This World

This world is a heart
fed from the nuzzle of a mother’s breast.
Its murmur is a father’s gentle song,
one whose arms reach out before a fallen
tear can bury itself in the sand.

Its arteries are our highways, as
opaque as they are to the earth beneath,
without them, are we not pigeons without wings,
moths without a moon?

The blood is love. But blood isn’t love.
No, if we take in one as our own,
it does the same. The world took us in
so long ago.

 

Join us at dVerse Poets Pub as we imagine our own world.

The sky’s the limit..or is it? It’s my pleasure to be hosting this week’s Poetics.

Doors open at 3 p.m.

Image: pixabay.com

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.

 

 

 

RAMblings on Faith

 

I’ve lost faith. Not in myself or any one person…but in society as a whole. We’ve truly outdone ourselves, haven’t we? Our power is devouring us. Self-destruction disguised as bits and bytes of betterment. Perhaps once we’ve surrendered the rest of our intelligence to a robotic regime, we’ll cycle back to playing with sticks and rocks. Building our own fires out of boredom ….just to see if we can. History repeats itself. We’ll sharpen our knives again instead of our minds. But will we ever sharpen our awareness? We have only scratched the surface of our abilities to evolve into humanity. On the contrary, we’ve regressed. We’ve even lost faith in friendships, walking on eggshells around social behaviours we’ve already mastered. Texting conversations that freeze, then flow again, with license to ignore as if the norm.

I have faith in potential. Before I allowed video games to sweep my children into a “Call of Duty”, we collected shells on the beach until the sun nestled on the horizon. Clouds were clouds. Facial recognition meant nothing more than counting freckles. Collecting precious smiles that burst into laughter over almost nothing. We traced the shape of the moon as the grass tickled our skin. I remember. They remember.

I have faith in possibilities. I see starving children no longer starving. I see the end of violence. I see lonely people surrounded by love. I see it all because it’s all there waiting for us to create. Much more rewarding, I would think , than superimposing fictional characters into a digital environment. You don’t need goggles. Just a good heart. I do have unwavering faith in God, but I fear he has lost faith in us.

 

lone seagull sets sail

sun waits patiently for more

waters uncharted

 

 

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub and the topic is “faith”.  You are all welcome to join in. I am pleased to be your host. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST and this poetic prompt is open all week.

Image credit: pixabay.com

Weekly Photo Challenge: Tour Guide

In response to The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Tour Guide

Welcome to a small town in southwestern Ontario, Canada. These are only two of our distinct and unique seasons.

 

 

Strong winds + bitter temperatures + river =  masterpiece.

 

Sunset over lake + para-sail + sense of adventure = summer solitude.

 

 

 

 

 

Til(l) Now

we toil in toxic soil

planting intentions,

nurturing our contemplated

marinated seedlings of hope

and it feels righteous

downright righteous

is this not the path to peace?

when hope dies in the eyes of

the oppressed and forgotten

how many prayers are enough

for the darkness to fade,

for light to be cascaded

over hate so barbaric?

oh but we sing and we say

we are the world

We are compassionate

you…and me

aren’t we?

we must step off of our

overturned garden crates

weed out our own fears

and act

 

Amaya Cranston Engleking has joined our team over at dVerse.  Her poetic prompt for us today is to “write an epigraph poem (not an official form) in which a quote about global peace, social justice, or human rights is embedded”.  I chose the following quote…..

It is not enough to be compassionate – you must act.”- His Holiness The Dalai Lama

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chiaroscuro – dVerse Anthology

 

 

 

 

 

Happy New Year! I am so excited to announce the publication of

Chiaroscuro

Darkness and Light

Voices from poets – dVerse Anthology

 

Thanks to the dedicated leaders of our virtual poetry site, Bjorn Rudberg & Mary Grace Guevara and all the poets from around the world who contributed, this book is now complete and available on Amazon.

You can find it here.

Congrats to all and best wishes for 2018!

 

Gookookoo

 

The well worn paths of the forest floor feel like home to me. They are only a starting point to something more. Perhaps something no one has ever seen or touched. My feet often wander off trail to investigate a mossy log or to find that magical spot where land meets water.  I pick up rocks for future painting, caress the bark of an old oak tree and savor the scent of dampened leaves before the first snowfall. I look for the smallest of creatures, putting nature under a microscope.  I know he’s out there…..somewhere but I have not yet encountered the silent flier. Natives of the Chippewa tribe call him “Gookookoo”.  I have displayed calendar pictures of him on preschool walls, spoke of him in simple terms, but his magnificent eyes have never met mine. He lurks where I do not search. His screech has yet to reach me. Legend says that is a good thing.

 

muted feathers soar

over unsuspecting souls

deer mouse holds his breath

~

 

 

For Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.

Victoria is our host.  WHO can join in? You can.

The prompt begins at 3 p.m. and is open all week!

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

You Go First

 

I feel you tugging on the mask

Your grip equals my resistance

To concealing my existence

Don’t listen to my eyes

They lie

 

I feel you dredging up the past

Sifting fallacies from honesty

My blunders are your pleasure

Troubles I do treasure

Don’t look into my soul

It’s old

 

I feel your tiny shovel words

Digging deeply and discreetly

I see your mask is custom fit

Perhaps you truly will outwit

Take it off, go ahead

You go first

 

 

Come join us for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub 3 p.m. EST.

