Category Archives: poetry

Compulsion

Not the way to go home but in the immediate vicinity

sometimes

a  dark moody time

sometimes a brighter sunshine filled afternoon

finding

myself

travailing

the lane to take in

the feeling

being at home again

among the ancient

trees and tangles of undergrowth and weedy growth

just to feel the air

and hear it

go

through my mind and soul

to the very quick finish of the lane

finding myself

turning back

along the hardened surface that takes me suddenly back to even a safer spot

sometimes I just need

to be

away

before returning

as the dusk gathers

once more around

the older part of the world

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Filed under allegories and parodies, family relationships, friends, history, inspiration, motivation, paranormal, poetry, retirement, routines, social issues, storytelling, Uncategorized, weather, writing

Waking

overhead

the ceiling fan and the surprising chill

the night caused me to wrap up in the summer quilt

 

suddenly changed

catching

me off guard

my dream worked

itself

out

seeing someone surprised at me being in their house

checking on things and scaring them no doubt by hearing my footsteps

stop

at their front door

shocked at what was

outside

and then only a few moments to make the morning coffee and see the neighbour

before finding out the news

yet again about the crazy

things

that happen oddly

enough

a form of shock

had the impact of overwhelming

fatigue

and a need to either go back to sleep or find a place with flowers and trees where some beauty remains

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The Saddest Part of the Heart

When the people start running through the cornfield and their babies cry and their babies die

on the televised news reports

we

watch

the news feed

but flick to some diy Reno

or the wannabe chefs that find alarming fault with someone else’s chicken livers

you wonder

what to do and how to help

despite the fact that there are so many other things

to pay for

but then it never leaves

your mind

around it goes

into the saddest part of your heart

and you know that

if you were the one pushed and shoved and exhausted, broken in terror and confusion hanging for dear life on to what is left of your children and just sitting down in the dust and crying out

wondering

what to do

where to go

because a threat is

behind you

breathing

down

your

neck

and in front of you is a convict built barbed wire barrier

roads that are too far and paperwork that is bizarre

out of touch

with the insanity of it all

so the only thing to do is to find another and another and another and do something

that will help

a reputable organization offering some aid, some hope

if we can’t do something for the people running, the babies crying, the dying babies on the shores,

the paperwork piles up and some official stamps a section, signs a refusal on the never ending line…

rattling a feeble sabre

in response.

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Still Voices

News reports on and off tell just about the missing and murdered indigenous women

and then it’s quiet

for awhile the news goes on to other things like who wrote the big cheque and who knew about the big cheque and what kinda happened after that

and more

than a fortune was spent on shaking up the others

so it would look like something

was being done

but it is smoke and mirrors

then the world goes on

more than enough trouble to shake a stick at goes by too but there are diversions and events and debates and then the tears flow again on the highway, in the remote areas, woods, ditches ravines  and back roads and another outcry after another shatters the air and when it is all said and done and  it is not on the radar as a priority then it echoes only in the stillness.

Time moves on and faces turn in several directions

attacks on character uncharacteristically fill the screen

then snide asides become photos

some respond but many don’t have a clue because it is still summer and the fall is yet to come before winter settles in for the long stay that so many have become accustomed to and merely tolerate

solutions

at the root of the problem need to be addressed

with caring, kindness, help and understanding , education protection and support would lend the scaffolding of strength needed to face down the crime wave and raise up awareness and self esteem high enough to make change happen and also provoke some answers

so many

women lost

their faces should be on every road sign billboard

maybe on the side of buses, trains or murals in the public buildings across the country

better still on the paper money which passes

so fast

hand to hand.

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Yard Work, Digging Mostly

Keeping me on my toes, the gathering of two family members, a neighbour, my librarian and  her daughters, I went ahead with my night to meet and encourage other community writers.

The sensory games and  creativity ideas were tried. Some poetry, mine and another’s ( a professional) published piece were read. A story about the influences of the neighbour attending the event, upon my writing, was pulled for my stockpile and read in it’s entirety. We ate fruit and dessert squares. Another evening, led by me, encouraging young writers was planned for the summer.

In the meantime, stories and threads of ideas were revealing themselves, The group dynamics were interesting. From the mixture of a very small gathering came ideas of reading with very young children, the trauma of  caring for elderly pets,decluttering household contents and wondering about the unforeseen future, knitting, crochet, tatting, hooked rug making, church yard sales, baking, cooking, reading cookbooks, dealing with children, throwing away blackened pots of burnt spaghetti, recalling the chores of working with father in the barn milking the cows and going to the mill and cleaning the house, despising those awful hooked rugs so heavy to drag from the upstairs bedrooms all the way downstairs to air them and clean them while sister baked, studying French and setting up a writing blog …. one that the mom , the librarian, can’t read because it will be all about her according to one of the young daughters.

At the conclusion of the evening another neighbour arrived. A young mother returning her library books, noticing us finishing up the brownies and the fruit tray, realizing we were a bit over the closing hour at the library. Familiar to me, a neighbour, we often say hello. I knew she was a fellow teaching colleague on maternity leave and an artist. Now I know she writes a blog. From just skimming through some of her blog posts I’ve also discovered that her husband is a poet.

All in all, a successful gathering . A very small community gathering of supportive people just planting the seed and nudging together the warming circle of stories, ideas and creativity.Tending a word garden takes effort and patience and with a sprinkle or two of interest it might even take root.

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Little Did I Know

Deep down there is a belief that a profession in vulnerability would have been the right choice and I could have been a contender. It all bubbles up and down ,still there but all along but no one, including myself seemed to really notice or take it seriously because there were gaps of knowledge and confidence.

