From your school days you may remember A. E. Housman’s poem that begins, “Loveliest of trees, the cherry now/ Is hung with bloom along the bough.” Here’s a look at a blossoming cherry, done 120 years later, on site among the famous cherry trees of Washington, by D.C. poet Judith Harris. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

In Your Absence

Not yet summer,   

but unseasonable heat   

pries open the cherry tree.   

It stands there stupefied,   

in its sham, pink frills,   

dense with early blooming.   

Then, as afternoon cools   

into more furtive winds,   

I look up to see   

a blizzard of petals   

rushing the sky.   

It is only April.   

I can’t stop my own life   

from hurrying by.   

The moon, already pacing.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2007 by Judith Harris, whose most recent collection of poems is The Bad Secret, Louisiana State University Press, 2006. Reprinted by permission of Judith Harris. Introduction copyright © 2014 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

Since it’s National Poetry Month, I thought I’d share a brief look at one of my favorite forms of poetry: the haiku.

For many people, haiku is a more approachable form of poetry. Poems are short, usually three lines of 17 syllables or less—perfect for a hurried world. (And, dare I say, even Twitter-sized?) I was taught in school that they should be broken into 5-7-5 form, but it’s increasingly popular and acceptable to break the lines in a different pattern and/or use fewer than 17 syllables. Line breaks should be at natural pauses, and are used to punctuate the poem.

Haiku are deceptively simple—a lot is packed into a few syllables. They focus on what’s happening in the moment, often involve nature and frequently indicate a specific season. They should evoke some type of emotion. According to Creative Writing Now, “Instead of saying how a scene makes him or her feel, the poet shows the details that caused that emotion. If the sight of an empty winter sky made the poet feel lonely, describing that sky can give the same feeling to the reader.”

Even for a novice, haiku are fun to write and read. I’ve gotten away from this practice lately, but for a while I was writing haiku several times a week. This is my most recent one:

huddled like mourners

black vultures crowd together

warm April rain

Two more of my haiku appear in this post found at Belle, Book and Candle where she shares reader haiku. She also has two more posts on haiku here and here. And one of my favorite spots for a dose of haiku is Susan Tweit’s Pinterest page where she writes and posts a haiku and photo every day.

If you’re interested in a more in-depth exploration of haiku, I recommend The Haiku Handbook. For more information on writing your own haiku, click here.

Playing with words makes me happy—and haiku are a fun way to do that. Why not try your hand at haiku, and come back here to share them with us?

“It’s great to be great, but it’s greater to be human.”

—Will Rogers

I have a confession to make. I’m not perfect. No, really, I know you all thought I was and you’re probably very disappointed to learn otherwise. Oh, wait. You didn’t think I was perfect. I did. Or, more accurately, I hoped you thought I was, if not perfect, then very, very close to it. It gives me great pain—and also great relief—to finally admit, publicly, that I’m flawed. I can be messy, selfish, stubborn, controlling, I hate to admit I’m wrong… I could go on, but my ego is begging me to quit. I’d really prefer to list “faults” that are really virtues in disguise (as we’ve been told to do on job interviews), but I’m finally becoming too old wise not to accept all parts of myself.

I’m tired of being afraid of mistakes and missteps, of being paralyzed by fear of looking foolish or hypocritical. I’m tired of unreasonable expectations (my own and society’s). I’m tired of perfectionism when it comes to appearance or character or accomplishment. I’m tired of trying to force myself into even attempting to look perfect when—newsflash!—NO ONE is perfect. No, not even me.

Why am I so afraid of showing my imperfections, of looking foolish and admitting mistakes? One reason—I feel a certain shame in admitting imperfection. I should always be kind, warm, giving, an excellent writer, wife and mother, and, on top of that, perfectly fit and healthy. (Shouldn’t I?) My people-pleasing, perfectionist little heart doesn’t want to do anything “wrong” and risk rejection. At bottom, I’m truly afraid if I don’t present myself as darn near perfect, I am not “enough”—and I won’t be liked, let alone loved.

