Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Floods

A flood of rhetoric:
Alt-left, alt-right,
Endless discussion
About the morally indefensible;
How long until
We return to the land
Of Normal?
How long till we remember
Civil rational discourse,
Justice, integrity,
Peace?

         ***

Floods and forest fires,
Displaced populations;
They say the cost of dealing
With climactic events
After they occur
Will topple the world economy.
When will they figure out
Resisting action on climate chage
On economic grounds
Will cost them more?

     ***

They say switching to clean energy would create millions of jobs. Fighting fires and mopping up floods costs billions. And we havent yet lost a coastline, whole cities, but that is coming. We are a species slow to learn, as we are seeing this week, with civil war and WWII issues resurfacing . The flood of words and argument makes my soul weary, watching history repeat itself on one hand, while failing to see the obvious on the other.

I have to believe this momentum will galvanise civilisation sufficiently to move us through to intelligent action. We live in hope.

For Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: floods


Ripples at High Tide

"Amidst the chaos, find your peace."
Turn off the talking heads, the horror,
the injustice, the insanity.

Find a green trail and follow it
down to the riverbank.
There are fish there,
swimming peacefully in verdant pools.
There is a heron,
contemplating his dinner,
intent and focused.
There are ripples spreading
outward from the centre,
the way hatred - or love -
spreads outward from its source
and gathers speed as it merges
with the tide.

There is an eclipse coming.
When the darkness lifts off,
may it take with it 300 years
- or three thousand? -
of social injustice.
May some light shine
into  the heart of darkness.
May the sickness burn off,
exposed
under the clarity
of a new sun.

In the sunrise of that
awakening,
may we forge
a more lasting peace.



For the prompt at dverse: to take words from a song and write a poem. I chose the words in quotes, from a song by Nahko Bear and Medicine for the People.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

The Singing Kites of Wat Opot

Photo from the book


Khleng ek - the singing kite -
flies the heavens
in gratitude for harvest.
It sings its prayers to the God of the Wind,
for dispersing the clouds and bringing the sun,
so the rice grew well.

Below, the orphans of Wat Opot
know joy,
watching Brother Kite carry
their dreams and prayers
to the heavens, 
where all their parents live.

In long gone days, the old kite masters
could fashion kites that sang in seven tones,
a glorious symphony
heard below, especially in darkness,
when the heat and clamor of the day was done.
The orphans' kites sing in three tones,
sometimes five,
a miracle of small hearts
that try to hold big dreams,
against the certain knowledge
of all that took their families
away.


In 2014 I wrote this poem after reading In a Rocket Made of Ice, by Gail Gutradt, about the AIDS-impacted (and many HIV-positive) orphans of Wat Opot, in Cambodia. The orphanage, which now houses many orphans, and offers medical and supportive care to nearby villagers, as well as programs for the children, was begun by Wayne Matthysse, a former Marine corp medic in Vietnam. When he saw the need and responded, he had only fifty dollars in his pocket.

Now, he says he still has only fifty dollars in his pocket, but the work they are doing there, the lives they are helping, sustaining and, often times, honoring at their closing, is phenomenal.Gail has spent much time there among the children, and relays the children's stories so beautifully, that at each's chapter's closing, my heart felt a regretful ping. I grieved at the end of this journey among the children, upon closing the last page.

It is not the sadness of their plight, but the joy with which they live, that holds great lessons for the rest of us.

shared with the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Wild Woman Knows What She Knows II



Wild Woman knows what she knows,
and her wisdom is hard-won,
but no one young will listen.
They'd rather live the web they've spun.

**

Wild Woman is finally free.
She can never again be tamed.
She is growing old disgracefully,
and refuses to be blamed.

**

Wild Woman is beguiled
by the beauty of the earth,
knows the things that feed the spirit
are the only things of worth.

**

Wild Woman knows what she knows.
With the universe, she flows,
and she'll share her wisdom well
before she goes.

**


The source of this poem was one I wrote in 2013, which can be found here.

Magaly at Real Toads has asked us to compose a poem from a line of one of our own poems, so I picked one that popped up today as a facebook memory. The line quoted is from the title: Wild Woman Knows What She Knows.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Voyager Heart

Baby Leo and Graham
R.I.P.


Small puff-clouds
scoot across
the autumn sky
on the wings
of the morning.
I cross the road
to the rooster's
early cry.
From the sleepy forest
birds croak and caw,
the branches
stir and sigh.
The yard dogs bark
the new day in.
Horses whicker softly
over their apples and grain,
and the imperious marmalade cat
deigns a haughty nod
from his domain.

And I
am old enough
to be grateful for
such grace:
eyesight with which
to take this splendor in
the whole day long,
ears finely tuned
to hear
the planet's song,
legs that still carry me
though at a slower pace,
and that calm
voyager heart
that has
taken me
so far
while staying
in one place.


This poem is from 2010, when I was still living in my small trailer out Beaver Creek. I am sharing it in the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where there is always fine reading on a Sunday morning.

Friday, August 11, 2017

The Ancestors Are Smiling

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his children
attended the opening ceremonies of
Tla o qui aht Days in Tofino.


