On American virtues - Charlie Kirk in memoriam

 On Earth, we are ants,

crushed by wheels of history - 

in Heaven, starlight

Rest in peace and shine brightly for us to see the light, Mr. Charlie Kirk (1993-2025). 

I was profoundly moved by this vicious assassination for personal reasons. In my editorial in the Poetry Letter, I tried to capture my distress about this national tragedy, but got bogged down in too many details. So I moved the longer version here and expanded it, adding new haiku and older poems. 

 https://www.californiastatepoetrysociety.com/2025/09/csps-poetry-letter-no-3-of-2025-part-i.html

When I attended high school in Poland, it seemed that almost every month brought a commemoration of a national tragedy – 17 January 1945 was the “Liberation of Warsaw” Day when the Red Army finally entered an empty, ruined city (all residents had already been deported and the city had systematically been dynamited by Germans, in retribution for the Warsaw Uprising, 1 August to 3 October, 1944 – with over 220,000 dead, a painful national wound). The January Uprising against Russians was long ago, in 1863 – it drained the nation of its leaders, murdered or exiled.

The 10^th of February 1940 marked the start of mass deportation of Poles from the country’s eastern part, occupied by Soviets – taken to Siberia or Kazakhstan, over one million perished, about 3.5 million were displaced. In March 1968 we had student revolts for freedom and the “socialist” government’s crackdown coupled with an anti-Semitic campaign that gave one-way tickets to the remnant of Polish Jewry. The whole month of April was about WWII – concentration camps, death camps, and their victims – nearly 6 million, half Jewish, half Christian; but we also remembered the 1.5 million Armenians and their genocide of 1915. 

The 9^th of May marked the end of WWII, commemorated battle by battle; the 1st of September was the start of the school year, but also the anniversary of Germany’s invasion of Poland in 1939. The end of October brought everyone to cemeteries and monuments, with candles and wreaths, to remember all the dead, especially soldiers and war victims. Zaduszki (All Souls’ Day) continued, de facto, through November (with November Uprising of 1831 marking the historical horizon, when thousands of fighters were killed, deported to Siberia, or exiled). The 13th of December 1981 was the anniversary of Martial Law used by the “socialist” government to suppress the Solidarity movement – resulting in yet another wave of repressions, deaths, and mass migration. Some of these dates were taught at schools, others, secretly, at home. Some are now being forgotten while new national martyrdom celebrations emerge. . .

I lived in Poland for 30 years, in Canada for 8 years and in the U.S. for another 30 years.  When I came to this country I made a choice about my identity, that I recently described for a friend who asked me "what it means for you to be Polish American?"  My answer:

At a time of globalist attacks against humanity and purposeful efforts to destroy  nation-states in Europe and the Western civilization worldwide, it is paramount to preserve, protect and perpetuate the multitude of national, linguistic and ethnic identities that contribute to the spiritual and material richness of this world.  Poland, in Europe, continues to be inhabited by its indigenous population that settled those lands thousands of years ago, after the last ice age. As a proud descendant of Slavs - Poles and Byelorussians - I'm aware of the abundant treasures of history, language and culture that constitute my personal Polish heritage and my challenge - to remember, contribute to, and cherish.  As an immigrant to America, where I ended up after a convoluted and difficult life journey, I'm a proud citizen of this great nation, founded only 250 years ago, but making a dramatic change in the world's history. Here, in the U.S., the individual's rights and freedoms are protected by the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. Our country is not a democracy but a republic, where every citizen can create a successful life and contribute to the whole national tapestry in a unique way. Since coming here I have consciously made a decision to become an American of Polish descent, not a Pole in America. As a historian, I write about Polish Americans, Poles in America and Americans of Polish descent. As a Californian poet, I write in English, the language of my choice. But I write about my Polish childhood, the war tragedies of my family - and my sunny California garden, my home.  

Emigrating to the U.S. meant learning an entirely new calendar of national sorrows; there were fewer than in Poland, perhaps because of the national focus on success, not martyrdom, perhaps because the U.S. avoids remembering the dead (Halloween!!!) and teaching the tragic war history in the media. Here, I kept reading about the Pearl Harbor attack of 7 December 1941 and deaths of thousands of American soldiers, remembered along with the victims of the Hiroshima atomic bomb atrocity of 6 August 1945 and the atomic annihilation of Nagasaki on 9 August 1945. But not much more. Things changed on 11 September 2001 when nearly three thousand people were murdered, and the endless War on Terror began. 