So wandering off  led to a very long road which with all the right turns and defeating disappointments led to here and there and now a stopping place where there are so many thoughts and dreams and memories and gaps in those memories that is almost funny.

Baffling.

Despite the loss of some of the unwritten songs that should have been belted out and too little and too late training in something poetic like a profession in vulnerability that would have been exciting, I managed.

Barely.

Yet no regrets because it all happened in a different parallel with all the fun and meaning still intact and it  left me at the end of the time used up and battered about but glad enough and relieved  there was just enough of me left to have the time to take each shattered piece and give it a turn in the sun and then shade and hide a bit of it in the dark and try to find something to say that matters in a time of strange human tragedy and confusion.

Writing.

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Pretty Much It

Neck high in the snow drifts is just one problem for a short and stocky bulldog. Over the head scary snowdrifts bank the roadway but smell very nice due to high squirrel traffic. The laneway is short and filled with two cars but it has a build up of ice that slows grandma down when she agrees to a outdoors session. At the end of the lane is a nice little brown collie and shepherd mix dog that has the privilege of sometimes running around loose to play and provides a fun break from the day to day short walks. The rest of the day is a bowl in the morning and one at night, Sleep periods in the sun on the old brown chair, play with the treat kong for a few minutes, brief business trips out the door, sleep periods on the warm floor intermixed with sleep periods on the soft white blanket on the couch and sleep periods on the wooly blue blanket on the best recliner. Spurts of sudden activity randomly engage the little bulldog girl when the ninja cat appears from behind the bedroom door. Grandma is close by, cooking things, doing laundry, tapping on the keyboard of her computer at all hours or sitting, resting, reading and drinking tea.Life in the country is pretty much as expected.

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Creative Recovery

Sleeping arrangements are fluid and depends on who gets the bed or basket or recliner

there will be

no television

when there isn’t enough

room

for both on the recliner so

pretending

to work at the computer is so boring and yet

comforting

it fakes

enough

that sleeping resumes and then television and a cup of tea is manageable

a constant supply of cheap food with pull

back lids set upon

a tea

towel on

a high level is tolerable

as loads

of laundry wind down to floor

mats and duvets and random

socks

yet still there are bins and baskets and bags and general loose ends that are set aside while swollen ankles ache and frozen shoulder seizes

dishes are reasonably clean and dirty

in a cycle of day to day existence in the middle of this shift in family, possessions, luggage, pets and dreams

while here

at the centre is a maternal management

worse for wear and exhausted by worry yet hopeful and proud

ignoring winter salt stains on the boots and the grit by the door for a little while longer until the sun warms and melts and the green shows through

perhaps revealing some

solutions

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Write Now

When I see a recently retired friend, neighbour or complete stranger I rarely bring up the fact that they are retired. I don’t think I’ve really ever made much of the fact that they are retired as it really isn’t my business and there are so many more things to talk about. However ,when I am out and about and run into these folks I am almost without fail asked about how I occupy my time these days in retirement.

Answers vary. Sometimes I say I do artsy things but that really confuses people. Sometimes I list things like…I go to the theatre, visit friends, read, write, putter around, cook, take care of things, pay bills and play with my sister’s grandchildren.

This really concerns some people.

They wonder if this is enough for me considering that in the years previous to retiring from teaching elementary school, I worked non stop, raised my son as a single parent, dealt with a very difficult divorce, helped my elderly mother, lead drama workshops, gardened, walked my dog, supervised a couple of cats, had a tearoom, baked pies and tea biscuits for the tearoom, did community theatre things such as organize, write, direct and perform as well as volunteer for front of house, usher, set dressing, costumes, dresser for actors and promotion of productions, taught Sunday school, sang in the church choir, exercised with friends, fixed ( as in paid for) a never ending pile of old stuff in and around my very old house including several vehicles, rented a couple  of cottages, drove up north on adventures to entertain my young son on his summer holidays, cut grass, did yard work, took dance classes, drama and professional qualifications courses, hung out with several very good friends, tried dating again with very limited success because I am a” jerk magnet”, lost a pile of weight, gained the weight back again, worked on never ending decluttering projects, scrounged and saved to put my son through university and support him in his theatrical pursuits and generally coped with stuff.

Now I continue to do theatre things with my adult son, enjoy my extended family, visit libraries “for fun”, read obsessively, blog, write a bit here and there, go to book talks, poetry nights, theatre outings with the girls, stay up late, watch foodie programs, cook a little, go to small farmer’s markets, visit a bit with my closest friends, supervise the golden years of a very old cat, provide dog babysitting for my son’s bulldog at the drop of a hat, do errands, fix things as usual, grow a few things, sit on my recliner, my porch and my yard swing watching the world go by, cope with my arthritis issues, try to be as healthy as possible and sometimes I even make it to church.

However, I don’t make a big deal out of finding out what others do in their retirement because I am a tad sensitive to the judgement of such an inquiry.

I never ask. I just write.

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Hair Raising Experience

The first story I told the hairdresser

today was about something that happened over ten years ago

that led to another story that happened over forty years past

so what was

the connection

you may ask

one was a type of intervention

based on concern

fuelled by experience

while the other was how odd

the lady was when she thought

we had misbehaved

but hadn’t

done anything except cook

a meal for friends

that had been reported on by neighbours watching the coming and going of a baked beans roaster and how in a year from that another event took place that really was another decision based on lack of experience

all of this told

while wrapped up in a plastic salon covering and trying to overhear what the client beside me was telling his hairdresser as he listened to my stories and laughed about the dog having such a big fat neck that her collar had to be

loose

enough

so she could be led around but also able to shake

it

off

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