tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57778545947035538582024-03-18T18:18:53.764-07:00STARDREAMING With Sherry Blue SkyPoetry, memoir,blogs and photographs from my world on the west coast of Canada.Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10769154286598233146noreply@blogger.comBlogger3771125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-32138352989864135582024-03-16T11:18:00.000-07:002024-03-16T15:34:57.164-07:00Things We Carry On Our Journey<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EZ81_78JU-TwQ9_piOcFK8TVHwOaKbYuoWQKoaWmkIz7RKkjqhEgWa-xuOc3we5OwPRXh55q8WAtQMvHABWyPu0Lfk0-kdSL8JDkR2RvW7oT_VfPWsx-RSXFTq0fDtXcSRq7yfOQpIgaTaVOfM5GCgP_u4w6kROCGhtqDl94Y-40lXhEX3-5bhuYxTMs/s576/birds2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="575" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EZ81_78JU-TwQ9_piOcFK8TVHwOaKbYuoWQKoaWmkIz7RKkjqhEgWa-xuOc3we5OwPRXh55q8WAtQMvHABWyPu0Lfk0-kdSL8JDkR2RvW7oT_VfPWsx-RSXFTq0fDtXcSRq7yfOQpIgaTaVOfM5GCgP_u4w6kROCGhtqDl94Y-40lXhEX3-5bhuYxTMs/s320/birds2.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>By now, our pack is heavy, with all we are carrying. We bend under the weight, but we cannot let any of it go, and remain a person with a human heart.<p></p><p>We carry earth-grief, for how we have treated the earth, and for how, in her distress, the earth is letting us know we need to change.</p><p>We carry broken hearts, for how inhumanely man lives with man: for wars, for bombs falling, for terrified people being displaced, injured, starved and killed.</p><p>We carry distress and compassion for the many non-human beings who are silently suffering, dying and growing extinct on our watch.</p><p>We carry outrage, our sense of justice unable to comprehend the outrageous behaviour of deranged "leaders", who would annihilate the world to prove they are the strongest. And those who enable and fanatically support them, against all reason.</p><p>We carry memories of earlier years when, in our innocence, the world felt like a safe place. We mourn for that lost time, and that gentler, kinder earth.</p><p>We carry small joys - spring blossoms, the loving eyes of dogs, a cup of coffee imbibed sitting in the sun - for the two eagles drifting on the wind curents, circling overhead in early afternoon - for those deep delights and everyday gifts and comforts that remind us that, in the midst of global horrors, life is good, right here, right now, and we must never take it for granted, because, in a single instant, everything can change.</p><p>We carry gratitude - for the journey, for the many gifts, both given and received, for the spirit guides who helped us along the way; gratitude, for the beauty and generosity of the natural world, for those trying to heal and save it, for the gift of life - this day, sun-blessed and peaceful, this moment, my heart saying a silent "Thank You" to Whoever is listening.</p><p><br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-24248662051191611552024-03-12T09:28:00.000-07:002024-03-12T09:30:54.355-07:00Wayward Hope<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivplHWSsssQHxG9PbQj-EG-NgKWc2d5LIUACXQwUZ7J0BJSBtfASPMVrpSiTXDGaJg1g_1CzkSrxLzn7qsZWqQAVPXqSpIlhFw3AipxMhi5IQdafjECbRmCQGWxWtKC2rOI4SiMF8JhoPdKnP06yKV5018ojnckgGXGK27gSiTJPumFccYXKq9tgCq8cex/s927/extinction.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="638" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivplHWSsssQHxG9PbQj-EG-NgKWc2d5LIUACXQwUZ7J0BJSBtfASPMVrpSiTXDGaJg1g_1CzkSrxLzn7qsZWqQAVPXqSpIlhFw3AipxMhi5IQdafjECbRmCQGWxWtKC2rOI4SiMF8JhoPdKnP06yKV5018ojnckgGXGK27gSiTJPumFccYXKq9tgCq8cex/s320/extinction.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Cloud creatures swim across the sky</div><div style="text-align: center;">and creep across the topmost mountain peaks,</div><div style="text-align: center;">drowsy in the warming world.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is peaceful up there.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Down below, there is a howling,</div><div style="text-align: center;">a frenzy of food-seeking, war-battered madness.<br />The animal world is vanishing;<br />the planet is heating up.<br />Does anybody care?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Corporations will not reduce their profits<br />or emissions;<br />world leaders are too busy waging war.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When will we hold a memorial for war</div><div style="text-align: center;">and promise there will never be another?<br />When will we collectively<br />face the fact<br />that we are in deep shit?</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Human evolution is unfinished.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We are badly in need of a visionary.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">My wayward hopes are withering</div><div style="text-align: center;">on the vine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/03/word-garden-word-list-william-wordsworth.html">for Shay's Word List</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-19736921686653179022024-03-12T08:58:00.000-07:002024-03-12T08:58:33.823-07:00Through a Child's Eyes<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQ0EZyDT3pvG1uPUEyow_OqSaCGPaVZz7-xauUSgMv0JaBkkNv5P0-8shnUILnSrZT435JLp5Ws1rCTNaCJIkIa26b0WYZ3IBzRHuwiZ_hUlHIchy5P5Ku04iqzNk4yQKAz5Bbc46Eyg8EUtQIoaG8PuA9SYvUbAeaxF3uVAaLkiFOjjAr6dnMeTUTsUA/s355/child%20gaza.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="355" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQ0EZyDT3pvG1uPUEyow_OqSaCGPaVZz7-xauUSgMv0JaBkkNv5P0-8shnUILnSrZT435JLp5Ws1rCTNaCJIkIa26b0WYZ3IBzRHuwiZ_hUlHIchy5P5Ku04iqzNk4yQKAz5Bbc46Eyg8EUtQIoaG8PuA9SYvUbAeaxF3uVAaLkiFOjjAr6dnMeTUTsUA/s320/child%20gaza.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><a href="https://www.shutterstock.com/g/topor">photo credit: esfera</a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">How does a child process<br />bombs falling,<br />their family fleeing<br />through the rubble and gunfire,<br />no safe place,<br />no food,<br />their parents desperate<br />- or dying -<br />living outdoors in all weather,<br />ill, injured, starving,<br />no hope of help or rescue</p><p style="text-align: center;">while the whole world watches?</p><p style="text-align: center;">How does any human heart<br />process suffering<br />this deep?</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/">for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On? : The Children</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.cnn.com/2024/02/26/opinions/israel-gaza-rafah-children-aid-unicef-russell/index.html">CNN reports </a> that 1.4 million people, twice the population of New York, are crammed into Rafah, (less than 25 square miles), where they fled for safety, but are now under fire. Children and women make up 70% (25,000) of the 30,000 killed since the October 7 attack on Israel by Hamas. Civilians do not want this war. Children are starving and suffering intestinal diseases due to lack of sanitation and access to clean water. They are living without shelter, medical care or safety. Contributing reasons and political responses aside, the sheer inhumanity of what is happening to ordinary civilians there - especially the children - weighs heavily on my heart. No one wins in war. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-44601672415387516392024-03-08T13:22:00.000-08:002024-03-08T13:22:40.844-08:00Trees<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTm39ZbSxiTJ8MbmtWk9LjFn7DlVeM6-KksJQHDGK2Yw5i9CDSimk2W5lUtTh4m3ykPXfSfsLa7zOAjMIsMthcGNxQAXkyBNzmTu7JuuS6eaYzGeAD8X43LKijTcbGFDKPaY5J9bss6KEZd4AI7ppzwcKLnCEtiEZiW275IxWA1nnJQ36rm4QzwnajmewR/s320/eagle%20wild%20pac%20trail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTm39ZbSxiTJ8MbmtWk9LjFn7DlVeM6-KksJQHDGK2Yw5i9CDSimk2W5lUtTh4m3ykPXfSfsLa7zOAjMIsMthcGNxQAXkyBNzmTu7JuuS6eaYzGeAD8X43LKijTcbGFDKPaY5J9bss6KEZd4AI7ppzwcKLnCEtiEZiW275IxWA1nnJQ36rm4QzwnajmewR/s1600/eagle%20wild%20pac%20trail.