Monday, April 25, 2022
Inspired by Laurie Wagner at Wild Writing, and by the poem The Lunch Counter of Eternal Tears by Nikki Wallschlaeger. The italicized words are from her poem.
Sunday, April 24, 2022
old men and women, longing
for a hot cup of tea,
a warm blanket, somewhere to lie down.
devastated towns, their dwellings in rubble,
mass graves, executed loved ones,
bombs falling indiscriminately,
with no care for civilian life. "Shoot them all!"
Deemed "casualties of war," these people
who never wanted war, but who do not wish
to live under a dictatorship.
to their wives and children? Will their dreams
be haunted by ghosts of the dead,
arriving at two a.m.
to ask them "why?")
perpetrated by those without soul or conscience,
on three month old babies?
(as if any power or wealth can be gained
from a rubbled landscape
full of graves.)
Friday, April 22, 2022
across the sea - the brutality
grotesque brutality, even possible?
she told us.
Thursday, April 21, 2022
on my tv screen.
I am seeing acts of hatred on the news -
humans harming other humans
in ways too horrible to name.
in the safest place I knew.
we grandmas who have achieved a peace
the young have yet to find.
They seem so unforgiving.
They throw words around like shrapnel
that lies embedded in the heart.
I retreat into my shores of peace.
I remember meadows, the smell of sage
and Ponderosa pine. I remember hollyhocks
in my Grandma's garden,
peace on summer mornings
in the safest place I knew.
Wednesday, April 20, 2022
brought me back again.
It has brought me struggle
with his pale blue eyes,
at the bird feeder, waiting for
the grass to grow. Across the sea,
under the same sky,
bombs are falling on grandmothers
and babies. Dogs cower in corners,
shivering violently, as the missiles hit.
Somewhere else, there are fields
full of baby lambs.
Inspired by Everything On the Menu by Ellen Bass. The italicized lines are hers.
Tuesday, April 19, 2022
Inspired by Today's Sermon by Cheryl Dumesnil.
Monday, April 18, 2022
Sunday, April 17, 2022
that time (and trees) were running out.
the fires went out when they shut
the Peace Camp down,
the way the land defenders
at Fairy Creek stopped singing
when the pepper spray
hit their faces, the way
we're still trying to save trees
when there are hardly any
forests left alive.
Inspired by In the Lobby of Holiday Inn Express by Jean Reinhold. Shared with earthweal's open link.
Friday, April 15, 2022
I read poems.
When I'm fleeing heartache,
I write them.
Maybe I look out my window
and see some small puff-ball clouds
slowly moving across my morning sky,
or two eagles, circling,
wind-surfing the thermals.
I want it to speak to
that part of your heart
that has walked many miles
to reach it.
thinking it a country of no resonance
for you. Perhaps, if you give it a try,
it will surprise you, connect
with a feeling, a shared experience.
Maybe you will do a mental double-take,
realising that words can dance,
sometimes - albeit infrequently -
so nimbly across the page,
like young Jack leaping the candlestick
all those many years ago.
If it bores you, no worries.
This poem's feelings cannot be hurt.
Like the tired heart
that composed it, it has seen enough pain
to not need to go down those roads again.
in your heart's pocket,
and, one day when I am gone,
come back and find
me in it
Thursday, April 14, 2022
I do not understand.
breathe in the scent of cherry blossoms
and newly cut grass.
on the edge of the sea,
Wednesday, April 13, 2022
The world is full of surprises:
the four brown wolves loping along the shore,
the grey owl, perched in a tree alongside the trail,
her gaze meeting mine - no startling, no fear,
just a placid gaze that says "I am here
and you are there, and we are Looking."
I don't know why I was surprised
that someone who seemed so close
could remove herself so completely,
leaving the "why?" hanging, unanswered.
I did not expect, in my declining years,
to see fascism rising around the globe:
the fascism I have spent my life studying,
believing it could never happen here.
And yet it has.
I did not expect, having been born
at the end of WWII,
that I would be watching a brutal war
on my tv screen: such suffering imposed
unjustly, the behaviour so cruel;
or the random mass shootings by people
so enraged they want to impose their pain
on innocent others.
I used to believe that good always
triumphed, that light outshone the darkness,
that everything would come out right
in the end. That we would save the planet,
I wanted to be surprised by life,
and I have been. I have. Just not
in any of the ways that I expected.
Just not in any of the ways that I
Inspired by "I Wanted to Be Surprised" by Jane Hirschfield. The italicized lines are hers.
Inspired by Disappearing Fathers by Faith Shearin
Saturday, April 9, 2022
at the microphone,
in readiness to speak,
fluffing all her feathers out
and pursing her small beak.
what to do with my heart
in this world
where being brutal
has been made into an art?
throws a harried glance at me,
puts her cool John Lennon glasses on
to make sure she can see.
She thumbs through the Book of Possibles:
a lot of trouble,
if they weren't so dumb.
Your heart, she informs me,
has a rubber soul.
It has learned to accommodate
of its growing whole.
the inhumanity of man?
Look through eyes
of love and peace,
and cherish what you can.
sitting out front. There was a small line-up
at the post office.
Cars slowed, looking for
somewhere to park.
people shared stories of you
Inspired by Everyday Grace by Stella Nesanovich. The italicized lines are hers.
Thursday, April 7, 2022
no longer alive, alongside the road,
your faithful dogs sitting by your side.
Hypothermia, they say.
Perhaps you fell. Perhaps the cold
seeped into your bones
and you drifted away. Perhaps
your dogs howled their grief.
I know they're grieving now.
dogs and Tofino, just like me.
does the ferryman arrive
to spirit us away.
I take no day for granted,
for each is numbered.
too soon you slipped away.
Every evening, now, I count my future
tomorrows, less one day.
May she rest in peace.
May there be dogs and beaches
where she has gone.
Monday, April 4, 2022
in suffering and sadness."
- David Montgomery /
- miraculous -
when global politics run amok.
When the heart begins to feel defeated,
when the news is unrelentingly grim,
now more than ever
a determination to not give up,
keep on keeping on,
and so must we.
Friday, April 1, 2022
look out of my face.
My mother's eyes
look out of my daughter's.
This is how it is.
We hold on,
we let go.
when the words don't work
and wait for time to soften
hearts and memory.
to make a soft place
on which to kneel.
When I am ready,
I ring the bell,
one solitary ring.
I pray to the All-That-Is
my most imperfect