We are exploring the idea of masks, psychological or metaphorical.

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

Shipwrecked

 

 

 

We bobble like iron bubbles

Anchored to docks of despair

Waving flags, still bragging

About love of country

Humble hearts whisper

In feathers, doves

But hope does not float

Intentions are stuck in

Stagnant sea scum

Blood flows and God knows

We are tired

 

 

Written for this week’s Quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

E-volving

 

 

“We are all just prisoners here

of our own device.”

Well isn’t that nice….

Robotic, hypnotic little

Sheep grinning, grazing

On bits and bytes of

Techno trash and hashtags

Phubbing our friends

There’s a word for that?

Doesn’t deserve one

We sulk like fools

In our own game

Propagating our own pain

Immunized, mesmerized

Publicized, then wondering why

Our hearts hurt

And our heads are spinning

This is the fork in the road

My friends

The end

Or the beginning

 

 

Hope you enjoyed “Musical Muse”, my offering as a poetic prompt this week at dVerse Poets Pub. Choose some lyrics, preferably one line from a favorite song and grow your own poem from it. You are not limited to the original theme of the song. Instead, forge your own poetic path.

**Quote is from the lyrics of “Hotel California”, The Eagles

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

Collaboration for Peace – 52 – Pass it On!

We did it!! We set out, 52 poems and photos ago, to collaborate in bringing peace to this cyber-village of poets. In the process we each found a kindred soul and a shared passion that was not bound by borders. Now that we have reached our goal, we are asking you to continue this journey of peace. Reach out to a fellow poet or photographer (amateur or otherwise). Combine your talents to express your thoughts about peace and inspire others to do the same. At the very least, you will challenge each other, and make a meaningful connection from across the miles. Let us know in the comments if you have decided to take on the challenge. We would love to hear from you and follow your collaboration.

For our last post for “Collaboration for Peace”, Candy and I decided to share our answers to some questions about PEACE. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments.

Photo: Candace Kubinec

What does peace look like to you?

Candy: Peace is a moment (or two) of calmness in a busy life. A time without fear or worry.

Mish: It’s not about rainbows and butterflies, peace signs and such. For me, peace looks like a world united, with non judgemental faces and open minds.

 

Photo: Mish

How do you experience inner peace?

Candy: Being outdoors is where I find peace to quiet my inner self, to prioritize. As an introvert, I need those moments to recharge.

Mish: When I feel turmoil in my life, I try to remind myself of my priorities, what truly matters in my life and eliminate the “small stuff” that gets in the way. I find inner peace when I am in nature, examining a wildflower in the woods or watching a hawk soaring above me. I think the simplicity of nature has many lessons for discovering inner peace.

Photo: Mish

What do you believe needs to happen for peace to happen?

Candy: We need to learn to respect others and appreciate our differences. And then follow up with actions that demonstrate that respect. A genuine smile goes a long way to promoting peace.

Mish: We have to break free from societal walls. We need to build bridges instead of walls. Respect and embrace our differences. Become part of the melting pot. Let go of our fears. Stop celebrating any country as the strongest or the best. No country is better than another. These arrogant personas do not support the goals of peace.

 

Photo: Candace Kubinec

What can we do as individuals to promote peace in the world?

Candy: Don’t give in to what is popular but do what you know is right. If you want to promote peace in the world it must start in your own neighborhood – a ripple of peace that will spread outward.

Mish: Reach out. Speak to others who look nothing like you. Learn first hand about their culture and beliefs. Give up the stereotypes. Become educated before you speak. Make connections. You will be enriched and enlightened.

 

Thank you to all of you who have “liked”, commented and supported our Collaboration for Peace project. We hope you continue our journey of peace.

We leave you now with our final collaboration, a poem written by Candy and a photo taken from one of my most peaceful places.

Photo: Mish

Peace Enough

 

I wish you peace enough

to last not just for tomorrow

but until we no longer

need to wish

 

I wish you peace enough

to share with those you love

and those you fear

so you may fear less

 

I wish you peace enough

to carry you through

turbulence and pain

so your heart may smile again

 

I wish you peace enough

to calm your inner self

then ripple out from you

to calm your world

 

© Candace Kubinec

 

You can follow Candy’s blog at rhymeswithbug.com

Thank you, Candace Kubinec for sharing this experience with me, for your amazing way with words, your lovely photography and especially for your friendship.

 

 

Collaboration for Peace – 44

 

 

Reach Up, Reach Out

 

I reach up
Spread my arms
To embrace the sky
 
The sky that looks
Down on every person –
Like and unlike me
 
Every person receives
Equal share of the day
And the night
 
The sun and stars
The moon lights the
Corners of darkness
 
Regardless of color or shape
Weeping or joyful
We’re all the same
 
I reach out
To embrace the world
That the sky looks
Down upon in peace
 

 

© Candace Kubinec

 

We’re back! Candy and I bring you a few more weeks of uniting photography with poetry, all in the name of PEACE.

Knock, Knock….Peace, are you there?

