Knowing What's in Your Heart

Haiku My Heart: Geisha

For more Haiku My Heart, click HERE. 

apprenticed as girls

tutored in womanly arts

beautiful geishas

55 Flash Fiction: Trying to Hold On

It was the year she ate almost nothing, 

listened to ambulances scream in pain 

outside her gritty apartment windows, 

and bought a Saturday night special.

The year she obsessively watched reruns 

of the twin towers collapsing. 

The year she realized life 

is a mechanical bull and 

her inner thighs weren't 

strong enough to hang on.






For more 55's,
visit G-Man.

Be Still, My Heart

Be still, my heart,

like the glassy waters at dawn

that take on the colors of first light

as eagerly as water takes on the hue

of paint still clinging to the sable bristles

when a color change is called for.

"First Light" © 2010 Meri Arnett-Kremian

Whisper to me what it is you want,

what things I have to learn

that I have turned away from.

I am ready now to heed your murmurs

if only you'll share secrets with me

like a second grader named Ellie

would share her lunch

with her best friend forever,

a little curly-haired moppet

with freckles sprinkled

across her nose like wildflowers,

whose blue eyes dance like

skipping stones across the placid waters,

a girl named Chloe

whose turquoise insulated bag

with matching thermos full of soup

was left behind on the kitchen counter

in her scramble to run for the bus,

because after all, Ellie knows as do I

that snickerdoodles taste best when

your mouth is full of laughter

and your heart has important things to say.

Love's Fire

One day You will take my heart completely

and make it more fiery than a dragon.

- Rumi

Teaching by Example

Mother Nature is a master teacher.

She shows us by example

how futile it is to hang on to something 

when the time for hanging on has passed.

To blossom when the time is right.

And how to just BE.

Haiku My Heart: Crane

For more Haiku My Heart, click HERE. 

sparks in dusky sky

cranes' black-tipped wings fan embers

luna's fire erupts

Another 55 Word Flash Fiction: Ink on a Page

This 55-word stuff is incredibly challenging. 

Even if you get a concept quickly, 

executing the idea in such a spare format 

requires editing and re-editing, constant counting. 

55 words, no more, no fewer. 

What stays and what's surplus? 

Always mindful that every word has to count. 

Plot trumps description. 

Cohesive narrative required. 

Yet for all the brevity,  

you want to insert a twist, 

bring an unexpected guest to the table.

Doodles. © 2010 Meri Arnett-Kremian. All rights reserved.

He went first. The graphoanalyst told them what to write.

She studied the exemplars, then said, 

 "Your wife is incredibly brilliant."

She paused. "What does she see in you?"

Chuckle. "Oh, I see. You're an animal."

Right on both counts.

Leopard man. 

Once lithe and agile. Sexy.  

New substitute wife. Dumb blonde.

Same old spots.

There is a Season

To every thing, there is a season.

Turn.

Turn.

Turn. 

Autumn Haiku

A haiku to celebrate this gorgeous and sunny autumn day.

  © 2010 Meri Arnett-Kremian. All rights reserved.

the trees shimmering,

hanging upside down, water

reflecting branches

First Stab at 55 Word Flash Fiction

Revisionist memories of

our first romantic getaway

when love held such sway:

cliffs plunging into watery depths

at the edge of the continent,

sky and water merging

somewhere beyond. 

Holding hands, poking around

galleries in Carmel,

me imagining forever.
You, professing undying love,

secretly believing you'd find someone

better if you kept your options open. 

Haiku My Heart: Cellar Kitchen

For more Haiku My Heart, click HERE.

light casts a soft glow

across stone walls in kitchens

where slaves worked and slept

As the Day Fades. . .

Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space. 

It does not seek anything in return;

it asks not whether you are friend or foe. 

It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished. 

~Michael Strassfeld

May the silvery moon hanging in my sky

light your way tonight.

p.s. these shots were taken about 6:45 pm 

Pacific Daylight Time today

just down the hill from my house.

A matter of five minutes makes such a difference

in ambient light.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It's grey again this morning.

Drops of rain hang at the pointy edges

of maple leaves at the tip-top

of the graceful maple

outside my upstairs window.

The uppermost leaves are showing

their seasonal fashions,

but the lower ones are still

garbed in green.

They don't seem to have noticed

that change is in the air.

Grey days sap my energy.

When it's sunny, I'm ready

to take on the world,

but when a blanket of clouds

settles between me and the Sun,

I just want to hibernate.

This day is different.

This morning,

my little friend visited,

hovering a few feet away

so I'd be sure to notice.

Notice I did. . . 

and felt the same surge of delight

I always feel when I see 

that flash of green, the ruby throat,

the wings fluttering faster than 

the speed of imagination.

It's hard to think about hibernation

when your heart has been touched

by a shamanic visitor. 

Today, I am writing.

Just sent off an essay on nanny harassment

to be published on the new website

that's about to launch.

(Watch for my announcement).

Three short stories finished and shared so far,

one to go for my online writing class

on short fiction/prose.

I'm testing my fiction wings there,

in a safe place.

I'm getting ready for Susan Tuttle's 

new online class Ghostly Figures.

A new week has begun.

Birds are chirping and calling to each other,

a symphony of sound.

And I'm thankful.

.

Little Shops

I love wonderful little shops with names like

Bliss  or Dwell or Luxe  or Posh.

Places with one-of-a-kind finds handpicked by the owner.

The kind of shops where sweet scents say "welcome"

and everywhere you look, you're delighted.

The kinds of places where I'm surprised to find

things that say ME in no uncertain terms.

Not that I always have to take them home,

you understand.

I'm paring down, not filling myself up

with stuff I don't need, no matter how enticing.

(OK - that's a goal. . . but I'm working on it. )

But oh my, it is a treat for the soul

and a field trip for artsy-types.

Haiku My Heart: Fashion

For more Haiku My Heart, click HERE.

dew diamonds signal

fashion extravaganza

pink and yellow skirts

Another Rx

Try This

On the Soapbox

My heart is full of sadness today.

Another child been bullied to death.

Asher Brown.

photo of Asher from the internet

To see a story from ABC News, click HERE. 

Just thirteen years old and full of promise.

Bright, creative, sensitive. A capable student who 

aspired to have a career in which 

he could help others

when he grew up.

A joy to have in class, said one of his teachers

on his last report card.

Slight and short of stature. 

Buddhist, 

unlike the Christian norm at Hamilton Middle School

in Harris, Texas outside Houston. 

And also beginning to identify himself as gay.

Pushed down the stairs.

Subjected to repeated intimidation and aggression.

Put a gun to his head when he couldn't take any more.

Bullied to death for being different.

Asher, I'm lighting a candle for you.

And  Phoebe Prince.

And  Tyler Clementi.

And Seth Walsh.

And Justin Aaberg.

And Billy Lucas.

And all the other kids who were bullied to death,

whose names I don't know.

It's not just a matter of drafting 

an anti-bullying policy in the schools 

and then looking the other way

 when the policy is violated,

claiming you don't know what to do

or who's responsible

or how to handle something 

that's such an epidemic.

It's about creating a culture of tolerance and inclusion.

 About fostering opportunities for kids 

to work collaboratively and build community, 

rather than emphasizing competition.

It's about celebrating authenticity

(in adults as well as children)

instead of beating it into the ground. 

It's about right action.

  It's about teaching compassion.

Haiku My Heart: Meditation

For more Haiku My Heart, click HERE.

she kneels quietly

holding the world's great sorrow

with vast compassion