the moment i saw her
she haunted my mind,
a vision in sepia,
with color implied,

and pupils still dancing
in league with her smile
like she was still breathing -
- not frozen in time.

it left me to wonder
what must it be like
to bear such a hunger
and shine such a light?

i wanted to ask her
what lingered inside -
- what flame lit the pilot
that shone in her eyes.

in dreams i still travel
through decades gone by
to beg for an answer
she’ll never confide;

she only informs me
it’s no good to try,
however i chase her,
she’ll never be mine.

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I’ve never been good at sending Christmas cards to my friends, no matter how many of my friends think to send me holiday greetings. That hasn’t changed this year, but since I know a few of those friends visit this site on occasion, I’ve decided to post a sort of online Christmas wish. This one goes out to my friends, family and anyone else who happens to view it.

By the way, if the meaning of this haiku is too muted, click here to see a different angle on the same sentiment.

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This is a handwritten repost of a haiku included in the book, with a slight edit made to the wording. The original version is here.

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I’ve always longed to be a person who could effortlessly hold up his end of any conversation, the sort of man who impresses others with his wit and wisdom. But I’ve never been that clever, which is probably why I cling to writing so much.

The thing that brought this to mind is I recently met someone who sparked my creativity. My first real communication with her was a haiku I’d written about her. I gave her a copy of the haiku. Though I found her quite attractive, I wasn’t trying to hit on her. I just wanted to pay a small compliment.

I eventually did ask her out. Much to my surprise, she accepted, and the ensuing date was one of the most enjoyable evenings I’ve had. But I wasn’t nearly as sharp in person as I wanted to be. This is just the sort of situation where, even at my best, I feel like I’m treading water. I can’t seem to dial up words in normal conversation like I can when writing — where I can edit every syllable before anyone ever sees it.

Maybe I got away with a sub-par performance. Maybe I didn’t do as badly as I thought, but this is the kind of scenario that comes to mind when I think about how much more comfortable I am writing than speaking.

When I get caught behind in a real-time discussion, it’s obvious. But when I write, no one can tell how long it took to form each sentence, or how many times I switched out half the words. So it may seem the words flowed from my mind the way some phrases roll off a cleverer person’s tongue. And that often leaves me with the slightest sense of guilt — that I might just be fooling people who’ve only been exposed to me through writing.

And then, of course, there are those who don’t even think that much of my writing, to whom this whole thought process must seem a waste of time. Which it may be anyway.

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This entry in the secondhand series is the second offering from Ellen. A couple weeks ago, she bade farewell to Sam, one of her two beloved felines. She sent along this haiku memorial for the dearly departed.

You can view the entire secondhand series here. To find out how to contribute a haiku or short poem of your own, click here.

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I liked the concept of this one when I first wrote it, but the more I thought about it, the less enthralled I was with reliability as an ideal. I guess it’s really just a matter of perspective, which is why I finally went with it.

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there’s a girl who inspires me,
and her smile ignites me like a fuse.
if only i would let my heart speak
with the voice it longs to use,
maybe i could find the courage
to expose this subtle fire,
instead of pacing through my own head,
tripping over broken wires.

*
(an acknowledgement to the unnamed muse, as well as to the Jason Isbell tune that made the rhythm seem to work and the Whitman line that keeps getting stuck in my head.)