On 10 September 2025, a martyr of free speech was assassinated in front of his wife, young daughter, thousands of students, and bystanders. Charlie Kirk (1993-2025) was viciously shot in a political assassination, that continued an infamous American “tradition.” Let’s recall the assassinations of Presidents Abraham Lincoln (1865), James A. Garfield (1881), William McKinley (1901), and John F. Kennedy (1963). If we add to this list the presidential candidate Robert F Kennedy (1968) and the civil right leader Martin Luther King (1968), the image of a deadly political culture is bleak.

I’m particularly sensitive to this issue, since my parents were shot by robbers in their summer house in the Polish village on 3 April 2000. My father Aleksy Trochimczyk was shot through the stomach, with injury to major organs, and after a year in the hospital, multiple surgeries, dialyses, blood transfusion, died a year later. My mother, Henryka Trochimczyk lived for 13 years after having 1/3 of her lung amputated. The bullet went 3 cm. away from her heart. This was a robbery, not an assassination, my parents were victims, not martyrs. But I’m “allergic” to anyone claiming that anyone, anywhere, has any “right” to express their opinion by committing murder. That’s the playbook of Nazis and Communists.

What is true? What's real? 

A wise man asks young students

Silence, their answer.

  Or, maybe I should write "bullet" and "cheering" - "their answer" - how utterly inhuman.

 

After immigrating to America, and moving into my home in California, I slowly started to learn about my new country. At first, seeing American flags everywhere felt strange, we did not do it  in Poland.  Then, I saw all my neighbors decorating their houses with flags and bunting for the Fourth of July. They told me to go see our homegrown local Independent day parade ... In my youth, in "socialist" Poland, the flag and national symbols were taken over by the government, so people retreated into homes and churches. There was no flag waving, no public displays of patriotism, just Corpus Christi and Easter processions in the streets…

        Corpus Christi in Warsaw - 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiNAJIKnVf0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjKrjOEZXZk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtdVcNL8NDA

But in California, my three-year-old son, in pre-kindergarten Robbin's Nest, commenced each day with reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, toddlers turned towards the flag in the playroom’s corner. Every classical music concert at the Hollywood Bowl starts with the national anthem, and the whole audience holds their right hands on their hearts while singing "the land of the brave..."  So, I printed out the words, and put the note into my wallet, and started  singing along. . . Then, I bought a flag for my porch, and after my Canadian, “un-American”  husband finally moved to Canada, I had that flag installed. My neighbor did it for me, the same one who changed my broken screen… 

With such good neighbors, I decided to make this little house in the mountains my real home, my hermitage, my shelter, my refuge. If it were American, on American land, I had to become American, too.  My neighbors helped. Ours is the best neighborhood in the country. When my kids lost their house keys on the way to or back from school for the umpteenth time, I decided to stop locking the door during the day. We did it at night, but in the morning, we just left, waving bye-bye to the kind neighbors, trusting they would keep watching over us, without being intrusive. The neighbors were always in…My next door neighbor actually still has my keys for emergencies, when I travel to Europe... 

Garden with mockingbirds - 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjKrjOEZXZk (two birds)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aKsDADyjmQ  (roses)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvDxBt9RVKs (one rose)

So my first lesson of what it means to be American is patriotism. Love your country, wave that flag, sing that anthem... 

My second lesson in being American is – being a good neighbor. On my street, we had our 40th Easter egg hunt this year, with over 30 grandchildren of the original neighbors, including those who moved away but still cherish this tradition. I hide 40 chocolate-stuffed eggs  and two golden ones with money in my front yard. The young ones are having fun, parents drink coffee and chat. 

If there were a wildfire, as in 2017, seniors, mothers and children would evacuate, while the men  would stay to extinguish the ambers falling on all houses on our street, keep pouring water from all the sprinklers and hoses, on all the roofs. 

That’s how it was, that’s how it is, that’s how it should be: “Hi, Maja” – at the post office. “Good morning, Maja” – at the grocery store.”  “long time, no see” – at the bakery. Kindness, friendliness, support, and respect. Alas, we have to lock the doors now– after the border was opened to anyone from the whole planet to just walk in and take what was not theirs, the area filled with strangers who even put up tents on busy streets, and moved their RVs onto some alleys. They did not dare take over ours. My good neighbors have guns.