 

 

We create our own castles

Brick by brick

We build walls

High enough to obscure faces

And far away places

Pain and anguish muffled

By our own missions

 

We wonder but don’t worry

Slow down from our hurry

Only to throw a few pennies

Or thoughts without physically

Touching a soul

 

We wait for peace like we’re

Waiting for the sun to

Burn holes through mortar

Did we forget how to open a door?

Poem written by Mish

Photo credit: Candace Kubinec

Sharing with Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.

Candy and I have worked together for over a year on a project we call “Collaboration for Peace”. We have been inspired by each others photos, writing poems that ponder and promote peace in our world or within ourselves. It has been an amazing experience and I am blessed to have shared it with such a wonderful person and poet.

This post was “Collaboration for Peace – 29” posted back in July. We only have a few more to go as we’re determined to reach our goal of 52. We post every Sunday and will return after the holidays.

PEACE!

How Dare I Even Try to Cover Shakespeare

 

All the world’s a page
And all the men and women merely poets
They have their exits and their entrances,
And in time they write of every stage of this life
The penning of seven ages. At first, the infant,
Rapping and clapping  in mother’s arms
Then the whining schoolboy, with his backpack
And mourning face, snailing his way
To school. And then the lover,
Sighing between couplets, with a woeful ballad
Music to his mistress’ ear. Then a soldier,
Fighting life’s battles on paper and screens
Jealous in honor, spoken word slamming
Seeking the published prize
At the risk of denial. And then the justice,
Fattened and fueled with philosophy,
With eyes widened by profound thoughts
Full of wisdom of past and present
And so he coins his phrase. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and withered wordsmith,
With spectacles on nose and irony alongside;
His youthful imagery, well saved, a world too wide
For his shortened verse, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish times, whines
And whistles of his own elegy. Last stanza of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Blank verse, refrain and mere oblivion,
Sans rhythm, sans rhyme, sans breath, sans everything.

 

ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE

By William Shakespeare

(from As You Like It, spoken by Jacques)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

poetryfoundation.org

Photo taken in Stratford, Ontario, home of the Stratford Festival and Shakespearean plays.

 

A wonderful challenge by Bryan Ens for dVerse Poetics, where he asked us to “cover” a poem by a poet whom you admire. I missed the prompt so I’m linking this up to “Open Link Night”.

Feel free to join in with one poem of your choice!

Ties

 

He tells me he’s going to Thailand. Alone. For six weeks. Six weeks and six days. He is taking a backpack. I think he is joking but then…there’s the grin, that familiar smirk n’ dimple disposition that says he is not. I smile, wide-eyed while panic pokes at every ounce of my maternal self. “What?” “Why?” “When?” The fact that he will miss Christmas becomes trivial, getting lost in swirls of anxiety. I look in his eyes for answers to questions I haven’t thought of yet. He speaks of hostels in Bangkok and a train to Chiang Mai where you can ride an elephant. My heart races like a tuk-tuk but I remain focused on him, his dreams, his ambitions, his life. This is his life.

 

sea eagle sets sail

as easterly winds beckon

avoiding monsoons

 

Toni (kazensukura) leads our Haibun Monday at dVerse this week. The topic is your choice. Just remember to follow the etiquette of the form. “(1) The haibun must be non-fiction (2) The occurance must have actually happened to you (3) You are to write one to two tight paragraphs and (4) End it with a season based haiku.”

Image: pixabay.com

 

 

If He is the Homeless

Then we are the heartless
His eyes, cimmerian pools
Conscious waters we dare not tread
His words, rendered null and void
And so he holds the sign
Of failure, defined
As if guilty of existence
Beaten by this steel wool system
Of surface scratchers
Mirrored and jagged
Buffing them up
To send them back out

Dead people live on this street
Like the gray of pigeons, pecking
For rations of sweet sanity
Between dagger eyes
And swift kicks
Tears siphoned back from the edge
Hold more truth than sorrow
Tiny little diamonds
Of the highest clarity

Squinting, scanning for prospects
The sun exposes his lines
A tally of  tragedies
His glance, as empty as pockets
Races past the la-de-da
Seeking one heart, unbiased
One heart that drops the dollar
Without assuming it’s next exchange
And as it free falls to the pavement
He struggles to remember
How it felt to not be treated
Like a modern day leper

 

 

 

Sharing this with dVerse ~ Open Link Night

Image credit: pixabay.com

Collaboration for Peace – 38

Photo: Candace Kubinec

 

We Wait

For ashen skies to

Drift and greet the sun

For time to turn this

Turmoil to tranquility

As gifted abilities

Go to waste

We wait for walls to

Fall but they will stand

Unbroken as long as

Goals remain unspoken

We wait for peace

To magically evolve

Like childhood dreams

And it clearly seems

That we have lost our way

 

 

Photo by Candy

rhymeswithbug.com

From the Beginning

Artist: Claudia Schoenfeld , Used with Permission

 

I once made love to these keys
Caressing each one, stretching
For octaves beyond my reach

My heart beating in staccato
As you spoke to me in theory
Allegro, crescendo, larghetto

Marble bust of Beethoven glared
And I cared…not

 

An attempt at a sevenling for the 2nd day of celebration at dVerse Poets Pub. Victoria has interviewed one of our co-founders, Claudia Schoenfeld who has lent us some of her fabulous artwork for inspiration. You can find more of her art and poetry at painterindahouse and Jaywalkingthemoon.