The lead dancer holds up a feather
in each hand.
Behind her, the children follow,
one step, step-step-step, one step,
dipping and weaving
to the sound of the drum.

In a circle, the warriors sing
and pound their drums in a steady beat,
songs handed down
from grandfather to father to son,
songs of heritage,
songs of healing,
songs of pride in culture,
songs of coming home.

"The ancestors are smiling today,"
says the chief.
I can almost see them,
on the edge of the circle,
behind the veil between
this life and the sky world,
holding up their hands
in support of the dancers,
swaying to the beat of the drums.


for Isy's prompt at Real Toads: Writing Unseen, to write about something you can't see fully. The other day I attended  Tla o qui aht Days, a celebration of the rich culture of the Nuu chah nulth people, in whose territory we are privileged to live.

Prime Minister Trudeau was here in town on a family vacation. First Nations invited him to attend and he accepted.



Thursday, August 10, 2017

Tofino Summer





Fog rolling in to the harbour
in midafternoon



Wickaninnish Beach, overcast, with surfers




Always lots of driftwood



I saw bear scat on the trail
but there were so many people everywhere,
I'm sure the wildlife retreats during the day






On the path to South Beach


I stopped in at the Kwisitis Visitor Centre.
Kwisitis means "the other end of the beach".
This building, long ago, was the original
Wickaninnish Inn.

The carvings of the warriors
and the artwork are breathtaking








A scene from early times


A photo of the mudflats




Surfers were plentiful - they're
the clump of little dots on the left





Wickaninnish waves,
forever advancing and retreating
in my heart


Wednesday, August 9, 2017

The Art of Mending


Mending the Earth 

***

How to mend the heart
so grievously injured?
Infusions of love.

  ***

To help the oppressed,
we must extend our full hands
and give all we have.

           ***

How mend Mother Earth
ravaged by corporate greed?
With cupped hands, and our tears.

          ***

So much is broken
but it still can be mended:
Compassionate action.

           ***

How fight the darkness,
the tyrants, the injustice?
Pray. March. Act. Write. Vote.

          ***

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Kintsugi: Art of Mending

Lord knows this poor world, its people and all of its creatures are in desperate need of healing, mending, turning a corner from darkness into the light.


Saturday, August 5, 2017

Traveler Holds the Moon



Soul Cards by Deborah Koff-Chapin


Traveler wants to
hold life to her
like a huge
buttery yellow
moon.
She wants to
sip summer
out of a periwinkle blue cup
and listen to frogs
serenade
every evening
beside the pond
in a place
where winter
never comes.

Traveler wants
to roll downhill
with six tumbling
golden puppies,
to watch babies smile,
and old couples
hold hands.
She wants
to watch
the sun go down
beside the sea
for six thousand more
spectacular sunsets,
and wake to see
the sun peep
up over the hill
six thousand and one more
hopeful mornings.

The older she gets,
the farther she walks,
the more she wants
to hold close
all that is
swiftly
and silently
slowly
slipping away.


This poem is from a Soul Card Journey I made in April 2011, with Elizabeth, during NaPoWriMo. Each morning we looked at the day's card and then I began tapping the keys, feeling like I was taking dictation. It was an amazing journey, as yet unequaled.

Shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where there is guaranteed to be good reading every Sunday morning.

Burnt

Sun through smoke in Campbell River
photo by Brad Bourget

Wildfires burn;
 haze covers land,
 blanket of gloom.
Eerie sun,
apocalyptic sky,
a portent of doom.

Flames crackle,
wildlife flee,
humans displaced.
Everything burns,
a reckoning come
for the human race.

Mother Earth seeks relief
from unending heat,
but Sky has no tears.
 The land burns on,
the forests gone.
We're left
with our fears.


for  Flash 55 at Real Toads 

source Times Colonist, August 5, 2017:

........as of 9 a.m. today, there were 122 wildfires burning in B.C. As of 8 p.m. on Thursday, Aug. 3, 2017, there were 25 evacuation orders affecting approximately 7,127 individuals, plus 42 evacuation alerts impacting approximately 24,957 people.

Friday, August 4, 2017

Last Evening's Walk


Last night I wandered down to First Street dock 
to catch the sunset. 



I got there just in time. The sun was already
sliding behind the hills.




I love the misty shades of Catface 
in the evening.


Lone Cone, with Catface in the background







It is a busy harbour, between boats, planes,
kayaks, humans and water dwellers.




The far mountains turned
such a lovely blue.


As the sun disappeared,
humans slowly wandered off
to pursue their evening activities,
and I hobbled home, well content.


Wednesday, August 2, 2017

In Search of Freedom




How I admire the beauty
 of this pink flower,
who blooms
despite the terror 
she has known.

It is a hard world
for girl children,
those pink bundles
who begin life 
so innocent and new.

Bloom on,
small blossoms.
Your journey
beautifies
the world,
and "the stars 
are always with you*."



*The quote is from this young woman's speech. As Yeonmi Park traveled her harrowing journey from North Korea to freedom, she felt "only the stars were with us." She also said that in Korea there is a saying, "Women are weak, but mothers are strong." I do think women are extraordinarily strong, or we would not survive our lives, especially women in the Third World. I just discovered she has written a book, "In Order to Live", which I am looking forward to reading.