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;">I hear them calling me, the ancient trees,<br />and so I go, stepping into<br />a world of green,</div><div style="text-align: center;">feeling my heart slow,<br />knowing I am seen.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here is beauty, here is peace.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here is the state of simply Being</div><div style="text-align: center;">with the Standing People,<br />the land holders, </div><div style="text-align: center;">who keep us all alive.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">The wind whispers soft songs</div><div style="text-align: center;">in my ear. I hear the rustling</div><div style="text-align: center;">of small creatures in the bush.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Above, an eagle circles,</div><div style="text-align: center;">his flight like song -</div><div style="text-align: center;">a being who already knows</div><div style="text-align: center;">that he belongs.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Listen, </i>the poet says.</div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Listen with your heart.</i></div></i><div style="text-align: center;">I hear the voiceless ones,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I hear the earth,</div><div style="text-align: center;">singing her song of growth</div><div style="text-align: center;">and of re-birth.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Then all thought falls away.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The peacefulness is all.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We breathe together.</div><div style="text-align: center;">May these trees<br />never fall.</div><p></p><p><br style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;" /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-11018567346453227182024-03-08T10:25:00.000-08:002024-03-08T10:25:02.384-08:00What to Hold Onto<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1ovWxt1NXglo6IRRhi4xQMlbjvqUzfuraxJkWUNDU0NDogPn0E7Oo76l4kb7MZx5kmJaULliYlith0e9qUGxn-lZkANWe9E_1o6TYgxI9WZN7ViJ3nWmXBqnVrKsbEmyHQpYNndzlPA2jDRMOrJqCebcNEpiWkXPP3cKZRHdUfaC5kxlS6-F3tk8OSeb/s960/beach6best.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="960" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1ovWxt1NXglo6IRRhi4xQMlbjvqUzfuraxJkWUNDU0NDogPn0E7Oo76l4kb7MZx5kmJaULliYlith0e9qUGxn-lZkANWe9E_1o6TYgxI9WZN7ViJ3nWmXBqnVrKsbEmyHQpYNndzlPA2jDRMOrJqCebcNEpiWkXPP3cKZRHdUfaC5kxlS6-F3tk8OSeb/s320/beach6best.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />Lunabella, surveying her future</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>What do I hold onto,<br />when nothing is certain any more,<br />when the news is full of war, suffering,<br />displaced civilians, starving children, <br />wildfires, floods, extreme weather events,<br />whole towns bombed into rubble,<br />or falling into the sea.</p><p>What do I hold onto,<br />when icebergs are melting,<br />coastal towns are flooding,<br />rainforests are not rainforests any more,<br />in drought half the year,<br />and the wild ones are endangered<br />and disappearing.</p><p>What do I hold onto<br />when we, ourselves, are endangered,<br />the climate crisis accelerating,<br />while world leaders are too focused on war<br />to pay attention.</p><p>What do I hold onto<br />when half a country prefers deranged leadership<br />to stability and experience, decency and moral values.<br />When democracy itself may be lost<br />and human rights we fought whole lifetimes for<br />are being stripped away.</p><p>I once lived serenely, expecting life to continue<br />much the same way, day after pleasant day, and,<br />for a time, it did. The change came with a shock<br />that turned my hopefulness into alarm, then<br />into disbelief that people with intelligence<br />could be making such an enormous investment<br />in a fool's folly.</p><p>What I hold onto, with all my heart:<br />that others feel as I do, who long for<br />a better world of social and environmental justice;<br />that Mother Nature is always there, with her<br />forest trails and seashore, her small creatures and<br />green growing things every spring; with her<br />struggle to survive in spite of all we do to her.<br />I believe in the blue sky, in the earth, in trees,<br />in the Bigger Story, beyond this horrible chapter<br />we are living - that one day, this, too, will pass,<br />at whatever cost to we who are living now,<br />and those who follow. That one day, humanity<br />will remember to be kind, respect our connection<br />to each other and to All That Is. That we will stop<br />the warring and the division, once we experience <br />its full horrors (as we seem to be doing now),<br />and usher in a thousand years of peace<br />so humanity and the earth can heal.</p><p><br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-38324946210994569152024-03-07T12:24:00.000-08:002024-03-07T12:24:54.055-08:0014 Reasons to Remain Silent<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUujWYnJwDvHafApEDv79yQ5leAVig1arjV5kGGqJT6Y96e-hMhuh5Fjy1hsxvATAOVQtTRpybKyYGkQBk9VwwUiPwsoevUzxzJ45jxYcMWUVkUEuLmns4DTTaFzruEoSfYJhGwfojXuSa4DpgZd17NTjjWpNOSa2rBa6L4lydR8jhSZAxVXikbv4l7xI/s1800/luna%20and%20journey2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUujWYnJwDvHafApEDv79yQ5leAVig1arjV5kGGqJT6Y96e-hMhuh5Fjy1hsxvATAOVQtTRpybKyYGkQBk9VwwUiPwsoevUzxzJ45jxYcMWUVkUEuLmns4DTTaFzruEoSfYJhGwfojXuSa4DpgZd17NTjjWpNOSa2rBa6L4lydR8jhSZAxVXikbv4l7xI/s320/luna%20and%20journey2.jpg" width="256" /></a><br />Journey and Lunabella<br />who are the reason one CANNOT remain silent,<br />because their future matters so much.</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Because in all of the rhetoric that batters us daily,<br />no one is listening or trying to come to some agreement.</p><p>Because humanity has lost its way and may not find <br />its way back until it is too late.</p><p>Because I have great-grandchildren who will live<br />that reality, and I won't be here to help them.</p><p>Because the horror of war and the toll in human <br />suffering is too overwhelming to find words for.</p><p>Because my heart, that once dreamed <br />the transformation of consciousness would <br />happen in time, has retreated to a state of <br />resignation and lost much of its ability to hope.</p><p>Because the only way I can find solace and to cope <br />with all that is so wrong is to walk in silence in <br />the forest, or in contemplation along the shore.</p><p>Because we poets bathe in words, yet often<br />live our outer lives in silent observation.</p><p>Because the climate crisis is accelerating<br />and everyone is so distracted by war <br />we don't realize there is a bigger war going on, <br />between nature and corporate greed, that <br />we won't survive unless we lower emissions <br />DRASTICALLY and NOW.</p><p>Because like the rest of humanity, we wait<br />for world leaders to inspire and lead us<br />and no one is shining that brightly.</p><p>Because we are in need of heroes and <br />the news is full of un-heroic speech<br />by those invested in attacking our rights<br />and freedoms.</p><p>Because my heart is breaking for this<br />so-divided world and nothing can change<br />unless we all come together.