Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Messages in Ice

By observing, communicating, 
and freezing liquid into ice,
he learned to read 
the messages
of water

Dr. Masuro Emoto,  author of several books on the subject, believes human consciousness has an effect on the molecular structure of water. In many experiments where the doctor has exposed water to words and pictures, and then froze it, the resulting crystals formed varying intricate patterns in response, captured by microphotography. The resulting crystals were beautiful when the messages given were positive, and very obviously dark and chaotic when words or pictures were negative or threatening. I find this very fascinating. Part of the magic and wonder of this living planet.

Posted for Kim Nelson's prompt for Verse First at Poets United: Icy
Do stop by the prompt site, for some wonderful reading on this topic.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Hungry Wolf

thin and ragged, keen of eye, I run along the shore.
I must eat something today to stay alive
clearcut slopes offer no shelter, winter forests have no food
hunger drives us  to the village if our pack is to survive

I must eat something today to stay alive 
some kelp, some mussell shells along the shore,
hunger drives us to the village if our pack is to survive
In these fields  I found a rabbit once before

I eat some kelp, some mussel shells along the shore
"If you see  Two-Legged, run!" my mama said.
In these  fields  I found a rabbit once before.
What is Two-Legged holding - why have my eyes gone red?

"If you see  Two-Legged, run!" my mama said.
clearcut slopes offer no shelter, winter forests have no food
what is Two-Legged holding - why have my eyes gone red?
Bleeding, too late, I remember: "Run!" my mama said.

Peggy Goetz's wonderful prompt at Poetry Jam this week is The Beast In You. Peggy encourages us to speak from the point of view of an animal, a topic dear to my heart. The critters are struggling to survive these days, especially in my valley, where they are clearcutting all the slopes as fast as mechanically possible. All manner of wildlife are emerging from lost habitat and too many are being shot as a result, for simply being displaced and hungry. My heart aches for them, every last one.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Breaking News

photo from


Kids, Kathleen Wynne has just been elected, by a 57% vote, the first female premier (leader of the Liberal party and now  the province of Ontario), as well as being the first openly gay premier.

Ontario is now the 6th province being led by a woman.

The world is evolving.


Go, Kathleen!

Born of Stardust

[image from google -]

Born of stardust,
when did we forget
that we are meant to fly?

When did we stop being artists,
and poets, and oboe players,
and dancers, 
and an entire planetary orchestra?
When did we stop singing
the song that is our life
and turn it all to toil?

Did you ever have a dream?
Has it been set aside
because so many people "need" you?
Because work takes so many hours,
it leaves you lumpish on the couch
at day's end,
sad about the paintings
you always wanted to paint
and never will?

listen up.
I just received a message.
While we keep putting off
bringing forth what it is
that we were born to do,
time sneaks up behind us
and steals Tomorrow.

Don't wait till the night watchman 
calls out it will soon be morning.
Wake early.
Watch the sun come up.
Then get busy painting! 

Possible Universe, Take 2

going rogue

In this infinitely possible universe,
small cells grow into
mysterious and wondrous beings,
often unseen by human eye.
There is an intricate pattern, 
an intelligent order,
cycles of birth and death,
decomposition and renewal.

On this planet,
something is always dying,
something always being born.
Seen and unseen,
cycles and organisms
live out their allotted spans.

Even when an upstart cell 
goes rogue,
and throws into havoc
the life of its human host,
there is an order and design
to its relentless advance,
and to the impossible universe
it creates within.

On this planet,
truly anything
is possible.

Susan set us a wonderful challenge over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. In her Monthly feature First and Last Lines, she suggests we choose the last line of one of our recent poems and use it as the first line of a new poem. I chose yesterday's In the Infinitely Possible Universe, in which the last line is "in this infinitely possible universe".

Thursday, January 24, 2013

In the Infinitely Possible Universe

Taking time out of time,
I can,
this morning,
without leaving home,
lift my heart out of life's
gobbling dailyness,
setting it free
the infinitely

I am sitting in an upper row
at the Imax,
and on the big screen
in front of me
spreads the Kalahari,
lions stretching and yawning
in the amber glow
of the African veld,
herds of wildebeeste
flowing across
the brown and endless land,
a wave of life
surging to a
common shore.