Collaboration for Peace – 29

 

Knock, Knock….Peace, are you there?

 

We create our own castles

Brick by brick

We build walls

High enough to obscure faces

And far away places

Pain and anguish muffled

By our own missions

 

We wonder but don’t worry

Slow down from our hurry

Only to throw a few pennies

Or thoughts without physically

Touching a soul

 

We wait for peace like we’re

Waiting for the sun to

Burn holes through mortar

Did we forget how to open a door?

Poem written by Mish

Photo credit: Candace Kubinec

Collaboration for Peace – 21

Photo by Candy who writes at rhymeswithbug.com

 

 

I Choose Tolerance

 

Because hate has

No substance

Nothing to offer

I wouldn’t hire hate

I wouldn’t marry hate

I wouldn’t even hang out

With hate

Hate is hollow

What would I do with hollow?

Dear American Newscaster

 

 

 

My country is so vast, and yet for some

reason you neglect our provinces, you say

“Fort McMurray, Canada” as if Alberta, the

size of Texas,  does not exist in this world

I can name nearly all of your fifty states, will

you please return the favo(u)r  and kindly end

this geography gap, look at a map, come on in

Identity is relevant, even for a wicked raging fire

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse, originally written for -“Meeting the Bar: The Golden Shovel Form”- where you choose a line from another poem and use each word in the line as an end word in your own poem. I used the following line “Some say the world will end in fire” from a poem called “Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost. My thoughts have been with the 90,000 people in the Fort McMurray area evacuated from their homes and especially those who have no home to return to.

 

**Note: This poem is a “letter” to one particular news reporter although it is not the first time I have experienced this frustration.  It is only intended to be a gentle nudge to explore Canada, it’s distinct provinces and territories and not intended to offend my American friends, family or fellow poets.

 

Related Articles:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2016_Fort_McMurray_wildfire

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/alberta/the-fort-mcmurray-disaster-read-the-latest-friday/article29930041/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Collaboration for Peace-6

It’s Sunday which means another Collaboration For Peace! Candy posted yesterday as she is busy traveling today. We are happy to share our creations and hope that they can inspire you in some small way.

 

 

Peace Comes

peace comes not from inky
words on paper
or notes sung by choirs of angels
it comes instead when two souls
reach across the gap of
their differences
to find commonality

 

© candace kubinec

In Flanders Fields – 100 Years

 

Image credit: cbc.ca

Today in Canada, we remember those who risked their lives and lost their lives at war. A few weeks before “Remembrance Day”, coinciding with the U.S. “Veterans Day” , we donate spare change (or hopefully more) to purchase a bright red, felt- like poppy. These are worn to signify that we have not forgotten the sacrifices of those who have served in the military.

The custom of wearing poppies evolved from the  poem, “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae, May 1915. The poem which was published after his death, was recited every year in classrooms across Canada as we approached Nov.11th.

This year marks the 100th anniversary of this famous war poem.

Who was John McCrae?

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD was a Canadian poet. He was also a physician and soldier during World War I.  He served as a surgeon during the Second Battle of Ypres. (WW I)

He was moved by the sight of a million poppies growing on the battlefields and cemeteries of Ypres, Belgium during the First World War. His words were penned as he sat in the back of an ambulance just north of Ypres, where he had recently buried his friend, Lieutenant Alex Helmer.

I have come to realize that some Americans are not familiar with this famous war poem or the symbolism of the poppy. Ironically, the idea of adorning poppies on our lapels originated from an American woman. Inspired by John McCrae’s poem, Moina Michael wore a silk poppy to symbolize remembrance of those who served in WW I.  She advocated the idea for two years in hopes of the poppy becoming a national commemorative symbol. Her efforts were not in vain and the poppy is worn proudly in many countries around the world.

The last surviving WW I veteran died in 2012. Her name was Florence Green from the U.K.

Many of our WW II veterans are still with us.

Today and always, let us honour their strength, survival and sacrifices.

 

 

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

by John McCrae, May 1915

 

 

 

Related Articles:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_McCrae

http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/history/the-history-of-the-remembrance-poppy-9852348.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_last_surviving_World_War_I_veterans_by_country

 

This is an edited version of my post on Nov.11, 2014.

Writing 201- Day 1

 

 

cyberspace junkie

squandering seconds slipping

mirage of meaning

~

This was my first assignment for The Daily Post’s Writing 201. We are focusing on “screen” as a word prompt. Additional challenges were writing a haiku and using alliteration as a poetic device. 

All We’ve Forgotten

We forget the essentials
As we pretend that gratitude
Is a new way to live our life
We forget substance
We forget joy
We forget how it feels
To feel
We numb our minds from the pain
Of a thousand knives and bullets
Aimed at someone else
Our hearts forget to beat
For those we’ve forgotten

We forget the land
We forget the land can heal us
We forget authenticity
We forget to worry about
Monsters under the bed
They reside in our head
We forget to imagine
We forget to look…
For anything
We wait for it…
To load, begin the show
As we deprive ourselves from accomplishment

We forget possibilities
Woven, sewn or whittled
From nothing but a dream
We forget how to knock on a door
We forget what friends are for
We forget that hope is not just a word
Or a bird or another tattoo
For some it is all there is
We forget why we’re here
We forget to care
We forget how it feels to care
About all we’ve forgotten

---

Grace is hosting at dVerse Poet’s Pub. She introduced us to the work of Loyce Gayo, Slam Champ of the UT Spitshine Poetry Slam team. Her performance poem, “How We Forget” was my inspiration for this piece.

http://dversepoets.com/2015/09/08/poetics-how-we-forget/

Weekly Photo Challenge: Beneath Your Feet

Do you dare to walk on air?

