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.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

This morning I see sun swirling
though eyes are closed.
I tap my cell for today's poem.
"Paris Winter" is in my room.
I put words to memory before feet touch
the floor.
How would life change
if every morning this was ritual?
Instead of news
or mildly self torturing thoughts
we vaguely think along -
we memorize a poem
and float to get our coffee.
What do you say?
30 days to become a habit.
I'm in!


Wednesday, June 3, 2015

In this circle we discuss the great book,
that could be any great book.

We gather from all directions
of this city, that could be any city.

It is the book that brought us here,
and commonalities, the driver of gravity.

Who are we?  We are artists becoming,
becoming more beautiful by the minute!

In this meeting I am unencumbered,
lead by a drawing heart,

a heart without mine,
a heart without me.

In this circle we are here to heal
and allow the other,

that could be any other.



Saturday, March 28, 2015

I hand them all to
You, path-clearing
    from squalls and seasons -
      debris, litter,
       thorns, sticks, logs, rocks,
    last year's, no, decades,
       of fallen leaves.
I pull out copious weeds,
hand them over.
No matter
    how weighted, sharp,
      wet or moldy,
no matter the number,
or that we work every day,
You remain!
     First I sang to make it easier.
Now our task is joy!
  I sing with devotion, turn,
hand each one to You.
  Where are
You putting everything,
  everything disappearing?
You laugh and say, "It doesn't matter,
just keep handing them to
Me."

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

We have no idea
what a miracle is.
Giving and receiving blend
like paint on a shapless,
illusory, moving mural.
We have no idea
how there is no difference,
a nebula, minuscule -
a whisp of dust, immense -
what same is.
We have no idea
how everything we see
and everything we don't see
is one and one reason
to be infinitely grateful.
One miracle.
We have no idea
we are blessed
beyond imagining.

Monday, March 2, 2015

I wrote of a daily kiss,
all morning imagining
what it would be like
to kiss one person daily
for the rest of my life.
It was a morning perfectly spent,
living part of a life in four hours
and over 12,000 kisses.
I've had enough kissing
for awhile.


Monday, February 23, 2015

He is returning and we try,
we encourage each other to remember
our own words.

What matters, if not that we live
by our own words?
We say to forget yesterday.
Each day is new,
another chance to choose.

I choose I tell them they can fly.
Disabilities are not real
and I believe it.

He is returning and we are learning
the meaning of our words,
what it is to forgive.

Forgiveness is not only to forget.
Forgiveness is to love.
Love sees he is flying.

Love knows he never left.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

This morning don't write upon
the early white sky.
Don't fill in space with yourself,
who you think you are -
like a defending pufferfish,
what you think the day will be -
a bowing down to you.
Let this habit disappear.
White turns blue.
Everything shines in this detailed blur,
including you.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

On a diet and all I can think about is
orange gnocchi from La Grassa.
A path in my brain is lighting up,
dinging like a pinball machine.
Orange gnocchi,
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.
My mind is preoccupied with past thoughts.
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.
This morning smacking my lips
I hear the alarm while dreaming.
Orange potato pasta silkiness
melting in my mouth
perfect as chocolate ganache.
Orange gnocchi,
like Winnie the Pooh's honey.
Orange gnocchi.
Follow the orange gnocchi!
God is in everything, after all.
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.
Orange gnocchi.


Sunday, February 15, 2015

It reached enlightenment,
my cranberry liqueur,
meditating for months,
silently blending,
cranberries, orange rind,
sugar, vanilla bean, vodka,
peace.
Cross-legged in the ebb and flow
of simple, effortless being,
changing into the heart-red
ripeness of a cherry, a ruby,
a given rose,
it is not only liqueur,
like bread is not just bread.
Today it is ready.
I pour yours,
reaching through.
Cheers!

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Je suis Charlie Je suis Ahmed in Minnesota

Deep windchill.
My son and I
hear again on the radio
this morning,
your days,
as if they were something to breathe.

I don't know what to do
from this periphery,
so I breathe in, like tonglen,
confusion, sorrow, defiance.
I breathe out unity, liberty, peace.
I breathe in your confusion, sorrow, defiance,
and breathe out your liberty, unity, peace.

"What are you doing?" Orion wonders
as I sit at the table, eyes closed, breathing -
urgent voices, gun fire, questions in the air.
"Part of my part" I say,
breathing in confusion, sorrow, defiance,
breathing out unity, liberty, peace
for you.



Something goes
every day now
a little more and a little more
in a world with less
   butterflies birds bees
     bartering and forbearing
        humans of the earth -
not humans of humans.
Our accordion world
is contracting.
We can still expand, but
        we need to decide soon!