blue to my lightest, brightest green
roots to my flowers
handle of my cup

unaware he is
a voice to his rhythm
cells of his neighbor's blood
a far-away stranger's blood
a tusk of an elephant
the stranger is hunting

unaware he is
a star to their stars
seconds to their seconds
ignorance to their ignorance
wisdom to their wisdom
as I am

It may take until a last breath
a breath he thinks is his alone
that he realizes this.


Thursday, July 17, 2014


she has a narrow mind
flat-earth vision
I thought
until I fell off the edge

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

birds flutter
feedering
four feet from me
wings and air
rolling rs

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

I play pianissimo
- hear them join me
one of a singing flock,
singing in heaven


Friday, June 13, 2014

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

contemplating

the rose cardinal dining
at my sunflower seed
restaurant feeder

finishing with fervent song


Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Do you love me
like you used to
when I was younger?
Do you, do you, do you, do you...

Am I beautiful
like I was
when I was younger?
Am I, am I, am I, am I...

Do I still have potential
to make clouds weep or disappear
like I used to singing
Do I, do I, do I, do I....

I still love you
You are more beautiful,
every day more beautiful.
I do. I do. I do.







Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Monday, March 24, 2014

Sunday, March 23, 2014

In disappearing snow, golden
groggy grass appearing, fresh
sun flower seeds in the feeder
I miss you.

In opening my sun roof,
happiness of my people as we drive along
wondering about weightless blue sky
I miss you.

In raw taco salad made with walnuts,
sundried tomatoes, spices, avocados and arugula
that I want to tell you about and share,
I miss you.

In songs I am singing and love -
have you heard of  "Je Luis Dirai"
and "La Tribu de Dana?"
I miss you.

In French I am learning - your
replacement - melancholy, sunny,
stunningly human and touchable,
I miss you.

Walking around thawing Minnesota lakes,
I miss you.

In my undressing and dressing,
my laying down, moving aside
brown curtains to fall asleep under stars,
I miss you.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

All evening French words
one brick at a time mon ami
un brique rouge, deux, trois,
millions of synapses.
Across land and sea,
sur terre et sur mer,
to Paris the path is built
one brick at a time mon ami.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

An icicle falls.
A gold finch flies.
I try to be open to small things
knowing they are not small at all,
working with an earnest, open heart.
Still a symphony plays in my mind
music like mist from far away
of a place I have never been.
I hear it often daily now and wonder,
what it is that I can give?
One day I hope to meet courageous,
beautiful Kiev, live there for a summer,
stroll the streets, learn the language,
drink wine, loving conversations,
merrily unafraid.
In Spring's yawning and first morning words,
in the passing of a lemon-yellow finch,
winter colors gone and abilities
beyond any human pilot,
in the sudden falling of an icicle
sparkling like melting diamonds,
I find hope.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Every day should be such a day
from the first breath in the dark
when you know you are awake
to the last before sleep
not wanting it to end
every day should be such a day.

Every day should be such a day
when you know you are special
that the day is yours
and that you are kind
and beautiful as morning light
every day should be such a day.

Every day should be such a day
where every sound is music
where stillness is a melody
and life is for rejoicing
You know that you belong
Every day should be such a day!

Monday, March 3, 2014

It is not long since we spoke.
It was yesterday, this morning,
an hour ago, now, as you sit beside me
on my sofa in my dream.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Wolf wind outside the window
waking me up in the middle of the night
to confront again this cold-like hunger
loneliness is bringing