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.