“It turns out the nightly parenting haiku is not only Minimum Viable Creativity, but also an opportunity to journal milestones every night without having to figure out what to say.” This post from 2017 at Unlikely Words compiles a year of haiku from a parent.

A beautiful poem on aging and and wisdom by Senator Murray Sinclair, former chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada: As we grow old / the ground we walk on / rises up / so that, / as each of those few moments / left to us / pass by…

“Too many of us seem to have been taught that poems are supposed to be solved, some ‘deeper meaning’ discovered and extracted like a vein of ore from a mine. If we can’t find ‘it’ . . . we feel inadequate.” Rebecca Moon Ruark interviews Dave Lucas on her blog, Rust Belt Girl.

If I am lost in the blowing grasses, / If I wander from the path, / I am in your hands, time. / And in them there is a stillness, / Where light become animate, / And tactile, / Like little lost pieces of a former self.

“My body / is my home, / but I shuttered it / awhile back, / and I’ve hovered nearby / like a tangled kite, / a drunken bird.”

“I try to wash away the sleepiness / from my insomnia laden eyes / pick a fresh sheet of paper / spread clean water till it sheens / like fresh snow on a sunny day / clean and load the brushes with colours…”

winter storm – / a train without a whistle / blows past the house

No matter where your journey takes you in 2019, what better way to kick it off than with 10 travel-themed poems, lovingly collected by the editors at JSTOR Daily?

“Daylight hurts like the memory / of more flexible structures, but night / inserts its stainless prongs and feels / for the organs most at risk.” An excerpt from one of three poems by William Doreski, published in the winter 2018 issue of The Coachella Review.

“Soon enough—a few weeks, a few months—and the poem seems to me like a cardboard cutout of a puppy: inauthentic, inflexible, lacking in depth or life. I don’t know why this is, but I hate it.” At The Gloria Sirens, Katie Riegel encourages other poets to be humble and willing to accept help.

“Alabaster” appears in poet Stephanie L. Harper’s chapbook “This Being Done”: “I am a pink rose petal’s pale glow / black ash tamped in furrows / between the breaths of the living…”

unlike the midnight special / there are no songs / to celebrate the early bird special / no IHOPian bard, / no poet laureate of the blue plate / no bargain basement Dylan / no cut price Cohen / to extol the digestive / and economic benefits / of getting an early start.

Bengaluru, India-based yogi and writer Bernie Gourley captures the city’s volatile monsoon weather in a series of free-form haiku: “trust old people | with umbrellas more than | the blue in the sky”

Revel in the beauty of the wind as revealed by poet Robert Okaji: “That it shudders through / and presages an untimely end, / that it transforms the night’s / body and leaves us / breathless and wanting, / petals strewn about”