Mike Iyvers -

Now I'm sitting
in a stone hut
in the Himalayas,
drinking butter tea.
In the glow of the fire,
warm brown faces
smile at me
with kind eyes,
their expressions radiant
with the peace
of their hearts'

Walk with me
the Great Wall of China,
then let's nip over to
see the rounded shapes
of the Mystic Mountains.

Or travel the Camino,
five hundred miles
a pilgrim,
sleeping on stone benches,
the trail one long thirst.


In Dharamsala,
I sit with red-robed monks,
in a silence so vast
the veil parts,
I am half in
and halfway out,
between two worlds.

There are
no limits


So now we travel space,
a vast blackness,
stars scudding past,
exploding and imploding,
the glow
of comet-dust
upon our seeing eyes.

Time to come home,
and I'm most happy to -
home to my tiny nest,
with its barking dogs,
its clean, green
sweep of yard
full of marmalade-colored leaves,
cheerful with Tibetan prayer flags,
bamboo wind chimes,
waiting porch swing.

A planetary pilgrim,
a resident of the universe,
at home.

When I first wrote these words my nearest neighbor was a tender newborn foal,
small as a medium-sized dog, who clung to life with a sweet tenacity and spooky 
pale-blue and inquiring eyes.

He left this world fourteen months later, was buried with his favorite ball in a green spot
where now an apple tree blooms each spring.

There is a bench there, for sitting, and remembering Baby Leo, his spirit
now running free in some other  parallel reality in this infinitely possible

Wednesday, January 23, 2013


Deep in the mountains
there is an unmarked unpaved path,
veering off the interstate,
where The Others,
I am told,
sometimes can be found.

When I went looking, 
there was an old farmhouse, 
and a man
who came out to see
what I was doing there.
He seemed to know me,
through some exchange
in our glance,
and he gave me directions
to a hillside
where I could meet
these Others,
and hear their prophecies.

On the side of the mountain
he told me,
there is a secret place
that only those who Know
can find,
which opens up a panel
of the hillside,
revealing a corridor to
an entire community.
They are peacekeepers,
he said,
people gathered
in that spot,
(as in other places
across the planet),
whose sole charge is to
meditate on peace 
strongly enough
to hold our planet together
in the face of so much chaos.

After a time, he said,
they are called to another
hotbed of discord,
their strong thoughts 
like laser-beams of peace.
He told me
unexpected peace treaties
have occurred
against all odds
in some of these places.

I didnt find the hillside that day,
always wondering, and knowing,
I must return.

But when I went back,
all was gone. 
There was a path
but no farmhouse. 
In growing desperation,
I questioned
a storekeeper nearby.

He said
there had never been 
a dwelling there.
Yet I had seen it,
had spoken with the farmer.
I pulled the photograph out
to show him,
and a chill ran through me,
when I saw its blank white square.

I will never know
if the hillside still exists,
if deep within its slopes
peacekeepers focus, still, 
their minds  on peace.

I wonder if perhaps
our survival on this earth
depends upon
the intensity 
of their concentration,
if they are all that
keeps this old earth
balanced on its axis,
so perilously close it seems
to tipping.

Kerry has set us a toadally cool challenge at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Worldbuilding, to open the window to an imaginary world. Be sure to check out the links over at Toads, as there is some fine writing to this prompt. Kerry's poem blew me away.

The Trellis Gate

artist John George Brown

There is a little girl
in one corner of my brain,
forever swinging on the gate
at Grandma's
in the falling dusk.
Behind me,
in the little cottage,
the lights are on.
Inside are my grandparents,
and safety,
and normalcy.
I peek through
the window
and I want to be 
inside with them
more than anything.
But I dont feel entitled
to open the door
and enter.
I wait to be invited in.

