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, 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, 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.