</p><p>Because fascism is rising across the globe,<br />even in places we never dreamed it would,<br />including the home of the brave and<br />the land of the free. (Just watch those<br />rights and freedoms disappearing.)</p><p>Because we can't change or reason with <br />fanatical and fundamentalist thinking, and <br />therein lies the problem.</p><p>Because humans tend to learn<br />the hard way.</p><p><br /></p><p>A gloomy point of view but, alas, it's where we're at.<br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-20132282950619148002024-03-05T12:48:00.000-08:002024-03-05T16:48:00.079-08:00Pancake Man<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQVVhgdZrvx4WCToDU9oOtV0Sq0lf0Pva6qhgb0FoRF1V4wpOQgKFfa3AXVwtdVMJ76RHrGN3-_0v21cZyyPXrTxEKnyFhNr3L-MazADUaLvtJ_gl4-4L-BsapcyesfQC5TWGQbO1xC6CboUskWXW8CMY_jBsLZwLlPLSjqk8op6l3T7gQwKoo10IFYUm/s1024/pancake.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="919" data-original-width="1024" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQVVhgdZrvx4WCToDU9oOtV0Sq0lf0Pva6qhgb0FoRF1V4wpOQgKFfa3AXVwtdVMJ76RHrGN3-_0v21cZyyPXrTxEKnyFhNr3L-MazADUaLvtJ_gl4-4L-BsapcyesfQC5TWGQbO1xC6CboUskWXW8CMY_jBsLZwLlPLSjqk8op6l3T7gQwKoo10IFYUm/s320/pancake.webp" width="320" /></a><br />Once you see him,<br />you can't un-see him</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">The word makes me think of</div><div style="text-align: center;">a certain orange man, a</div><div style="text-align: center;">(self)important anti-hero,</div><div style="text-align: center;">who has eaten too many pancakes</div><div style="text-align: center;">and appears to wear pancake</div><div style="text-align: center;">make-up on his mug.</div><div style="text-align: center;">From one to ten, in my books</div><div style="text-align: center;">he's a zero.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">No idea why he sprang to mind.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Especially when I could have</div><div style="text-align: center;">written about a dog instead,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and the poem would have been kind.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Brains abandoned, morality quite gone,</div><div style="text-align: center;">rabid beliefs whose repercussions</div><div style="text-align: center;">will be felt for years,</div><div style="text-align: center;">he makes even pacifists think</div><div style="text-align: center;">of revolvers and switchblades</div><div style="text-align: center;">(and then shed guilty<br />pacifistic tears.)</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">I'd send him to France</div><div style="text-align: center;">if I thought there was a chance</div><div style="text-align: center;">that croissants would keep him there,</div><div style="text-align: center;">but France would look askance</div><div style="text-align: center;">at his unruly hair and send him back.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Life is increasingly unfair.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">How to end this poem I do not know.<br />We do the best we can,<br />so on we go.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>Some nonsense for <a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/03/word-garden-word-list-inspector-pancakes.html">Shay's Word List. </a> Can you believe you can google "trump pancake", and something pops up?</p><p><br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-53194048482406604832024-03-05T09:00:00.000-08:002024-03-05T09:00:44.890-08:00Eight Lessons in Training a Goshawk<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXluO3gcq-qdkxZXARKIsn0wkXyW4SGHAee6BnbHgfBGwJ9t7Hf9rLYopKVI93WTWaFP7pn3n5aEN4WAMbG3xIMfur5LpUV0Nra85QEAObBnJU5Kz9Sb-NiDjKONSM6_BQtoBnWpI5Y2jPeShQwrqcx5u1Ym30tPorCXnzWkyeU7N8vosEe9OviI8rluW2/s632/groshawk%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="632" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXluO3gcq-qdkxZXARKIsn0wkXyW4SGHAee6BnbHgfBGwJ9t7Hf9rLYopKVI93WTWaFP7pn3n5aEN4WAMbG3xIMfur5LpUV0Nra85QEAObBnJU5Kz9Sb-NiDjKONSM6_BQtoBnWpI5Y2jPeShQwrqcx5u1Ym30tPorCXnzWkyeU7N8vosEe9OviI8rluW2/s320/groshawk%20(1).jpg" width="320" /></a><br />photo credit: Chris Reilly</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><span style="font-size: medium;">I<br />First, I had to become invisible,<br />so she could learn to accept me.<br />We sat the difficult, patient,<br />excruciating hours together,<br />her hooded, at times, for calmness,<br />my eyes averted,<br />until she could be with me unmasked,<br />without fear.<br /><br />II<br />Next, I had to make her hunger,<br />so when I offered food <br />on my extended fist<br />she would come to me.<br />This was a dance that took some time<br />to choreograph.<br /><br />III<br />I did not know,<br />until she laughed,<br />that goshawks were capable<br />of play.<br /><br />IV<br />We walked the hill to the field in dread,<br />her on my arm,<br />she because she was terrified,<br />I because I feared<br />she'd fly away.<br /><br />V<br />The hardest thing to learn<br />was trusting<br />she'd return.<br /><br />VI<br />It took many fails a day<br />for a week,<br />her falling, hobbled,<br />to the ground,<br />angry and glaring,<br />and then we got it right -<br />she flew right to me.<br /><br />VII<br />In the brambles,<br />her first time loose,<br />caught by the bracken,<br />her yellow eyes<br />looked to me<br />for rescue. Trust.<br /><br />VIII<br />I thought I was training her<br />to be a goshawk,<br />but she was teaching me<br />to unite my wild and human parts,<br />until my spirit rose<br />from its bed of grief<br />and flew.<br /><br /><br />for <a href="https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/">Mary's prompt at What's Going On: 15 Reasons</a></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I loved Wallace Stevens' <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174503">Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird</a> so much that I tried to echo his format, though likely I am no where near his style. The topic was inspired by having read a most wonderful book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/H-Hawk-Helen-Macdonald/dp/0802123414">H is for Hawk</a>, by Helen Macdonald, about her training a goshawk, while grieving her father's death.<br /><br /><br /></span><br /></div>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-56746545452292428962024-03-03T09:03:00.000-08:002024-03-03T09:03:36.219-08:00This Poem is a Tired Grandmother<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6BHsEYJHYKjs85be2nT6oKSaaQZ2CypoVgFAaOBf0UxRyBJkUORmlh-U7jmrpQOVA6eje9eek6-Cr2pzM7wKnsN8r5M-bvexTeRLxLUaXpx1L2tXzU7ZA-DEjj0dG82EqMIdsewfi0sICHmx31Dd-qFO-mjzuWm1TvJ8mWcsJjKRPHSOaYjXhAQKG4B-/s320/what%20we%20save.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="235" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6BHsEYJHYKjs85be2nT6oKSaaQZ2CypoVgFAaOBf0UxRyBJkUORmlh-U7jmrpQOVA6eje9eek6-Cr2pzM7wKnsN8r5M-bvexTeRLxLUaXpx1L2tXzU7ZA-DEjj0dG82EqMIdsewfi0sICHmx31Dd-qFO-mjzuWm1TvJ8mWcsJjKRPHSOaYjXhAQKG4B-/s1600/what%20we%20save.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is a grandmother</div><div style="text-align: center;">whose soul has grown weary.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem has seen too many</div><div style="text-align: center;">children dying.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is thirsty</div><div style="text-align: center;">for a song of hope.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is a heart that once held</div><div style="text-align: center;">hope as wide and blue as the sky</div><div style="text-align: center;">and as deep as the sea.