Haiku from Convention
Mary Cox, director of communications from Southeast Florida, shared these Convention-inspired haikus with Center Aisle.
Hope there aren’t earthquakes
while we’re all in Anaheim—
though we might bring some.
Jesus said, “Pack light.”
But seems my luggage contains
everything I own.
Time warp: mid-afternoon
lasts for a thousand miles
when you’re flying west.
Desert below us,
bleached, scoured, forbidding landscape—
land of golden dreams?
Convention center—
enclosed by walls of clear glass.
Better not throw stones.
That grass-green jacket
got our attention. Who knew?
Straub’s a fashion-plate.
Chance connection—now
hymn 390, with descant,
follows me all day.
Being born when old
can happen—just watch my face
when the music starts.
Kathy’s hands sing, too—
one more instrument added,
signing our music.
Hard conversation—
taut faces around the room,
trying to trust this.
Padre Alberto
spent the day at Disneyland—
less fantasy there.
I’m walking here cloaked
by invisibility—
a short old woman.
Hero worship lives
even under gray hair. Wow—
look who’s beside me!
Sometimes losing it
can be a way to find more—
sacrament of tears.
When you’re going down,
the up escalator looks
like it’s stopped for good.
Young man speaks boldly.
My generation thinking,
“We could let go now.”
Translators’ voices
make Babel during sermon—
No, it’s Pentecost.
Who made all this bread?
God’s gift, but some human hands
stood the kitchen’s heat.
Bishops in costume—
Jesus doesn’t need this show,
but might be smiling.
A pigeon’s flying
through the House of Deputies.
We don’t rate a dove?
Faces on the screen,
larger than life, still don’t show
what hides in these hearts.
Cinemascope view
dazzles through this wide glass wall.
No movie in here.
On Jericho Road
God needs just one true neighbor.
Oh—might that be me?
Blindsided by song—
music through memory flows,
warm with sudden tears.
Meeting long-loved friends—
good to remember old times,
better to share now.
This “ubuntu” means
we don’t pick our kin, God does—
and they’re the whole world.
Tip for roughing it:
Socks eventually dry
on your windowsill.
Robert’s Rules do rule—
liturgy for motions made,
rising to oppose.
Today we’re marching
with the workers. Tomorrow
they’ll clean our bathrooms.
Watching the people
going the opposite way,
I know I’m moving.
Autographed books say
I met someone who did more
than think of writing.
Photos forbidden
during worship, so record
memories instead.
Bishop Charleston could
save the world in ten minutes,
if we all listened.
Scattering haiku
like breadcrumbs. Wonder who will
follow my words’ trail.
You know you’re old when
concert lightstick’s recycled
as bathroom nightlight.
Lauren was dazzled,
meeting (she was sure) Bono.
No fake delight, through.
Camera’s charging—
needs juice. Me, too. Eucharist
is where I plug in.
Real bread makes Jesus
food we can really chew on--
I think that’s the plan.
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