As a patriotic American poet, I ride or walk in the Independence Day Parade - and give out postcards with poems, here's one from last year... 

https://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2024/07/poets-in-parade-celebrating.html

FREEDOM IS NOT FREE

 

Someone works to keep it.

Someone stands guard for the republic.

Semper Fides. Always Faithful.

 

Would I be brave enough

to stand guard with them?

 

Freedom is not free.

 

I work hard to win it for myself.

I strive to not be swayed left or right.

I stand tall with the eyes on the prize ahead.

My steps — on the straight and narrow.

 

Free —

            from vain ambitions, obsessions,         

            sorrows, fears, resentments and regrets.

Free —

             to live well, create, speak up,

care for, share joy, and love.

 

“I am —You are — We are”—this love,

the glue that holds the cosmos together,

in harmony — a forgotten word —

“harmony” — the order of beauty and peace.

 

What is freedom?

            Cosmos, not chaos. Harmony, not discord.

            Gratitude. Divine perfection blooming in all. 

            Red-white-and-blue waving in the breeze.

            Fireworks in July evening sky.

            

 

 

Maja Trochimczyk, © 4 July 2024

 

The third truly American virtue that I've earned since moving here 28 years ago, is tolerance - but not the suicidal faux compassion of current governments in Western Europe.  It is the simple rule of "live and let live."  In other words: "Do not do unto others, what you do not want others to do unto you" - the Golden Rule. To me, it seems deeply Christian in its genesis, or maybe universal as the variants appear in Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism, not just  Christianity. It means, I have to live my life to the best of my ability, use a my talents to benefit the greatest number of people, not just enrich me or my immediate family.  It also means that I have to refrain from harming, judging, and condemning anyone else, while living my own life without fear of rejection or condemnation. "To each their own" (another Christian saying). If I do not appreciate the music on the Venice Beach, I go find another spot... but write a haiku about it...

the soothing ocean waves

silenced by blaring pop songs - 

California beach

Instead of the crowded Venice beach, I can go to Oxnard's Mandalay Beach and be almost alone ata wide expanse of sand, waves and sky.  I recorded waves in Oxnard - the breath of the ocean https://youtu.be/qSL_tyrsdpQ. On another occasions, I recorded part of the Mass at the Notre Dame in Paris, before the fire (2015). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZsOBsT-pwo

As poets, we do not discuss religion, do not “call upon God’s name”  in vain. Since I’ve changed my views and religious beliefs so profoundly several times during my adventurous life, I do not ie to “proselytize” or convince anyone of my truth. What if I change my mind again? Who knows if what I believe now is my final truth?  

Do I know better? 

The question of a lifetime

- without an answer

Charlie Kirk was different. He boldly professed his faith in Jesus, yes, that part of his discussions and debates, I did not feel comfortable with. After decades as atheist, I became very Catholic, and moved on to now believing in reincarnation. But I'm not a Protestant, and do not like to call upon "Jesus" in public. On that point, we disagreed. But we also had something in common. Charlie Kirk described the ideal Christian life of a husband, a good son, a worker,  a citizen. That's what my Catholic nun Godmother taught - in order to go to Church on Sunday, you have to be the best possible mother, daughter, friend, worker, scholar every day of the week... 

For Charlie, courage was the most important virtue, for me it was one of the four virtues forming a perfect cross - courage tempered by  moderation, justice defined by prudence, or wisdom. These are at the core of Christian Western ethics.  With Greek and Roman roots... 

THE CORNERSTONE

Justice: Do what's right, what's fair.

Fortitude: Keep smiling. Grin and bear.

Temperance: Don't take more than your share

Prudence: Choose wisely. Think and care.

Find yourself deep within your heart

In a circle of cardinal virtues

The points of your compass

Your Cornerstone.

Once you've mastered the steps, new ones appear.

Faith: You are not alone.

Hope: And all shall be well...

Love: The very air we breathe

Where we are.

I first posted this poem in 2012, when I was teaching inmates in a class at Pitchess Detention Center  called EVA - Ethics and Values in Art.  I then discovered the amazing Hawaiian practice of ho'oponopono - Love and Forgiveness... It seems to me that the young man martyred so cruelly in front of thousands, his wife, and his young daughter, was practicing this virtuous behavior in his own life. 

ON SQUARING THE CIRCLE 

It is a simple square that contains the circle —

four ideas, four words —

— Sorry — Forgive — Thank — Love —

No need for explanations, 

long winding roads of words

leading into the arid desert 

of heartless intellect, auras 

of geometric shapes floating above 

your head — a scattered halo 

of squares, sharp-edged cubes

prickly triangles, and hexahedrons

No, not that. Instead let us find 

the cornerstone. Simplicity.