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem once believed</div><div style="text-align: center;">we were better than we currently are.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem once dreamed</div><div style="text-align: center;">we would figure out how to live</div><div style="text-align: center;">on this beautiful planet,</div><div style="text-align: center;">with each other and all the other creatures,</div><div style="text-align: center;">in time.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is losing hope.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is a grandmother</div><div style="text-align: center;">whose soul has grown weary.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is a grandmother</div><div style="text-align: center;">who turns on the news</div><div style="text-align: center;">to find children dying, everywhere:</div><div style="text-align: center;">the children of Gaza, and Ukraine,</div><div style="text-align: center;">African children, starving children,</div><div style="text-align: center;">children shot in classrooms,</div><div style="text-align: center;">while adults cling to their guns</div><div style="text-align: center;">as an inalienable right.</div><div style="text-align: center;">(It is alien, all right.)</div><div style="text-align: center;">This grandma remembers a time</div><div style="text-align: center;">of childhood innocence and safety.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Where has it gone, and why?</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem has seen too many</div><div style="text-align: center;">children dying.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This grandmother misses the time</div><div style="text-align: center;">when she could look up at the sky</div><div style="text-align: center;">and feel much was right with the world.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This grandmother misses leaders</div><div style="text-align: center;">who had the best interests of the country</div><div style="text-align: center;">at heart,</div><div style="text-align: center;">who had not sold their souls</div><div style="text-align: center;">to money and corporations,<br />who put serving the people <br />before political ambition<br />and partisanship,</div><div style="text-align: center;">men with clear eyes, and vision,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and an attitude of service,</div><div style="text-align: center;">who could speak in full sentences</div><div style="text-align: center;">and were not clearly deranged.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The dead-eyed and soulless are leading us</div><div style="text-align: center;">over the edge of the cliff, clutching money</div><div style="text-align: center;">to their hollow chests as they fall.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Children lecture us at the UN,</div><div style="text-align: center;">showing more wisdom and maturity</div><div style="text-align: center;">than their elders.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This grandmother needs inspiration,</div><div style="text-align: center;">needs to hear the voices</div><div style="text-align: center;">of women and grandmothers, rising.</div><div style="text-align: center;">She needs to see patriarchy fall.</div><div style="text-align: center;">She needs the transformation of consciousness</div><div style="text-align: center;">to happen soon,</div><div style="text-align: center;">while there is still an earth to save,</div><div style="text-align: center;">for "what we save, saves us".</div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is desperately thirsty</div><div style="text-align: center;">for a song of hope.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This poem is waiting</div><div style="text-align: center;">for the grandmothers to rise</div><div style="text-align: center;">all over the world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is a poem from 2019, written loosely in Hannah Gosselin's Boomerang Metaphor form, which is one of my favourites. It spoke to me this morning. There are many more children dying now. I added in the children of Gaza and Ukraine. It seems we don't learn that war never "wins" anything.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-9176412806513619182024-03-01T11:53:00.000-08:002024-03-01T11:53:53.112-08:00Tell Us a Story, Grandma<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Biz4_zyOSqfNgE-8DSsR71Jxim7pf28ct1mO-sh9BCmYejzFLK811gNyvCi_1KFHLhu9XnB_3NE9KCWjboQwxdkYbfbKb_p6GRS4AmnCZR78BjXpc0CtBoFNtEpz927heRkgry953SOWmJqS_2sOo02C30g-Lq_MW3Z0Qfgm8Ep14mfFmcVgvekrJdQ5/s752/cost.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="752" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Biz4_zyOSqfNgE-8DSsR71Jxim7pf28ct1mO-sh9BCmYejzFLK811gNyvCi_1KFHLhu9XnB_3NE9KCWjboQwxdkYbfbKb_p6GRS4AmnCZR78BjXpc0CtBoFNtEpz927heRkgry953SOWmJqS_2sOo02C30g-Lq_MW3Z0Qfgm8Ep14mfFmcVgvekrJdQ5/s320/cost.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />facebook image</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Grandma lived frugally<br />in her five room wartime cottage,<br />which likely cost around $7,000.<br />Grandpa's Ford Fairlane was listed at $1900<br />in the 1950's.<br />Bread cost 12 cents,<br />a dozen eggs were 60 cents,<br />(equivalent to $6.40 today,<br />according to google.)<br />Beans were three cans for 25 cents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">She re-used everything, from butcher paper<br />to string, tucked into a top drawer.<br />She wasted nothing,<br />having raised five kids<br />through the Depression.<br />Minimum wage was 75 cents an hour.<br />And people lived on that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I was nineteen and a working girl,<br />I brought in five paper bags of groceries<br />in 1966, that cost 11 dollars.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We lived well on little.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This could be the story<br />of what capitalism and corporations<br />- and greed -<br />have done.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My Grandma told me stories<br />of family ghosts,<br />her eyes twinkling.<br />My eyes are sad.<br />What stories<br />can I tell my grandchildren<br />and great-grandchildren<br />about this world <br />of war, distress and struggle<br />that we have made?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-21751194888033767442024-02-28T15:47:00.000-08:002024-02-28T15:52:39.379-08:00Bamboo Memories<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJV4n2km4wVt6pGaVKIY4u_qN_G7n9mlCldR_RYw0CDSkM9bbbtPNPVN20xiLlzlm4MvgH4ZZH6vCdJg4hcNIPAauwBl8VusfUKONBeu1NuLO8B87M6ipS-3gNz7yiPTqse_HTTkby_WUsxn-WSbghKVDA4-20JCptkDFPknzJvU6SFyhp5-dam5CZeeZQ/s373/pupster.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="181" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJV4n2km4wVt6pGaVKIY4u_qN_G7n9mlCldR_RYw0CDSkM9bbbtPNPVN20xiLlzlm4MvgH4ZZH6vCdJg4hcNIPAauwBl8VusfUKONBeu1NuLO8B87M6ipS-3gNz7yiPTqse_HTTkby_WUsxn-WSbghKVDA4-20JCptkDFPknzJvU6SFyhp5-dam5CZeeZQ/s320/pupster.JPG" width="155" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I remember<br />sitting on the porch swing,<br />listening to the clack of the<br />bamboo wind chimes<br />which made me think of Africa.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How we'd sit there,<br />of an afternoon,<br />just being,<br />just loving.<br />Happiness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I worked hard for<br />so many years,<br />to keep the wolf from the door -</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and then I let him in!