I’m not sure exactly where this comes from. Perhaps because I’ve been given so much in my life—in teaching, examples to follow, health, good fortune and opportunity. I feel I have no excuse for not being, at the very least, really, really close to perfection. I don’t want to waste what I’ve been given. However, just because I know better doesn’t mean I can always do better. I’m still human, and to be human is to make mistakes. I’m still working on feeling OK with that.

The funny thing is, pretending to be perfect actually keeps me from receiving the love I want. Sharing mistakes and weaknesses—imperfections—deepens intimacy between people. And keeping up an appearance of perfection means I can’t share my weaknesses with others, and perhaps receive the help and encouragement I need. It also may keep others from sharing their imperfections with me and allowing me to help them.

Life isn’t about being perfect. It’s about growing, learning from mistakes when we make them. My faults don’t define me. They are just threads woven into the cloth of my personality. I also have many good qualities, and it’s the unique combination of faults and virtues that makes me me. I am human, and learning to be happily so. I want to be loved in spite of and because of my faults. I can’t hide them, from myself or from others. I’m taking to heart Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton’s words: “If you wish to be loved, show more of your faults than your virtues.”

“Unlike success and failure, contribution has no other side. It is not arrived at by comparison. All at once I found that the fearful question, ‘Is it enough?’ and the even more fearful question, ‘Am I loved for who I am or for what I have accomplished?’ could both be replaced by the joyful question, ‘How will I be a contributor today?’”

—Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander, The Art of Possibility 

As I write this, I look out my office window at the greenness of spring in Florida—our oak trees have mostly leafed out, my crepe myrtle has the tiniest bronze leaflets clinging to its bare limbs and I know in time it will bear ruffley lavender flowers. A cardinal is visiting the bird feeder, his red feathers bright against the greens and browns of the front yard. I’m listening to acoustic guitar music on Pandora, and I have my window open to smell all that green leafiness and hear the birds’ songs more clearly. Not only do I enjoy looking and listening to the beauty around me, I find that it has a calming and uplifting effect on my mood.

While most people would not argue that beauty is nice, is it something we all need? Best-selling author Piero Ferrucci thinks it is, and explores that topic in his book Beauty and the Soul: The Extraordinary Power of Everyday Beauty to Heal Your Life.

Ferrucci believes that beauty is an essential ingredient in a happy, healthy life. He writes, “Beauty plays a central role in our decision to be here. The more we can perceive beauty in our surroundings, and also inside us, the more we will feel at home and glad to exist. Some perceive beauty in the sound of rain and shape of clouds, in people’s faces and voices, in birdsong and the rustling of leaves. Some see it in modern design or ancient embroidered silk, in a cathedral’s stained glass or an advertising poster, in the flowering of intelligence or in altruism, in musical phrasing or the melodic rhythm of poetry, in the dynamism of a statue or the lightness of a dance. For such people the world is a place of great interest, of continuing amazement. Their relation with life is erotic: They are in love with life.”

Ferrucci also notes that contact with beauty makes us less angry and anxious, and that Swedish studies indicate that those who attended theater, movies, concerts and exhibitions have a greater chance of longevity. One explanation is that beauty stimulates the immune system.

Of course, beauty doesn’t just exist in cultural events and experiences. Beauty is everywhere—we just need to notice it. To improve our ability to seek and find beauty, Ferrucci suggests keeping a diary of what we find beautiful, slowing down and paying more attention to what is all around us (“Hurry usually obliterates all forms of beauty”), and removing the attitudes that hamper beauty (“I don’t deserve it, it’s a waste of time, there are better things to think about…”).  As he notes, “Attention is nourishing. Anything we give our interest to grows and develops. Anything we neglect or ignore atrophies. Attention is like a spotlight on a theater stage. It gives emphasis. The world is what it is, but we provide the accent. We look for beauty, give it our vital interest, create space for it. Then beauty will proliferate for us.”

Beauty lifts up the soul, lightens burdens, gives hope and inspiration—all things we so desperately need in this world. If we seek beauty in our lives, we will add to our happiness.

What do you find beautiful? How can you add beauty to your days?