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.

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.