<br />And what joy<br />was ours,<br />those fourteen years<br />that will never be enough.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You were disguised as a wolf-dog.<br />But I had known you<br />in other lifetimes,<br />and your eyes recognized me<br />the way a human would.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We both wore disguises.<br />I was a wild spirit<br />trapped in an aging body.<br />We limped along together,<br />towards the end,<br />me ever aware,<br />as your footsteps padded beside me <br />on those late evening walks,<br />that one day <br />they no more would.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I still pine for you.<br />I pine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/02/word-garden-word-list-shakespeare-bats.html">For Shay's Word List: Shakespeare bats clean up.</a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/02/word-garden-word-list-shakespeare-bats.html"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/02/word-garden-word-list-shakespeare-bats.html"><br /></a></div><br /><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-73216402843571302632024-02-26T20:44:00.000-08:002024-02-26T20:44:07.632-08:00It's Not Just a Walk on the Beach<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbMY6RV7NvuWlEe17Yndn-suukhJg9dVQslOiKtNqckfOUugHT-sTro23BxM96MHlKSI789E_cYi1iGxhNCJ1dLyFZnl8iMlFCm1YqF0vMZlX_3UwPvNUEpHkDzwsFRkSkoyor1zbbUTgJmCDxhrYlpmUPbFsfrj5qoHnEUVhyphenhyphenBHwGDcQ4jDfZt6n77IM/s320/sherry%20on%20beach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbMY6RV7NvuWlEe17Yndn-suukhJg9dVQslOiKtNqckfOUugHT-sTro23BxM96MHlKSI789E_cYi1iGxhNCJ1dLyFZnl8iMlFCm1YqF0vMZlX_3UwPvNUEpHkDzwsFRkSkoyor1zbbUTgJmCDxhrYlpmUPbFsfrj5qoHnEUVhyphenhyphenBHwGDcQ4jDfZt6n77IM/s1600/sherry%20on%20beach.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not just a walk on the beach.<br />It's the beach I longed for<br />for half my life, <br />so now I walk it saying<br /><i>"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not just an old growth forest.<br />It's the forest I stood on the road <br />to save in 1993,<br />yet in 2023 the trees are<br />still coming down<br />and the climate crisis<br />is accelerating.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not just the harbour,<br />full of busy little boats.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My eyes caress the curves <br />of Wah-nah-juss<br />every time I see them:<br />beloved guardians<br />of the village.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not just the village green.<br />It's where musicfest is held<br />every summer, everyone dancing<br />joyously, from white-haired crones <br />to little girls twirling<br />ecstatically<br />in their pouffy dresses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not just Tofino.<br />It is the living of my dream,<br />along the western sea,<br />waves and forests here<br />since the beginning of time,<br />where the wild ones live,<br />and my spirit is both<br />at home<br />and fully free.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">For my prompt at What's Going On? : It's Not Just a Cup of Tea - which will be explained better on Wednesday. Smiles.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-78384900703942357452024-02-23T09:09:00.000-08:002024-02-23T09:09:21.236-08:00Small Bird<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkCH40h7CAj2vh7Y7MYcRPJZpH67HxVEPwCoBzZ567yAmhEZMOfgAGHr5cQ18OtKw5UHcJ8jVjwzB4E1g4AP8zu9ESpsQZBJ79XqqwuIrZp7FlaYfgXLCTuTOCOQSMYf4vMre97DhB0kjW313vi8XnYu2KgPBJTS397c23DToMoWrooJOUYS398r4dMpU/s320/bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="320" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkCH40h7CAj2vh7Y7MYcRPJZpH67HxVEPwCoBzZ567yAmhEZMOfgAGHr5cQ18OtKw5UHcJ8jVjwzB4E1g4AP8zu9ESpsQZBJ79XqqwuIrZp7FlaYfgXLCTuTOCOQSMYf4vMre97DhB0kjW313vi8XnYu2KgPBJTS397c23DToMoWrooJOUYS398r4dMpU/s1600/bird.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Do you feel it? That sadness, riding along</div><div style="text-align: center;">under the surface, as we go about our days,</div><div style="text-align: center;">smiling, chatting, straightening up things</div><div style="text-align: center;">in the yard that the wind toppled over.</div><div style="text-align: center;">How could we not be feeling it, that</div><div style="text-align: center;">sinking of the heart as we watch the news,</div><div style="text-align: center;">humans suffering the unthinkable horrors of war</div><div style="text-align: center;">- civilians, who arent even waging war, yet</div><div style="text-align: center;">suffering like soldiers.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">It feels schizophrenic - two realities existing</div><div style="text-align: center;">side by side - spring coming to life outside</div><div style="text-align: center;">my window, puppies, beach walks,</div><div style="text-align: center;">sitting out front in the sun; and war,</div><div style="text-align: center;">bombing, starvation, limbs blown off,</div><div style="text-align: center;">desperate mothers trying to find food</div><div style="text-align: center;">for starving children.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">This is not the best we can do.<br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">And why are they flying to the moon</div><div style="text-align: center;">when earth is in such distress? When </div><div style="text-align: center;">money is needed to protect the world</div><div style="text-align: center;">from fascism, to combat the climate crisis,</div><div style="text-align: center;">to house the homeless, to care for</div><div style="text-align: center;">the mentally ill.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Do you feel it? That sadness?</div><div style="text-align: center;">I envy the birds, busily making their nests,</div><div style="text-align: center;">busily hopping among the branches,</div><div style="text-align: center;">settling into their new home with satisfied chirps.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The birds, who own only feathers,</div><div style="text-align: center;">are so much happier than we are.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">Small Bird, teach me your song.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-91199570696385728912024-02-22T09:44:00.000-08:002024-02-22T16:55:50.622-08:00CALM WATERS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRH2hw6yQp928qRSCL5FAjSGQFsjW_eZHcYD1_9c_vDOperIkEwSvNnOGZHzUgegPL06if4dYGge7RxdqKZqLmJMkgcv3MTCCeua4gu7h8PDHdQh2twGfRj3X7f1N-QNBMdpqChh9TVZbe0cF6LkQV9Uk3VIEusnZpcR0VGr8eUgSdLaCSKf-CURlSGcVy/s320/boat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRH2hw6yQp928qRSCL5FAjSGQFsjW_eZHcYD1_9c_vDOperIkEwSvNnOGZHzUgegPL06if4dYGge7RxdqKZqLmJMkgcv3MTCCeua4gu7h8PDHdQh2twGfRj3X7f1N-QNBMdpqChh9TVZbe0cF6LkQV9Uk3VIEusnZpcR0VGr8eUgSdLaCSKf-CURlSGcVy/s1600/boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">At mid-life, aware of the many ways</div><div style="text-align: center;">we have failed ourselves and each other,</div><div style="text-align: center;">we find words of apology, ask forgiveness</div><div style="text-align: center;">for our lack of wholeness.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">But, when we are older and wiser, <br />once we have healed,</div><div style="text-align: center;">have come to terms with what was, understood</div><div style="text-align: center;">why we did the things we did, <br />out of our ignorance</div><div style="text-align: center;">and pain and lack of self-worth -</div><div style="text-align: center;">after we have learned to apply compassion</div><div style="text-align: center;">to ourselves, as well as those who hurt us</div><div style="text-align: center;">out of their own inadequacies -</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">we surrender to all that cannot be re-lived or remedied.