Sorry — to erase the past

Forgive— to open a path into the future

Thank— to suffuse the way, each moment 

with the velvet softness of gratitude

Love — to find a pearl unlike any other,

a jewel of lustrous shine — incomparable, 

dazzling, smooth, pulsating sphere

A dot on the horizon grows

as you, step by step, come closer 

until you enter into the shining

palace without rooms

where inside is outside, 

the circumference is in the point, 

the point in the circumference—

where movement is stillness 

and stillness dances within —

traveling to a myriad planets, 

suns, galaxies, with unheard-of 

velocity, everywhere at once

Love everyone — Respect everything

*     *    * 

So that’s how you square a circle

By Maja Trochimczyk, published in Into Light (2016), reprinted in Altadena Poetry Review (2018)

https://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2012/04/poetry-for-children-and-for-prisoners.html

During that year that the world was supposed to end (2012, right?), I was trying to figure out what virtues meant for me. Gratitude came on top. 

https://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2012/11/on-virtues-and-gratitude-in-time-for.html

Big Tujunga Wash with an artwork by Barbara Koziel Gawronska 

that features Polish fields seen from a train window... 

Sometimes it is very hard to be grateful. For instance, when my friend Basia Gawronska died of stroke in 2009, on Monday before the Thanksgiving feast I was to attend with her. A sudden death, not a murder, not an assassination, yet she left a hole in our lives. I wrote two memorial poems for her, after a very sorrowful funeral, where everyone was crying, here's one written from a distance in time. There was Basia with us, but she is not here anymore. There was a moment of wonder captured in her artwork, but it is gone... 

Ascension - A Memorial Poem

                                     Basia Koziel Gawrońska in memoriam

If you go down Oro Vista towards the mountains,

and look up between the crape myrtle’s 

reddish leaves, you’ll see a hawk circling 

above charred slopes, blackened gullies.  

Higher, higher, rising to the white stripes

of clouds that measure the blue expanse,

a hang glider flies, looking for happiness,

like the hawk searching for mice.  

If Basia were with us, she’d sketch

the blur of motion in her notebook,

the horse that ran down the muddy slope,

her mane flowing, body shining against the bare 

soil beaten to a pulp. She looks like, she is,

freedom, until the chain-link fence stops her. 

We, too, cherish glimpses of elation,

affection growing in the garden

between strawberries and sage.  

The air cupola shifts above a gingko tree.

The flutter of yellow triangles moves

indigo depths of the sky. Strong

branches spread the joy of centuries. 

Basia’s gone. What are we,

but the leaves turning gold,

catching the last rays of crimson light?

We dance like fireflies at dusk. 

Long ago, when the clanging

of milk pails announced the waning

of the day in a Polish village,

we heard echoes of funereal bells,

calling, ringing out to heaven. 

Basia’s gone. The black mare stops,

bewildered, panting. Her mane

still waltzes like the waves of the tide. 

The gingko leaves fall. The hawk 

and the glider meet and part high up 

where the clouds open for Basia 

to come in with her sketchbooks, paintings, 

her silvery threads of light, and mirrors 

she broke for us to see where we are.

So I remember Basia every Thanksgiving.  And to keep being grateful now, I follow an account on x.com "Daily Gratitude" and each day it brings reminder of obvious and hidden blessings to ponder and be grateful for. My bones, electricity, running water... neighbors... So let me end this set of reflection with a simple thought: 

The life of Charlie was a blessing for his friends and for strangers, a challenge for his enemies, a gift of inspiration and reflection for us all. 

Poets, Poems Everywhere - Independence Day Parade, a Museum, a Convention - 7/2025

Poets Convertible with crew Josephine, Maja with a basket of poems and flags, poet konrad Wilk as the driver, Artur Wilk and Pam Shea ("Betsy Ross") who gave out postcards, former poet laureate Alice Pero and current poet laureate kathleen Travers.

Most of the time I have spent with poetry has been either with a page of paper or the computer screen as I write or edit my own poems and the California Quarterly.  Therefore, it was a great pleasure this July to participate in three fantastic poetry events in person! 

First I walked the route of Sunland-Tujunga's Independence Day parade, giving out 1000 poem postcards and 250 mini-flags (with two helpers) The postcards included two of my own poems, reproduced below and the first stanza of America the Beautiful, which should be American national anthem, but alas, is not... 

