(St)ratification

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life is an itch

And so we scratch

Underlying layers of lies

Shifty sediments of alibis

Searching for the glorious

Sheen of the bedrock

And as the stone cold truth

Stares blatantly

Into the naivety of our eyes

We scramble

To spread the topsoil

 

 

dVerse Poets Pub is celebrating 7 years!

We are not feeling the “itch” as we continue to inspire and be inspired by each other.

We are very proud of our Anthology

Chiaroscuro – Darkness and Light, dVerse Anthology, 2017

But yes….”itch” is the word for this week’s Quadrille prompt.

Your lovely host is Grace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nookwezigan (Smudge)

 

For many years, I worked on a First Nations reserve. It was part of my job to become familiar with some of the Ojibway language and culture and to promote it within a daycare setting. Native American customs and spirituality have always intrigued me and still do. The legends and rituals shared with me by my co workers opened my mind to other ways of thinking. I admire the simplicity of thought and their many symbolisms of nature.

While attending a Native Early Childhood conference, I chose a workshop involving an outdoor excursion. We slowly climbed a steep, grassy hill, leaving gifts of tobacco along the way for ” the little people”. At the top we rested on large rocks and meditated on a breathtaking view of the valley below.  When we returned to the community center we sat in a circle to be “smudged”. Nervously I anticipated my turn as a seashell with burning sage was passed around the group. I watched as each of my native colleagues stood one at a time, directing the pungent smoke towards their body with beckoning hands. Drawing it close and gently pushing it away. Cleansing themselves of negative energy. I was welcomed into the ceremony, treated no differently than the rest. As I embraced the smoke I believed what they believed. This was healing.

 

bashkodejiibik

i am not Anishinaabe but

mino giizhigad

 

Translation:

sage

i am not native but

it’s a nice day

 

Written for Paul’s poetic prompt, “Medicine” over at dVerse Poets Pub.

 

 

 

Stuck

 

 

She spoke in scars

Bitterness of broken heart

Sailing with the undertows

Salty sting of ocean tears

Refreshing her pain

There was safety there

Reeling to the beat of

“It’s- not- my- fault”

Making peace with the fog

So she didn’t have to see

 

Sunlight beckoned but

She reveled in the rain clouds

Trading rainbows for permafrost

Frozen, hard fast in the loss

In time, she’d rewind in the wind

Dust off the grudge and wrath

Wipe the mist from the mirror

To see more than lines on her face

More than the misery of this place

Cue the music

And dance wildly to the light

 

 

I am hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. We are writing to “Life Lessons”. “What is one thing (or more) that you have learned that you feel could change another life? Well at least improve it.” Please share with us in a poem. There is still time to join in. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minor Disturbance

 

 

You speak in cloudbursts

Torrential tongue

Twisting words to suit your weather

I have news for you

The forecast isn’t bleak

The sky isn’t falling though you

May be chicken and I, little

Your drizzle will fizzle

And I can play in the rain

 

 

For Kim’s quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub.

44 words of fun using the word “rain”.

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

To Listen

 

 

I hear the rustle of reeds

Where meadow meets pond

Wails and yodels of the loon

The flit-flutter of dragonfly wings

I have powwows with the stars while

Luna spills stories into my cupped hands

The stoic oak articulates to me, his fears

And I stroke his tired skin

I heed to the beat of my own heart

And the steady rhythm of silence

But when words sail from your tongue

To faraway places

I am still learning

To listen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For this week’s Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. I am your host and I am asking you to write a poem about something you are still learning. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.  Join us!

Quadriculous

 

 

OH fuddle muddle

I’m in trouble

I should sciddle scaddle scuttle

The doohickey, the gobbley gook

Have taken me out for a loopy-de-loop

Ya think you know what I’m talking about

But you are stuck on a round-a-bout

Going round,

going round,

going round…..

 

44 words of pure nonsense. The word ” muddle” made me silly. You can join in with De’s favourite prompt over at d’verse and feel free to be more serious!

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

Wonderment – A Haibun

 

I arrive at the wetlands, bundled up for winter rather than spring. The trail beneath my feet is the same. The scene to either side is always different. One more cat tail swaying in the breeze or the entertaining sound of geese overhead making their semi-awkward landing on the pond. Where did they come from? How long were they gone? Who, pray tell is the leader and why? I don’t want to know the answers. I would rather be intrigued than informed.

My walks become my thoughts. That is the usual experience but today is different. I am walking for ten toddlers. Ten spongy toddlers absorbing new sights, sounds, textures and words.  My mission is to collect six different pieces of nature. These will be used to fill six plastic bottles, at which point they become “sensory bottles”, an activity of visual exploration and appreciation for the earth. As my steps become automatic, my eyes scour the ground for interesting specimens.

Sticks in a mixture of earthen colours, evergreen sprigs with intricate needles,  maple tree buds bursting, beach sand with driftwood and shells, a dried milkweed plant left open and exposed from winter’s freeze and finally, ten tiny pine-cones for counting. I imagine seeing these gifts for the first time through a two year old’s eyes. I head back along the trail’s paved loop. My pockets are full. My heart is fuller.

 

curious gosling

downy sun-kissed and wind-blessed

wide eyed and waiting

 

 

 

It’s Haibun Monday but this prompt is open all week! Bjorn is our host at dVerse Poets Pub and he has asked us to write a haibun about walking. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.