Back on the gate,
- there is the scent of roses -
I am waiting for
the Big People to come
and take me to
that Other Place
where I am trying to survive
the drinking, the shouting, 
the violence.

I am trying to figure out
just where it is,
in this bewildering world,
that I belong.

The trajectory of that arc
will carry me deep
into the  passageways of pain
and out the other side.

I see her, still,
four years old,
in the falling dusk,
swinging on the gate
at Grandma's,
back when it all

Yay! It's Kim's first prompt at Poets United's Verse First and the topic is Fences.

When I think of fences, it is the white picket fence with a rose covered trellis in front of my Grandma's small cottage at 364 Christleton, that springs to mind. Grandma looked after me when I was little while my parents were at work. 

On this one day, they were late in coming, and my grandparents didnt know where I was - they thought I was playing at a neighbor's. But I remember feeling like an invisible child, (though to them I was not, they cared for me wonderfully), who didnt belong anywhere, because of the angst I lived in. Grandma's house was the lit beacon of my childhood, all that was warm and safe and reliable.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Bioluminescence: a Pantoum

bioluminescence scene from the Life of Pi

a night of stars, so beautiful to see
no man-made light to dull the star-flung sky
the wake behind the boat all shimmery
its silver glory captivates my eye

no man-made light to dull the star-flung sky
nothing between the universe and I
a silver glory captivates my eye
so luminous the sea, content my sigh

nothing between the universe and I
my full heart bursts with love for all I see
so luminous the sea, content my sigh
this only place I ever want to be

my full heart bursts with love for all I see
the wake behind the boat all shimmery
this only place I ever want to be
this night of stars, so beautiful to see

Kids, when I had first moved to Tofino, and was exploring the brand new life of my dreams with a voyager's heart, one midnight boat ride I saw bioluminescence for the first was spectacular, magical, unbelievably lovely.

Yesterday afternoon I watched The Life of Pi in 3-D . It was visually stunning - stars, waves, bioluminescence, and a Bengal tiger who reminded me of Pup, whom I still miss so much, and apparently always will. I was bereft when the movie ended. It reminded me of having to leave Tofino, and then losing Pup, who had been my companion through those happy years, as well as the sadder ones that followed leaving our hearts' home. My heart sort of broke all over again.

But just to think - such beauty once was mine. I do remember to be so grateful for that. 

And if you want to see something utterly magical, go see Life of Pi.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

The Power of the Drum

The power of the drum,
of the drum,
freeing the primal being
sets our hearts to beating, 
our feet to dancing,
our spirits
at being alive,
connected to the earth,
sisters, brothers
to each other,
to all life,
to the heartbeat
of our mother,
by the power 
of the drum.

The power of the drum
makes us all warriors,
all sisters,
all brothers,
the power of the drum
makes us
all kin.

He stands up
with one heart,
and speaks for
the many,
this man of the people,
by the power of the drum.

Raymond Robinson, First Nations elder from Manitoba, who has accompanied Chief Theresa Spence on her hunger strike these many weeks, gave a stirring speech on Parliament Hill on January 11. The Idle No More movement, which has spread across Canada like wildfire, is calling for government leaders, especially Stephen Harper, to meet with First Nations leaders on  a nation-to-nation basis, to discuss coexistence in this country. 

Idle No More supporters  want Bill C45 repealed, a bill that First Nations feel violates treaty rights, gives federal government more control over their reserves and will reduce their ability to protect millions of lakes and rivers. (One's mind makes the immediate leap to the northern oil pipeline Harper is so enamored of.) 

sources:  Occupy Canada

Saturday, January 19, 2013

The Language of Love

image from google

When they used to speak to me 
in words of love,
I responded in the language of fear:
not good enough-ness,
fear of abandonment,
drowned the love
in doubt,
until the outcome I most feared
and anticipated
proved the hamster wheel of
was still turning.

I am the one
who speaks of love.
I am in love
with all of life --
with Everything --
and this kind of love
does not know fear,
does not need to be spoken.
It just Is.

inspired by the dVerse challenge to write a poem about love in other languages.