THE COLOR GUARD

Above the hills' crooked spine, clouds dissolve

into the azure. Dark red rose lazily unfolds its petals.

My “Mr. Lincoln” blossoms by the birch tree

with the innocence of long-lost, Polish summers.

White bark peaks from beneath green leaves.

White oleander spills over white picket fence.

The sapphire sky shines with the deepest blue of the iris.

Its yellow heart matches sunshine's purest gold,

bouncing off the brilliant sphere of the stamens

in the bridal silk of white matilla poppies.

My garden presents the colors at noon 

dressed in the red, white and blue of the flag.

At night, fireworks tear the indigo fabric

into light ribbons and multicolored sparks.

             

Fireworks scatter into chaos of laughter -

the children's delight - the Fourth of July!

(C) 2025 by Maja Trochimczyk 

This is a new version of a poem that earlier included references to the wonderful piece by Chares Ives, The Fourth of July that contains the best musical image of fireworks in a music history... But almost nobody in America   knows about Charles Ives, so I deleted this reference, alas...

When I gave out the other poem to one lady in the audience, she said she still had it on her fridge from last year, and I was happy to hear that,  but it is time to write a new Independence Day poem... 

INDEPENDENCE DAY

Red is the color of rocks in the Grand Canyon

White are the mountains, shining with snow.

Bue are the waves of Pacific Ocean.

Red, White and Blue - the colors of all

Red is the Earth from which we come

White is the Air that fills our lungs

Blue is the Water inside us, with Stardust

Red, White and Blue - connected in all.

Red is pure love, deep in our hearts

White is the brightness of our clear minds

Blue is serenity of well lived lives.

Red, White and Blue - freedom for all.

(C) 2018 by Maja Trochimczyk

Maja, Alice Pero and Hilda Weiss, 20/7/25

Two weeks later it was time for my poetry feature at Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga - at Village Poets of Sunland Tujunga. I was co-featured with Hilda Weiss of the Poetry A Video Series and environmental activism, so I selected poems about spiritual reflections rooted in nature... Josephine recorded my 19 min. reading in two parts. I managed to read quite a few poems because I did not spend any time on ubiquitous introductions explaining the poem before it is read. I quite dis lie those, so there...

I started from a challenge to action - a spot of sunlight moving across the hills I see from my window. 

Outside my Window

 

 

A round spot of gold light appears

on the smooth slope of California hills

green in the spring, shadowed by rainclouds.

 

Suddenly, an epiphany of light

blossoms among thickening shadows, 

dusk approaching soon, much too soon.

 

The shining circle stretches into an arrow, 

points west, along the ridge. The arrow of light, 

my arrow, tells me to go, do, act, lead and follow.

Be the light, bring the light. Enlighten.

 

Before I can even reach for pen and paper

to write down this command, this call to action,

it is gone. All is shadow now. Murky darkness.

  

Yet the memory of the cloud epiphany lingers,

etched onto my retina. This spot of light,

this arrow will always be with me—

Each morning, I will turn the circle of contemplation 

into the arrow of action, the dawn star 

into a comet, inexorably reaching its end.

 

Is it not the story of my life?

This spot of light on a mountain meadow

after one winter storm, before another?

 

I catch it, hold it, and keep it safe 

among my treasures. Things not to be 

discarded. Unforgettable thoughts.

 

Another pearl for my precious necklace

woven from brilliant moments— 

jewels of a well-lived life.

(c) 2022 by Maja Trochimczyk, from Bright Skies. Selected Poems.  Reprinted here

https://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2022/08/maja-trochimczyks-new-book-bright-skies.html

The next bunch featured poem reproduced here - and poems An Artichoke of a Poem, Mata Boska Zielna, The Infinity Room, Dragon Fruit Awareness... that appeared in Crystal Fire  Poems of Joy and Wisdom and the California Quarterly.  

Oh, the Art of Looking

Look ahead— 

wave and wave and wave

dance in the moonlight

a silver path across the ocean

shimmering horizon

stark intensity

of the Pacific

Look up—

the Milky Way

What do you see?

The spine of the world?

Buttons made of stars?