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Words spoken out loud are measured, now; silence</div><div style="text-align: center;">is our friend, as we watch the cacophony of life</div><div style="text-align: center;">all around, become the observer, reserve judgment.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">We may wish to dream back all we have lost,</div><div style="text-align: center;">but we keep living forward, farther and farther</div><div style="text-align: center;">from those old heartbreaks. Sorrow has taken root</div><div style="text-align: center;">in our hearts, tears we did not know how to shed</div><div style="text-align: center;">back then flow easily, over every small thing.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We now understand our grandparents' tender hearts,</div><div style="text-align: center;">now living in our own chests.<br /><i>(Too late smart, my father said,<br />with his wry grin.)</i></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Too late to do it all again, only better.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Too late to say I'm sorry I knew so little<br />for such a long time.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We are floating on a surrendering tide,</div><div style="text-align: center;">that is drawing us inevitably<br />out to sea.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The boat I sailed through stormy waters</div><div style="text-align: center;">is battered now, and drifting,</div><div style="text-align: center;">grateful to have reached <br />calm waters.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-12141838900579122712024-02-20T06:39:00.000-08:002024-02-20T06:39:46.085-08:00Colour Me Green<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaxGVlfJL48FGov_Dvaq6V-fTgJq29-o0ikaYU557QanCG86QwUU2EmCd0bYWaCCkT8MQhJZchvx6-CT-ct2OnYmAEQ4Mv1L0HZ0nxYlyfAlV7UJfqqp1XiePspPwiIRpxliS7TZsF2pl1RJE4oG-xOrsbBSdnR-b2F-nD0oNwFNe54aHIwC_7UX72lBZ8/s1512/green%20blake%20randall%20photography.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaxGVlfJL48FGov_Dvaq6V-fTgJq29-o0ikaYU557QanCG86QwUU2EmCd0bYWaCCkT8MQhJZchvx6-CT-ct2OnYmAEQ4Mv1L0HZ0nxYlyfAlV7UJfqqp1XiePspPwiIRpxliS7TZsF2pl1RJE4oG-xOrsbBSdnR-b2F-nD0oNwFNe54aHIwC_7UX72lBZ8/s320/green%20blake%20randall%20photography.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=891833339610615&set=a.136112238516066">Blake Randall Photography</a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Colour me green<br />like the weeping willow<br />drooping her long fronds<br />into the lake<br />when I was a child; green<br />like the garden I grew<br />as a young mother to feed<br />my hungry children; green<br />like the old growth forest<br />I stood on the road to save<br />in 1993. Colour me green.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Colour me green, like<br />the log train trail where <br />my wolf-dog and I walked daily,<br />missing our west coast rambles;<br />green like the big maples<br />in our yard, green like<br />the grassy kingdom he ruled<br />until he died.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Colour me green, like the forested slopes<br />of Wah-nah-juss, like the Tonquin trail,<br />like the moss in my yard, like<br />the sea grass at Wickaninnish,<br />green like the sea itself in certain<br />lights and seasons.</p><p style="text-align: center;">My heart was purple when I was young,<br />and then it was sky blue. But now,<br />as I grow ever closer to the earth,<br />as I bend to delight in small<br />fairy gardens, in baby trees,<br />and wildflowers,<br />in the wee beings that<br />cover Mother Earth in finery,<br />- now and forever -<br />colour me green.</p><div><br /><br /><a href="https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/" style="text-align: left;">for Susan's prompt at What's Going On - Colours Passing Through.</a></div><p><a href="https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/"><br /></a></p><p><br /></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-68942302135545945772024-02-19T15:54:00.000-08:002024-02-19T18:18:35.642-08:00An Adamantine Heart<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2AY9N23jSDIfDnOCWjiiK6oDQ3H5JuUPm3Uw-cBcn_iWT1E4agHc83LcoFQLL5yzRyUj244I5zuuAd30ccTY8uljHvfV7dEdRmBZdf3HVQaHMp7SZaEGB8_cpH-dwFm9wli5njf47FaK-f5BcU_wCY4Aiy1Fkw0g3RgcU1qHtCahHy-BlgM_2aS_ft_n/s960/skye%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2AY9N23jSDIfDnOCWjiiK6oDQ3H5JuUPm3Uw-cBcn_iWT1E4agHc83LcoFQLL5yzRyUj244I5zuuAd30ccTY8uljHvfV7dEdRmBZdf3HVQaHMp7SZaEGB8_cpH-dwFm9wli5njf47FaK-f5BcU_wCY4Aiy1Fkw0g3RgcU1qHtCahHy-BlgM_2aS_ft_n/s320/skye%201.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />Skye, my sister's horse</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">Are those ghosts or angels<br />shimmering in the foggy meadow?<br />A dappled horse watches<br />benignly from the barn.<br />To her, either are welcomed in<br />as friends.<br />Humans wreak havoc,<br />yet nature remains kind,<br />showering us with beauty<br />to the end,<br />paying our wanton heedlessness<br />no mind,<br />as if, to our lower natures,<br />she stays blind.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I went searching for love,<br />first with candle, then with lighted lamps,<br />a disorder I finally healed<br />with blessed solitude,<br />years of peace<br />where none dared<br />to intrude.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Remembering the joy<br />of hearts flying the stars,<br />then the wounded wings<br />and sudden plunge from sky to earth,<br />the longest fall of all,<br />I set down roots<br />from others far apart,<br />and grew apace an adamantine heart,<br />that has a secret hidden door within <br />so only animals and happy fools<br />can enter in.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/02/word-garden-word-list-gerard-manley.html">for Shay's Word List - I used eleven of the words, including the bonus word.</a></span></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-29535807943246891472024-02-19T11:51:00.000-08:002024-02-19T11:55:31.963-08:00Coming Home<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBVo__HBuqebhORhqdGmkFR483JmWrp8KeIIvDDtPJ4yIT0C-wnizADCq3g_ZSDgLf0lAo0I-JUHa2NTa_gwtzl4hgA3xxEw2GGJYSr_zPYmBe4ipXLfHLaLgh_IpVt6-1jsI6UgvgWoz9SSebri8C2l6gNKnSfympXphkOcwnZxwDvW_Km3ANSVUNSHA/s234/ford%202.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="127" data-original-width="234" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBVo__HBuqebhORhqdGmkFR483JmWrp8KeIIvDDtPJ4yIT0C-wnizADCq3g_ZSDgLf0lAo0I-JUHa2NTa_gwtzl4hgA3xxEw2GGJYSr_zPYmBe4ipXLfHLaLgh_IpVt6-1jsI6UgvgWoz9SSebri8C2l6gNKnSfympXphkOcwnZxwDvW_Km3ANSVUNSHA/w320-h174/ford%202.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In my dream,<br />I drove down the laneway<br />behind my Grandma's house<br />on Christleton Avenue.<br />I pulled my car into the space<br />where my Grandpa<br />always parked<br />his brown and white<br />Ford Fairlane.<br />He was a Ford man,<br />swore they were the best.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">His parking spot<br />was the other side of<br />the flower garden,<br />where an aromatic blend<br />of sweet peas, hollyhocks and pinks<br />sweetened the summer air.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To the right was the weeping willow,<br />and the hammock<br />where I swung lazily<br />on summer afternoons,<br />my nose in a book.