Standing on the Glass Floor in the CN tower can be quite intimidating. As our silhouettes hover over an aerial view of downtown Toronto streets, this photo gives a whole new meaning to “beneath your feet”.

 

Another shot from a glass panel of the world famous floor reveals a section of the Rogers Center, home of the Toronto Blue Jays. Big fans sit below, as tiny as they may seem to us.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/beneath-your-feet/

50 Things I’ve Learned in 50 Years…#27

“Even though we are all different, we are all the same.  We all want to be loved and accepted for who we are.”

 

One of the greatest challenges in life is cooperative interaction with others. We hit walls we don’t want to climb and cross bridges we don’t want to meet…half…way. We guard our personalities and beliefs with our life.

Why? It took a long time to figure out who we are and no one is going to mess with that…right?

However, sometimes we have to step out of our deep rooted convictions and venture into neutral territories. It is in this place that we will find one thing in common. When we look underneath egos and actions, we will find the vulnerability that makes all of us human….the need to be validated and loved.

This is where hearts will align.. in spite of ourselves.

Plasmic

 

 

 

God didn’t put walls in the forest

Where eagles rise with the tailwinds

And chlorophyll canopies shadow dance

Over moss carpet floors

 

Morning glory knows no barriers

Roots of the gnarled oak

Venture out in every direction

Baring their bones to the sun

 

Willows welcome the lark’s sweet song

Arms reach out without thought

Embracing those that walk peaceful paths

Embracing those that do not

 

~

 

  Written for dVerse Poet’s Pub – Open Link Night

When You’re Down in Memphis

Let’s go down to Memphis

Listen to some old time blues

That might be news to me

Feel the joy in the melancholy

As wailing guitars push out notes

Like potbellied tears

And tiny little diamonds

We’ll dance by the stage

With that sweet ol’ man with the cap

How do you say no

To a sweet ol’ man with a cap?

We will marvel

At the Beale Street Blues Boy

His portrait on the wall

The reason for it all

We’ll try those deep fried pickles

Savor the sweet tang of the ribs

Lip smackin’, hip packin’

As we sway to the rhythm

Of the house band

Let’s take a walk

Beside the muddy Mississippi

The sound of the sax

Rising softly at our backs

We’ll ride the horse drawn carraige

Lit up like Christmas

Because that is what you do

When you’re down in Memphis

~

Rest in Peace, Mr. B.B. King

(September 16, 1925 – May 14, 2015)

~

Dedicated to my friend, Ann and a road trip I will never forget.

The Critics

 

 

Did you tread in tepid waters?
Your toes never touching bottom
Your head never fully immersed
They called your work tepid
Yet it ignited my soul

Was purity your paradox?
Unquestionable, points made and drawn
Like constellations on a sky map
They called your work aphoristic
But your realities opened my mind

Did the words fall without effort?
A silky slide of naked truths
A penning of mindless muse
They called your work facile
As I let your clarity complicate me

Do you still listen to the warm?
Write your reveries in the clouds
Find the peace that eluded you
They called you “King of Kitsch”
But sentiment is under rated

“Eternity sneaks in
her arms full of wild promises.”
― Rod McKuen, Listen to the Warm

~

 

For dVerse we are writing about poets that have inspired us. Rod McKuen had a huge impact on me as a teenager. Open, honest and straightforward, his work resonated with me and helped me to validate my own style of poetry. Only a few months ago, I decided to email Mr. McKuen to let him know how his work had influenced me. I procrastinated and the email was never sent. Weeks later in January of 2015,  I sadly read that Rod McKuen had passed away. Another life lesson…don’t wait.

 

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/30/arts/rod-mckuen-prolific-poet-and-lyricist-dies-at-81.html?_r=0

Image credit: http://www.pinterest.com

 

Origin of Me

 

 

I am from the wings of a dragonfly
The delicate sands of an anthill
Silky threads of milkweed seeds
Opened and tossed to the wind

I am from the roar of a Honda 70
Grasshoppers, gullies and go-carts
Dewey grass on sunburned legs
Arms wrapped around tree trunks

I am from flower power
Hiding in wall flowers
The tickle of rugs in shag
The crumple of paper grocery bags

I am from pumpkin pie with maple syrup
Borsch and crescent moons
Plaid jumpers and pig tails
Tied with purple yarn

I am from the scent of oil pastels
Grandmother’s charcoal sketches
Minor and major scales of G
Sunday school and follow the rules

I am from frozen toes and toboggans
Snowflakes melting on eyelashes
Hot chocolate steaming
As the porch light flickered

I am from pioneer women of strength
Men who worked the land
Prairies of rippling amber
Gleaming against western skies

I am from the salt of tears
In wounds still open
The pieces that are left
When hearts stop beating

I am from all that I wish not to be
And everything I wish to be me

 

 

“Where are you from?” That is the poetic topic at dVerse this week.