A Song of Survival

Sometimes I leap with joy
at being an ancient swimmer
in the mighty sea.
My body is as old as time,
my brain encompassing
all that lived
before man's history.

I see you coming,
the energy
of your vibrations
telling me
those of you
who come in peace,
and those others
 I must flee.

Though hundreds of years
of slaughter
lie between us,
I still approach your boat
knowing no harm you mean us

Our brains are large,
our wisdom so much
We know those 
who come to kill
will not awake
till later.

Though our panic and sorrow 
are extreme
in the time of  killing,
to trust those 
who come in peace,
we are still willing.

I wish we knew
each other's language,
to share
the knowledge
of my pod.
I look at you
through one of the 
ancient eyes
of God,
 the words
 I cannot speak,
to me, so clear,
you humans are unable yet
to hear.

to my mournful song,
of how your species
is imperiling this earth.
I see
our future
intertwined -
we sink or swim
death or birth.

I start 
 my long migration
up the coast
with a baby
of my own.
Like any mother,
I pray she and I
will both survive
long enough
for me to see her
fully grown.

Hannah's Transforming Fridays at Real Toads   asks us to speak as a resident of the scrub forest of certain areas. I chose the Baja Peninsula, given my recent focus on the plight of the gray whales.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Loving the World

[Interesting. Looking for an image on Google, I came across this one at, where Mr Roland discusses his unified field theory. He says the basic underlying and uniting force of the universe is a psychic energy field of universal love, and that what lies deepest within us is a state of love and soul consciousness wishing to unite.]

My friend Raven inspired me this morning, by stating she has been given a mandate in 2013 to love the world. This resonates with me. In the midst of all of the conflict and turmoil, the bad news, the Talking Heads belaboring the Whys that have no reason - or too many reasons, each overwhelming - the global consciousness badly needs as many beings as possible who are able to hold some light in the face of so much darkness. Raven's post reminded me of an eco-warrior friend of mine saying, years ago: "Mother Earth feels your pain. Let her feel your joy too." That stayed with me.

If all is energy, the full effect of our collective consciousness these days must be filled with trauma and suffering. With Raven, I will sit, in peacefulness, beaming my love for this great big suffering world. Maybe a little beam or two will ease a darkened corner somewhere.

Deep into my heart,
no thoughts,
just being -
with the gray-sky morning,
with the tall black pines,
with the top of the hills,
with the sea beyond,
her everlasting waves 
ebbing and flowing
on an eternal shore.

Deep into my heart,
there is a kindling
of a tiny flame.
I blow on it,
lightly, just so,
till it catches fire
and lights my way

up from my full heart
and spilling over
onto the winter-brittle ground,
across the white and icy plains,
atop a vast and distant sea,

above the heavens
prayed to in 
a thousand tongues
with the same 
underlying message:
a longing for love,
a need for peace.

Love, spilling over 
the barricades,
the borders, the sand bags,
love, silencing the mortar fire, 
the bombs,
even just for a moment, 
may there be peace
somewhere in this world,
even as the bomb is ticking,
even in your despair,
your hunger,
your desolation,
your homelessness,
your deprivation,
may a small crumb of love
fall off the banquet table
that is this life
so that, even if only 
for this one moment,
at long last,
you know what it is
to be filled.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

The Volcanoes of Haleakala

Up above the clouds, and looking down,
the Volcanoes of Haleakala,
round and brown,
 look like a landscape from
before all time began,
an ancient mystery
as yet unknown   
to man.

The indentations atop volcanos,
each to each,
primordial footsteps
just within 
a giant's reach,

or, perhaps,
a cosmic being
reaching down
a wondering hand,
concentric circles
in the sand.

I have never
stood so high above
the clouds,
the mountaintops
still hidden
that they enshroud.

The morning sunrise
celestial glow
on a world
more beautiful
than ever did I know.

oh, never did I dream
such mystery,
so mystical
you seem.