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In the dream,<br />I pulled right up<br />and parked,<br />feeling like I was<br />coming home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is a little eerie to have such a dream at my age. But if I find myself there, on the Other Side, I will indeed feel right at home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-36246852185786056902024-02-18T08:29:00.000-08:002024-02-18T10:50:34.390-08:00Navalny<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVtmeChHjfJbpdicYwltZWzYJFysShsfSaNT5CLiKMuUCg-uljL6t1B8fQyenmDsI8ElolAMQHow3GlngT8xUVDdIZldQXHpPgQVqAJ9mWyzqHZRmqBAH0S5a4DrK4Y5ztzACDF0Mlqvxdz6SCytuJodjRwt-Cr5nFPDeV87rYzqmv9g6ZTLWDrmI486Z/s1300/navalny.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="1300" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVtmeChHjfJbpdicYwltZWzYJFysShsfSaNT5CLiKMuUCg-uljL6t1B8fQyenmDsI8ElolAMQHow3GlngT8xUVDdIZldQXHpPgQVqAJ9mWyzqHZRmqBAH0S5a4DrK4Y5ztzACDF0Mlqvxdz6SCytuJodjRwt-Cr5nFPDeV87rYzqmv9g6ZTLWDrmI486Z/s320/navalny.webp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/pictureshow/2024/02/16/1232006395/photos-see-russian-anti-corruption-leader-alexei-navalnys-life-in-pictures">source</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Navalny<br />takes his place<br />among those willing<br />to give his life<br />in the cause of freedom<br />from tyranny, oppression,<br />corruption and deranged power,<br />along with Gandhi,<br />Martin Luther King, Mandela,<br />brave warriors for social justice <br />and democracy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How such courage<br />terrifies the bullies!<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They silence the man<br />but not his message.<br />The people rise,<br />hearts inflamed.<br />The thugs respond<br />the only way they know -<br />with violence.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">His spirit is such<br />a strong and shining thing,<br />they have to snuff his light<br />for fear it illuminates<br />their darkness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The old power systems are fighting their death knell. People are tired of suffering because of old white men. When they silence an activist this brave, they light a fire in ten thousand hearts. Time for the old corrupt hearts, the old money/power structures to make way for social and environmental justice. Away with their dark hearts. A better world is waiting to be born.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't include President Biden in the above - he is elderly (as is his opponent), but he has moral fibre, a lifetime of experience and knows how government works. He is definitely the more qualified candidate, between he and his opponent, who has no interest in democracy or the rule of law.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-57823844482029892342024-02-14T09:49:00.000-08:002024-02-14T09:49:46.964-08:00No Time to Make Things Pretty<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjB_lF5VuuXk-E5220EB2_1l5i9ZDqekwuJG9nyi_Nnb0IgjGfjZycitvrGFO8RTKm7TLNX4M0Nim4fZVaz53ZT_1K42QtKYOCsbDuvmx1fkmBR_CF72eOX1WqrwtxqAnIiog_LhZyb9Coc24DJo_pawL_nJM4wDBvGwOW-_6RSh1-uHBJhnxRO9kUahnm/s960/chesterman%20by%20christ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjB_lF5VuuXk-E5220EB2_1l5i9ZDqekwuJG9nyi_Nnb0IgjGfjZycitvrGFO8RTKm7TLNX4M0Nim4fZVaz53ZT_1K42QtKYOCsbDuvmx1fkmBR_CF72eOX1WqrwtxqAnIiog_LhZyb9Coc24DJo_pawL_nJM4wDBvGwOW-_6RSh1-uHBJhnxRO9kUahnm/s320/chesterman%20by%20christ.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This is no time to make things pretty:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">the world is askew; democracy is in peril,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the climate crisis continues apace</div><div style="text-align: center;">and no one sees the danger. Human beings</div><div style="text-align: center;">are trying to survive bombs, displacement,</div><div style="text-align: center;">starvation, lack of every basic need.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This is not the time to write poems</div><div style="text-align: center;">about the sunshine and blue sky </div><div style="text-align: center;">out my window, the beauty of the harbour,</div><div style="text-align: center;">clouds wisping along the slopes</div><div style="text-align: center;">of Wah-nah-jus, waves calling to me</div><div style="text-align: center;">from Na-na-kwuu-a.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">But, there are a few things my heart knows:</div><div style="text-align: center;">still and always, the mothering earth</div><div style="text-align: center;">under my feet grounds me, gives me</div><div style="text-align: center;">a place to stand, where I belong.</div><div style="text-align: center;">My head may be worrying about</div><div style="text-align: center;">another year of drought in a rainforest,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the way the world continues in denial</div><div style="text-align: center;">of what is surely to come, or that</div><div style="text-align: center;">some of our leaders are actually deranged.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Yet my heart still leaps at daffodils</div><div style="text-align: center;">emerging from hard packed earth,</div><div style="text-align: center;">how they butt their heads through<br />the hard crust and</div><div style="text-align: center;">reach for the sun. We are excited, here,</div><div style="text-align: center;">to watch the first salmonberries bloom,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the bears waking up from their long</div><div style="text-align: center;">winter nap, buds on the trees promising</div><div style="text-align: center;">a sea of cherry blossoms in April.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Humankind has lost its way.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Suffering on earth has reached critical mass.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And yet, here is Mother Earth,<br />in spite of us,</div><div style="text-align: center;">doing all she can, season after season,<br />year after year, <br />to keep us alive.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Inspired by This Is No Time to Make Things Pretty by Maya Stein. The italicized line is taken from the title.</p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-34202386378170267162024-02-13T11:36:00.000-08:002024-02-13T11:58:18.173-08:00Aubade<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOVUxXwJSBHcp_DvBby-AT5DrQw9_6Hle0Z_u_xE3qrjMwKHreC6xeQ4EChI6SLTCYcfIlBNMvzxFWMPArHkUNImRx-9u3RkIJz9XKn5I3Zd5Ca8LOWW6WqK4NRz0xWKo_mxgx3fZK4pbnax_nkNbf5J6Fjssl5FjkYE7fiintxndiP0285pVkswS1fxN/s320/pupbeach7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="320" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOVUxXwJSBHcp_DvBby-AT5DrQw9_6Hle0Z_u_xE3qrjMwKHreC6xeQ4EChI6SLTCYcfIlBNMvzxFWMPArHkUNImRx-9u3RkIJz9XKn5I3Zd5Ca8LOWW6WqK4NRz0xWKo_mxgx3fZK4pbnax_nkNbf5J6Fjssl5FjkYE7fiintxndiP0285pVkswS1fxN/s1600/pupbeach7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Early cloud-streaked sky painted pink,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I remember waking to the weight</div><div style="text-align: center;">of your snout on the side of my bed</div><div style="text-align: center;">that morning.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I heard your urgent whuff, twice,</div><div style="text-align: center;">but didn't open my eyes</div><div style="text-align: center;">because you were gone.