Wings

It’s Haiku Friday. For the past 20+ years I’ve written one haiku every day. They’re not always good haiku, although some of them are excellent. (Check out my 7-book haiku series called The Haiku Book of Days.) A few years ago I added another daily practice, which I call the “daily draw.” I create some kind of image, and many times that image owes its inspiration to my daily haiku. I’m calling them “illustrated haiku” and someday the haiku and its illustration may blossom into a new haiku book. In the meantime, I’ll share a few of them here on the blog. Here’s today’s offering. Enjoy!

cold wings brush your cheeks
hidden in the purple clouds
dark angels flying

Friendship?

Alex Terrgi here. The other day I went to the dog park with my friend Jackie MuttMix. At least she’s usually my friend – when we’re at my house or her house we play a lot. Rough-house is what our humans call it, cuz we bite each others’ necks and stuff like that. But it’s all in good fun no matter how much we growl. If humans would learn our language maybe they’d know that.

But I digress. (Big word for a mere dog, right? See, we learn your language.) Back to me and Jackie at the dog park. It was a sunny day, so there were lots of dogs of all sizes and colors at the park. The minute we arrived, my “friend” Jackie forgot she was my friend and went off to play with a lab named Tucker. She ignored me completely and I was stuck playing with Dribble Schnauzer (his name tells you everything you need to know about him.)

So much for friends.

Pirates

It’s Haiku Friday. For the past 20+ years I’ve written one haiku every day. They’re not always good haiku, although some of them are excellent. (Check out my 7-book haiku series called The Haiku Book of Days.) A few years ago I added another daily practice, which I call the “daily draw.” I create some kind of image, and many times that image owes its inspiration to my daily haiku. I’m calling them “illustrated haiku” and someday the haiku and its illustration may blossom into a new haiku book. In the meantime, I’ll share a few of them here on the blog. Here’s today’s offering. Enjoy!

pirates hoard their gold
they give it magic powers
and think they won’t die

 

Good Ol’ Ed

I’ve blogged and written many times about my various internal critics. I give them names, physical descriptions, and personalities. This way they become real and cannot live as cowards hidden inside my head. I see they are not my friends and I am able to banish them – maybe not for always, but at least they stay away for a long time and when they do reappear I know how to banish them again.

We all have internal editors or critics. That’s the voice that tells you that you are stupid, a bad singer, clumsy, boring. It’s the voice that critiques every piece of writing you do, every conversation you have, the way you dance. This voice often shows up when you sit down to write. He, she, or it leans over your shoulder and whispers mean things in your ears.

One of my voices is named Ed. He used to tie my fingers up in knots and breathe dry ice into my brain. He doesn’t do this so much any more, because I found out that I could diminish Ed’s power by simply — writing about HIM. Here is one paragraph I wrote about Ed:

Ed is a middle-aged man with a sunken chest and a long thin nose through which he sniffs and snorts. He squints his beady eyes whenever he looks at me, suspicious that I will again try to write something. If I do, he’ll tell me I have nothing original to say, so why waste my time? His voice is usually sharp and piercing but he is capable of hissing his words, especially when he spots a mistake – any mistake, even a misplaced comma or a typo such as “teh.” He notes all mistakes in a black accountant’s ledger notebook that he always keeps with him. He reads the entries to me out loud.

And so on. As I wrote about Ed, it dawned on me that Ed is not my friend. And the more I wrote, the more obvious it became that Ed was a nasty, mean-spirited, chickenshit bully who did not want me to be happy.  So why was I listening to him? Why indeed. So nowadays Ed just pouts in the background, waiting for me to notice him again. I am determined not to.

Ed is only one of the voices in my head (and my body) who give me a hard time. Later this month I’ll blog about Cousin Irene, who is even worse than Ed. In August I’ll be blogging about two others who are in charge of various physical/mental attributes. Their names are Uncle ArthurItis and Aunt Nervine, and they are a pain in the you-know-where. Stay tuned.

 

Trombone

It’s Haiku Friday. For the past 20+ years I’ve written one haiku every day. They’re not always good haiku, although some of them are excellent. (Check out my 7-book haiku series called The Haiku Book of Days.) A few years ago I added another daily practice, which I call the “daily draw.” I create some kind of image, and many times that image owes its inspiration to my daily haiku. I’m calling them “illustrated haiku” and someday the haiku and its illustration may blossom into a new haiku book. In the meantime, I’ll share a few of them here on the blog. Here’s today’s offering. Enjoy!

when you get older
wear a hat, play the trombone
you’ll always be cool

Breedism

Alex Terrgi here. I don’t know why humans are so fond of creating new dog clans. Puggles and Labradoodles and Goldendoodles and I don’t know what all. It sounds like they’ve been reading too much Harry Potter.

My human says I am a “Terrgi” which is a name she made up because she doesn’t know what breed I am, because when I was a very young dog I ran away without my papers (whatever they are) and lived on the streets until the Humane Society captured me, then my human rescued me. Anyway, the humans don’t know my breed and this seems to bother them for some reason.

So my human decided to tell people I was a Terrgi just because she thought I looked like a cross between a Jack Russell Terrier and a corgi. Maybe I do, but why is that important? This whole breed thing is stupid. Why do humans have to put creatures in categories?

I am who I am. Terrgi or Whatever, it’s all the same to me.