 

 

 

 

 

Three Sisters Soup

 

Corn

Beans

Squash

Native

Folklore

Upholding

Traditions

Spirituality

Haudenosaunee

Sustainability

`

This week at dVerse, Anna has us experimenting with 3 different approaches to poetry…Reduction, Oulipo and Surprising Conceit. I chose to attempt a very simple Oulipo, where each each line is a single word, and each successive word is one letter longer. You will find a few different recipes for this soup online.  The photo above is my version….without beans.

http://www.motherearthliving.com/cooking-methods/soups-on-three-sisters-soup.aspx

M’Lady

 

She was not impressed

With knights in armor

Shining or otherwise

Thirteenth century flair

Was lost on her

Yet there he stood

Encapsulated in iron

Pinache of red feathers

Her heart on his sleeve

Jousting for the prize

“I would rather drown in the moat

than watch this barbarian mockery”

She had her own codes

For chivalry and courtly love

~

Much medieval mayhem in the dVerse Poet’s Pub this week…we are celebrating!

Dearest Self

 

So I’ll let you know now

Not that it matters

‘Cuz there’s no stopping this time train

But I just thought you might

Appreciate some tips

Put away these 5 things

Paper money, photographs, a map

Sensitivity and creativity

I suppose I could have 3D projected

This info but I didn’t want to freak you out

Holograms are in these days

Soon you’ll be scanning yourself for disease

They’ll send you the results via…

Yep, you guessed it

Dr. Hologram

And as we battle over nothing in space

I’ll picture you

Sitting by your retro gas fireplace

Natural, of course

Sipping on green tea

We don’t do natural anymore

Take trees for example…

Yes, take a tree

Maybe a small bonsai you can hide

Because you’ll be charged extra just for having one

Advice from the heart…

Don’t let them implant anything in your head

Life was better before becoming an Android

“Look above you- it’s raining
Look around- there’s a flood
Who can say when it started,
but now the ghost is in our blood”

 

~

Grace at dVerse has asked us to imagine the future and write a poem or letter to ourselves in the here and now. The last stanza is from a poem by Ben Burke.

http://ideas.ted.com/a-poem-from-the-future/

 

Storage

Image: Stardust – Nick Gentry

 

Time had more space

When one measly megabyte

Was enough

For the techno trivial pursuit

We still had dreams

Sketched in graphite

We searched without engines

For insects and answers

In hideaway places

And sparkly eyed faces

Photos pinned to the corkboard

Notes passed in the schoolyard

And in retrospect

I would not delete a thing

 

 

Starting off the New Year at dVerse, Grace shared with us the unique artwork of Nick Gentry as a poetic prompt.

http://www.nickgentry.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peaceful Intentions

 

 

We have not even begun
To make peace
We simply roll it around
With our tongues
Stand united in multicultural scenes
Singing in different languages to
Candy coat the truth
We pray for it
We stand for it
Make demands for it
But we don’t know peace
Because we don’t know
What we’ve never had
It has yet to be created
And that takes wisdom
Not war
That takes a plan
Not a song
That takes love
Not hate
That takes you and me
And everyone else on this earth
To look inside their hearts
Forgive, forget, reset
And start again
Do you think that will happen?

We have not even begun
To make hope
We simply………

 

~

Please visit Artists4Peace

https://artists4peace.wordpress.com/blog/

Song for Aki: Translation

Agawa Canyon, Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario

As I wrote “Song for Aki”, it gave me the opportunity to use the Ojibway words that I have been taught as well as challenging myself to some new vocabulary, based on online resources. For those who might be interested, I have included the original version of my last post as well as the English translation. The Ojibway (Ojibwe) language has varied dialects depending on regions throughout Canada and the U.S.   The native language is beautiful.  Translated to simple English, the poem definitely loses it’s charm.

Song for Aki

Standing atop of Chi Wajiwan
Anishinaabe eyes see what I cannot
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

From the gigoon in the sea
To the migizi, majestic ruler of the sky
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

Zhooniyaa is not sacred
Like the giizis and the anangoons
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

The daywaygan beats
To the rhythm of my deh
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

Noodin gently rocks
The wiigwaasi-mitigoog
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

I may be Zhaagnaash
Still the bugwayji calls my name
Gi zi gin, Aki
Gi zi gin

~

Translation:

Song for the Earth

Standing atop of Big Mountains
Native eyes see what I cannot
I love you, Earth
I love you

From the fish in the sea
To the eagle, majestic ruler of the sky
I love you, Earth
I love you

Money is not sacred
Like the sun and the stars
I love you, Earth
I love you

The drum beats
To the rhythm of my heart
I love you, Earth
I love you

The wind gently rocks
The white birch trees
I love you, Earth
I love you

I may be “white people”
But nature’s places call my name
I love you, Earth
I love you

Related Articles:

http://www.nativetech.org/shinob/ojibwelanguage.html

Click to access ojibwe_beginner_dictionary.pdf

http://ojibwe.lib.umn.edu/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ojibwe_language

Song for Aki

Standing atop of Chi Wajiwan
Anishinaabe eyes see what I cannot
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

From the gigoon in the sea
To the migizi, majestic ruler of the sky
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

Zhooniyaa is not sacred
Like the giizis and the ahnung
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

The daywaygan beats
To the rhythm of my deh
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

Noodin gently rocks
The wiigwaasi-mitigoog
Gi za gin, Aki
Gi za gin

I may be Zhaagnaash
Still the bugwayji calls my name
Gi zi gin, Aki
Gi zi gin

~

We are dabbling in defamiliarization at dVerse.