I will climb the path
and feast my eyes one day
on that timeless land
where giants
used to play, 

stride all the slopes
and circles,
dwell upon

the dark, when fire comes,
then I'll be gone -

but I'll tiptoe back
to see you
in the dawn

The first six photos were taken by my cousin Lindsay Knitter and her fiance Richard ~
those following were found on google, from random sources

The final shot was taken at dawn,10,000 feet above Maui, with Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea in the distance

This is for Ella's final prompt at Poets United's Wonder Wednesday: we are to find the 8th wonder of the world and write about it. This is my pick. Though truly, this earth is so shatteringly lovely, almost anywhere on the planet could qualify.

Ellie, thank you A TON for your hard work and all of the wonderful prompts you have provided for our enjoyment at Poets United. I look forward to reading many more of your poems, and to seeing the wonderful art you will create in the months ahead :)

Monday, January 14, 2013

A Song for Sister Whale

Sister whale,
you begin your migration
along the rugged coast,
and I stand waiting
in the chill, late-winter dawn,
watching to see you passing by
on your ancient journey,
both of us caught
in the spell of a force
far greater than man's,
connected in the mystery
and the beauty
of the universal plan
that makes us sisters
under the skin,
that makes us kin.

Mystical swimmer
in the primal sea,
it's been your ocean
since the world began.
You have made your way
century upon century
from birthing grounds
to feeding grounds,
your babies by your side,
your steady progress
purposeful and true
through the perilous course
your corridor has become
since it became a corridor
man shares with you.

I have looked down
to see you from the air,
your body outlined
like a dozing giant
in the kelp,
and I have caught my breath
as,with a huge exhalation,
you surfaced right beside my boat,
with your wise, loving eye
seeing me clear,
looking like you wanted to offer
us bumbling humans help
to learn the ancient wisdom
you could share,
if only you could find
a way to speak,
and if only we could find a way
to hear.

Now they say you're dying
in massive numbers
in the hunt,
and I am weeping
as I hear the news
that your neighborhood,
a whale highway
at this time of year,
is full of boats with spears,
the ocean a red flood,
your ancient bodies
carved for sale
on decks slippery with your blood,
from swimming through the sea
in total trust,
because you have no choice
and swim you must.

My mind, after
the numbness and despair,
wants to check out, as
it hurts so much to care.

My heart is aching,
for what it's worth.
Should we put up a sign 
in the ocean:
Detour this earth?

I'd say I'm sorry
and I'm not the only one.
I own the guilt of
belonging to
my species.
All I can do is write my pain
into a poem.
I know your heart
holds sorrow too,
everywhere you roam,
for I can hear it
in your mournful song.
What are we doing to your home?
What are we doing to
our planetary home?

Sister whale,
swim fast, swim free.
Some of us know
that together we share
a common destiny.

Kids, this morning Paul Watson of the Sea Shepherd was interviewed on CBC. He has slipped  bail in Germany and has set sea to intercept four Japanese whaling ships whose aim is to kill 900 whales - nine hundred whales - for "scientific research".

Observation of these operations shows no research is being done. Hovering helicopters witness the whales being cut up and frozen for sale to restaurants and fish markets. In recent years, they have killed 20,000 whales.  No research papers have ever been released.

I cant take much more of this, kids. 

The Sea Shepherd Society vows Zero Tolerance of this massacre. They plan to position their boat across the loading bay of the ships.  "If they cant load the whales, they cant sell them,"  Paul says. "We have to talk to them in the only language they understand: profit and loss. I will abide by the injunction forbidding me to be closer than 450 meters from their fleet. But my crew is not affected by the injunction.

"Life in  the ocean is being diminished, from plankton to fish to the great whales. Without the ocean, we cant live. But there is a lack of government motivation to protect the whales, and a financial motivation to continue the hunt, to protect corporate interests," Paul said this morning. "The Sea Shepherd Society vows Zero Tolerance of the killing of these whales."

I adapted this poem from one I wrote years ago, during another whale crisis. I am too sick at heart to come up with a new one. I am linking this to Open Link at Real Toads. Thanks, kids, for reading.