Indigo cupola with diamonds?

wave after wave after wave

Look inside—

deep into my eyes

electric currents flow

in an arc of brightness

connecting us into One

the Oneness we forgot

Now, we are alive, we are

One—the clear azure

of windswept sky—

the ruby wine

beneath roots

of the earth  

Look around—

wake up and see,

truly see where you are—

enveloped in a blanket

of time, carried

from now to now—

from wave to wave to wave

from Earth into Earth into One

(C) 2022 by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in California Quarterly 44 no. 4 . 

In the second part of the reading, I focused on newer poems from 2024 and those published in the anthology Crystal Fire. Poems of Joy and Wisdom (2022).  "Dragon Fruit Awareness" was already posted here, not long ago, in fact... "Grapes on a Vine" have also been reprinted on my blogs, so I'll not repost it here.  But I found a forgotten poem in my notes, and here it is (from July 2024).

Summer Bee Buzz

The bees buzz in the pin, crepe myrtle tree.

The sound of my childhood. 

I hear that enormous indent tree. I fee

those 21 stings in my head. The taste 

of fragrant amber of buckwheat honey.

My garden is tranquil in the morning before 

my neighbors get up. Only the golden orioles

make ratting noises with their harsh, 

machine-like voices. Maybe they will settle here. 

The intricate, sweet melodies of mockingbirds 

are gone. They moved on after the row of old 

oleanders was cut down. They used to bravely

fight with crows to protect their nests. 

Unfurled white stripes on gray brown tails

Now the orioles shine like pure god 

in sunlight. Such lovely plumage

Such hoarse rattles of their sounds --

                                                               Bizarre...

You cannot have everything.

                                                    You must choose.

The transient body or the timeless soul

Riches of appearance, or the deep truth of the heart. 

"My kingdom is not of this world" 

                                                -- the teacher said. 

         Indeed.

(c) 2024 by Maja T.

The reading ended with "A Declaration" with its refrain, so suitable for this reading - "I am a sovereign citizen of the galaxy"...

Six days later, I was already in Albuquerque, NM, at the convention of the National Federation of State Poetry Societies, where I represented California as the President of its State Poetry Society since 2019. It was the first time attending a meeting with 30 other State Societies' Presidents and I felt it was worth my time. These days, given I'm already past 64 (from the Beatles song), and fast approaching 68, I do what is "worth my time" and ignore things that are not... Seen from the air, the earth was covered with patterns of light and shadow,  as are our lives...

Since it was my first time in Albuquerque, I decided to visit some scenic sites - and my first choice was the Turquoise Museum. I was so impressed that I wrote about turquoise and sent my poem to its Executive Director... I think I'll place it in the California Quqarterly.

Back at the NFSPS Convention, by chance, I participated in a Slam Poetry style Haiku Death Match.  Of 16 Participants, one was crowned the Death Match Champion. Three haiku were read in each round, where two poets were set against each other, replying with a haiku to haiku.  Three-person pane judged the poems and picked the winner who got the best of three. At first, I only had two haiku ready - for I thought it was just a regular reading. But after the rues were announced I scrolled through my gmail messages and found old submissions to our Haiku Study Group Anthologies - and that was enough to find myself in semifinals, defeated by the champion Jerry Hardesty of Alabama. So much fun!  Some of these mini poems appeared in the SCHSG anthologies in 2021, 2022 and 2024. One was just printed in the CQ v. 51 no. 2 (Summer 2025).

First round haiku

Shapeshifting clouds shade

                cement prison housing blocks -

                                              longing for freedom

Roadrunner waits for me, 

                   a limp lizard in its beak -

                                                                                    Carpe Diem

 

 In SCHSG Anthology "The Taste of Sunlight" (2022) 

old linden tree 

             in her empty courtyard -

      the scent of memories 

Second round haiku

           "let me go!"

my kite tugs on its string -

                          we dream of freedom

the flutter of wings

               interrupts my thoughts -

                                       a feather-light heart

Dead Sea Scrolls unfurl

            insights for 3 millennia

                      "you shall... you shall not..."

 In California Quarterly, v. 51, no. 2 (Summer 2025)

Third round haikn

shadow and light - 

               yes and no chase each other 

                                               in circular motion

In San Diego Poetry Annual 2023-24

 

`high school latin class

             Ars longa Vita Brevis -

                             true beauty lingers

In SCHSG Anthology "The Taste of Sunlight" (2022) 

one breath, one bite,

      one thought, one step at a time  -

                                    the measure of life

 

16 contestants and the MC, NFSPS Convention, 26/7/2025

we doze off under

protection of cloud dragon -

or is it a rabbit? 

Photos of nature and clouds by Maja T.