I have chosen to incorporate some of the Ojibway language, inspired by the native community that I work in.

The word “Aki” means “Earth”. This is my song to Aki.

Fusion

Colours were meant to be blended.

People are destined to live in harmony.

Don’t they know?

That’s what hearts are for.

~

Finding My Own Beat

This week at dVerse Poet’s Pub, we were given the opportunity to explore poetry we’ve already written to find one that best represented our own personal voice, our natural rhythm, so to speak. There seems to be an internal BEAT that makes it’s way into our poetry. Who knew?!

Seriously, this has been very enlightening. Thank you, Gay Reiser Cannon at dVerse! It’s amazing what one can learn about themselves from their own writing.

After careful consideration, I chose this one from the archives as it just seems to be the voice in my head. Syllables are marked in bold print to emphasize the way the beats take place for me.  A pause or “caesura” can also have a beat within the poem and these are shown with brackets (…)

My rhythm seems to be a little intense…but that should not surprise me.

 

 

SKYSCRAPING

 

If I have to look up to see your grandeur

Then what importance do you hold for me? (…)

Everything essential to my heart and mind

Is in front of me (…)

Yes, I look to the sky, why wouldn’t I?

To the clouds, to the wind

To the spirit within

But not you (…)

You have always been my saboteur

Reminding me of the cold

That paralyzed my plight

Your capital charisma

Does nothing but amuse me

And I will not be impressed

By your obvious stateliness

For success is not dressed

The sun bares the truth

Magnified in your every window

Exposing your hard lines

Disclosing your designs

Of your eyes on the pie

As you scrape at the sky

 

http://dversepoets.com/2014/08/14/your-own-beat/

Sunsets of Pelee

Pelee Island is the most southern point of Ontario. Actually it is the most southern point of all of CANADA.

Canada is larger than the U.S.A.  (just sayin’)

In the summer months, temperatures range between 75 and 81 degrees Fahrenheit with fairly high humidity on the island. Where I live it is not uncommon for temperatures to be in the high 80’s or low 90’s with the humidex factor during the summer.

From Leamington or Kingsville, Ontario you travel by ferry on Lake Erie (with or without your vehicle) about an hour and a half to reach one of the most peaceful places I have ever been. Our American visitors can hop a ferry from Sandusky, Ohio.

What do you do on Pelee Island?

Nothing.

That’s the beauty of it.

You will not find a Starbucks, a McDonald’s or even a grocery store. There are only a few restaurants (no chains), a fabulous little bakery and some unique craft stores. Pelee Island Wineries has 550 acres of vineyards, tours and a pavilion where they let you “grill” (or barbeque as we say in Canada) your own meat for a minor fee as you sip on a glass of your favorite wine. (We spell favorite…”favourite”, by the way).

You can camp here but I would recommend a cottage or one of their unique B&B’s.

Pelee Island is a migratory paradise for many varieties of birds so there are lots of photo opportunities. Nature surrounds you here and without the convenience of internet or consistent cell phone service, you can easily succumb to it’s lure.

Then there is something we’ve come to refer to as the “Pelee wave”. It is courtesy here to wave at every car in the oncoming lane. If you don’t…well…you are just grumpy.

You can rent a bike and in about four hours, ride the perimeter of the island. Sandy beaches on one side. Rocky terrain on the other…equally beautiful.

But nothing beats the sunsets…

 

 

Santa’s on the Ceiling

Santa’s on the ceiling

Elf is on the shelf

I’m eating figgy pudding

Feeling sorry for myself

 

I want to fly away

With the partridge in the tree

Let the sugar plum fairies

Cast a spell upon me

 

They can dance upon my head

While I sleep ‘til January

Forgive me, Father Christmas

But this show is much too merry

Chorus of Consciousness

In the wakefulness of now

Listen and you will hear

Hearts beating

To the sound of original grace

Souls strumming on strings

Of merciful melodies

Faintly tapping out the truth

Orchestrating the score

Of the conductor, the Creator

Heed to this rhapsody of love

Humming softly through the clatter

Drumming gently without fail

Steady as time, resistant to mind

Find harmony within

Where good intentions lie dormant

Under clogged and corrupted arteries

Like a child, improvise

Sing this song of life

50 Things I’ve Learned in 50 Years….#18

#18. “Food is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

The last “best thing I ever ate” was a Green Chile Cheeseburger in Hatch, New Mexico.

What is green chile?

It is NOT a jalapeno.

It is NOT just a chile pepper that happens to be green. It is what it is…green chile.

There is nothing like it. The flavor is so unique and the first time I tried it, it reminded me that there is so much in life that I still need to discover!! I know, I know, it’s just green chile. My point is that along my journey of 50 (ahem) years, I have become more open to new experiences, new places, new people and new foods.

Life is too short to waste a minute saying “eww, what is that, I don’t think I will like it”.

