Haiku Hopscotch

Hey world. So, this week to celebrate the one year anniversary of Haiku Hopscotch (!), I have decided to ponder and analyse 'The Moon and The Yew Tree' by Sylvia Plath. This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky -- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly bong out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet lik...

Hey world! Currently I am vacationing in Portland Maine. Today I decided to go check out Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's house, which is located right in the middle of Portland. Situated on a busy cobbled street, this colonial style house was the boyhood home of the beloved poet Longfellow. For those of you who aren't familiar with this poet let me give a brief synopsis. Longfellow was born here in Portland Maine in 1807, he was the second of eight children. At the time Maine was still part of Massachusetts, and hadn't been split (1820). His father Steven Longfellow was a lawyer and a congressman, and expected Henry to follow suit in this career. From an early age he showed an interest in modern languages and went on the speak four. In these days one would learn Greek, Latin and perhaps a bit of Hebrew. But not many new French, Spanish, German or Italian. Longfellow was a prolific writer from an early age-publishing his first poem when he was just thirteen! This po...