Green chile is now a staple in our house as an addition to breakfast burritos, chicken enchiladas and my personal favourite, green chile stew.  Yes, this Canadian girl can make a mean green chile stew. Hatch has it’s own brand of green chile and you can find it by the can in many local grocery stores.  You can also buy it freshly roasted or roast it yourself!

My husband and I go “home” to New Mexico approximately once per year to visit his family. My father in-law has made it a tradition to drive to Hatch for the green chile cheeseburger experience. Consisting of the freshest ground beef I have ever tasted, a perfectly melted slice of cheddar and….drum roll please….a slathering of one of New Mexico’s greatest treasures…GREEN CHILE!

 Hatch, New Mexico is located about 40 miles north of Las Cruces. Rows of red ristras dress up this quiet rural town and can be purchased for a reasonable price at many roadside markets.

Driving into Hatch, you would not expect to find any culinary magic happening here.

Actually you would not expect to find much of anything happening here.

Population:  1,680

Then you see it…a line of people gathered in front of a small restaurant called “Sparky’s”. This speaks volumes considering the unusual array of familiar, yet unrelated statues adorning the entrance. Maybe they are there to disguise the true identity of this gem. Seating is minimal, after all.

You can choose to dine outside with Ronald McDonald and Sparky the robot constructed from tractor parts or inside surrounded by even more whimsical decor. I know what you’re thinking, but trust me.

Whether you find this place to be amusing or just plain odd, one thing is for sure. If you’ve been here once, you will be here again….and again.

It may be a good thing I am only in New Mexico once a year because the spicy potato wedges and old fashioned milk shakes are also delicious!

So if you are ever in the area of Las Cruces, New Mexico, be sure to visit Hatch, the self proclaimed Green Chile Capital of the World.

http://sparkysburgers.com/

What’s the last “best thing YOU ever ate” ?

Wanted: Ten Nice People

I was thinking about a fellow blogger’s dilemma. Actually I think about her a lot. I think about how she has sacrificed everything, hanging on to her dignity to reach out to total strangers.  What absolutely amazes me is the reluctance of others to help, even with a few dollars.

We see homeless people on the street.  They weren’t born there. They started from a place where the bottom finally let loose, there was nothing else to hold on to, no one else to approach for help, nowhere else to GO. It is a turning point that most of us can only imagine. Lucky us.

So, when you have the opportunity to do such a SIMPLE and SELFLESS thing for someone that could be the difference between security in their home and being on the street, why do we hesitate to do it?

Is it because we would really miss that ten dollars?

Is it because we think they will ask for more?

Is it because we question their story?

Is it because we think it is wrong for them to ask?

Is it because we think our small contribution wouldn’t make a difference?

Is it because we have no time?

Is it because we think they don’t work hard enough?

These are questions we may never have the all the answers to. However, we throw a dollar into a hat and hope for the best ( or maybe assume the worst). We donate money to charities without always researching their administrative costs.

In this case, one human being has bared her soul, shared the personal financial details of her mortgage, her bills and her urgent situation. Most of all, she has shared her heart.

Her heart is GIVING.  Her heart is STRONG. Her heart is GRATEFUL.

I have never met her. As much as I’d like to, I don’t need to in order to know that she deserves any help that she is given. I don’t need to research her. All of the facts are on her blog. I will not miss the very small offering I have given her. I KNOW that it made a difference. She has not asked for more. I do not question her story. I don’t think it’s wrong of her to ask for help because that is ALL she has left right now. I believe she IS working hard to change her situation. Some situations cannot be resolved without a helping hand. This is one of them.

Her most urgent need at the moment is to keep her power on in her mobile home. She needs 145 dollars to do this. YES, she has many other needs! That is what happens when you spiral into  poverty. It doesn’t mean that things won’t change. It just means that RIGHT NOW, assistance is needed.

If TEN nice people gave TEN dollars, it would help her more than we can ever know. It eliminates one of the burdens on her shoulders, giving her more time and strength to deal with the others.

Her name is Cheryl and her story is at allbuthomeless.wordpress.com

You can donate many ways but to help with her immediate power bill, all the necessary information to do this is on one of her posts at:

http://allbuthomeless.wordpress.com/2013/06/02/reprieves-are-great-but-help-please/

You can email her at allbuthomeless@gmail.com if you have any questions.

I will leave you with a quote from one of her recent posts because I admire her writing skills and her philosophical thoughts.

“ If you have to overthink the deed , analyze, speculate or procrastinate or even doubt despite your ability to make a difference , you probably shouldn’t do it. Because, certainly if it causes you angst, you will find no satisfaction in your generosity .”

 

 ~Cheryl~ (“Hot Southern Mess”)

 

Ten from ten.

Are you in??

Common Ground

There is a common ground we walk on

Dirt, sand, rock, mud

It doesn’t matter

It is the place for our feet to walk

To rest, to run

Where balance begins

To align our spine, our soul

A comparable  posture

That life is hard

It can beat you down

To a place where

Hands and knees

Are only required

There is a common ground we walk on

Gravel, grass, ice, clay

The surface may vary

But the purpose does not

We march, we skip, we fall

To the drum of hope

To the sound of sorrow

In a global orchestra

Parading on pavement

For the same goals

The same desires

To live in peace

Or simply to live