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">But then I rose, and realized</div><div style="text-align: center;">it had been you, after all,</div><div style="text-align: center;">come to say goodbye at the very moment</div><div style="text-align: center;">they fed you into the flames.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Our hearts so fused, of course</div><div style="text-align: center;">you'd come. You never wanted</div><div style="text-align: center;">to leave.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Rivers of tears, a loss too deep for words,</div><div style="text-align: center;">that still remains, all these years later,</div><div style="text-align: center;">waking every morning to your absence -</div><div style="text-align: center;">you, who were such a huge presence,</div><div style="text-align: center;">you, with a spirit always<br />too big to kill. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For Sumana's prompt at <a href="https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/">What's Going On </a> on Wednesday: Aubade: a morning love song, a feeling of love and loss. Of course it's Pup.</div><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-51037829722457204352024-02-13T11:30:00.000-08:002024-02-13T11:30:49.270-08:00February<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkTnqEiIan7aTBW5teRSmjozL-fyiaOOi7UY6ICIjhXx6IpB8OXnyuy6qmxuPa7jRIGM1ZBEF5Ow7OXvCuYT8ywF6WuZafmdvne3xQ6CpfqUH7PvbNdTrzqqW72Qa-Ypz4ORHGMu6f-0vLZrw1U6IOJMpdkNxpTw5qYmnsWFt_5OtxozfFWR6k9PjWnze/s5152/DSCN0119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3864" data-original-width="5152" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkTnqEiIan7aTBW5teRSmjozL-fyiaOOi7UY6ICIjhXx6IpB8OXnyuy6qmxuPa7jRIGM1ZBEF5Ow7OXvCuYT8ywF6WuZafmdvne3xQ6CpfqUH7PvbNdTrzqqW72Qa-Ypz4ORHGMu6f-0vLZrw1U6IOJMpdkNxpTw5qYmnsWFt_5OtxozfFWR6k9PjWnze/s320/DSCN0119.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">The earth is stirring; brave crocuses</div><div style="text-align: center;">and stalwart daffodils poke up their heads,</div><div style="text-align: center;">shivery, in response to thin February sun.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is too soon for lilacs or violets.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The shrubbery is still in late winter's grip,</div><div style="text-align: center;">longing for rain that does not come.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">An invisible bell tolls the changing</div><div style="text-align: center;">of the seasons, each year a miracle,</div><div style="text-align: center;">each year eyes gladdened <br />by small, poking buds,</div><div style="text-align: center;">my heart singing itself into</div><div style="text-align: center;">one more season in the sun. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/02/word-garden-word-list-t-s-eliot.html">for Shay's Word List, contemplating T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland.</a> I used six of the words.</div><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-2057357309977078922024-02-12T09:45:00.000-08:002024-02-12T09:45:21.666-08:00Forever Young<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEALafjEnTRscFqygBIUwN0NzltJcYfxMj8CHr5JAqRDJ92srEW0Fhd0aZ2cU8rwYQvYGUgIU95UBLzZGk0_Ey2kqXRbGB8yMq82zoGc6_ZxqJNtlRvPxj5QV-m8wgfzF4A1OsVvPibsodfLkNXjd3ckcVOHhJqrmlVBJgoJk8jq6cbfByCabQ42hmt28/s320/brock%20and%20friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="228" data-original-width="320" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEALafjEnTRscFqygBIUwN0NzltJcYfxMj8CHr5JAqRDJ92srEW0Fhd0aZ2cU8rwYQvYGUgIU95UBLzZGk0_Ey2kqXRbGB8yMq82zoGc6_ZxqJNtlRvPxj5QV-m8wgfzF4A1OsVvPibsodfLkNXjd3ckcVOHhJqrmlVBJgoJk8jq6cbfByCabQ42hmt28/s1600/brock%20and%20friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">We were so beautiful then; we didn't</div><div style="text-align: center;">even know how beautiful we were,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the power we had as young women,</div><div style="text-align: center;">turning heads as we sailed by, oblivious</div><div style="text-align: center;">to all but our passage.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">We were so beautiful then, shiny</div><div style="text-align: center;">and shimmering, full of hope and dreams.</div><div style="text-align: center;">How we laughed! How life held</div><div style="text-align: center;">so much joy: music, guitar riffs</div><div style="text-align: center;">in the coffeehouse, our hearts unfolding,</div><div style="text-align: center;">recognizing our time<br />had finally arrived,<br />blossoming, lifting off,</div><div style="text-align: center;">taking wing.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">We were so beautiful then, though</div><div style="text-align: center;">we didn't know it, that</div><div style="text-align: center;">we would look back one day</div><div style="text-align: center;">at this time in the sun, our faces,</div><div style="text-align: center;">our friendships, the music, and song -</div><div style="text-align: center;">everything golden, captured,</div><div style="text-align: center;">in my mind's eye, like a photo</div><div style="text-align: center;">of happiness, pinned to a clipboard,</div><div style="text-align: center;">where we remain forever young.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Inspired by the poem "Weren't We Beautiful" by Marjorie Saiser.</div><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-45431356288222020802024-02-08T18:47:00.000-08:002024-02-08T18:47:10.801-08:00CLAYOQUOT SUMMER 1993<div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbsi46EzGsVWeY99oC5wR2K91nMeNdSwcnNCD30DvksNI2TQ6rY4-gwkmSw4CwjI0ZI6_HR5_4s0BhBTIen88z-8FW3ttEEGJVqn6IIDfj6emGcDMr7uAY_hDNgXL8BLpYnHezCwygzaDe1Q5qeMTeUzc5u-zfGQJ1Oc1HtTMaLwk91US3hz8nkDtviAw/s320/1993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="109" data-original-width="320" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbsi46EzGsVWeY99oC5wR2K91nMeNdSwcnNCD30DvksNI2TQ6rY4-gwkmSw4CwjI0ZI6_HR5_4s0BhBTIen88z-8FW3ttEEGJVqn6IIDfj6emGcDMr7uAY_hDNgXL8BLpYnHezCwygzaDe1Q5qeMTeUzc5u-zfGQJ1Oc1HtTMaLwk91US3hz8nkDtviAw/s1600/1993.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Grandmother,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can feel you near me</div><div style="text-align: center;">as I dance and sing</div><div style="text-align: center;">with this group of women</div><div style="text-align: center;">on the road.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We mourn man's treatment</div><div style="text-align: center;">of the earth</div><div style="text-align: center;">as, at the same time,</div><div style="text-align: center;">we celebrate</div><div style="text-align: center;">our power.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We have a voice</div><div style="text-align: center;">and we will use it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Our drumbeat is</div><div style="text-align: center;">the heartbeat</div><div style="text-align: center;">of the Earth Mother.</div><div style="text-align: center;">After all the untold years</div><div style="text-align: center;">of pain and tears</div><div style="text-align: center;">that held me down,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have risen</div><div style="text-align: center;">as an eagle</div><div style="text-align: center;">seeks higher ground,</div><div style="text-align: center;">no more earth-bound.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have found my voice</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I will sing with it,</div><div style="text-align: center;">laugh into tomorrow,</div><div style="text-align: center;">feel my strength,</div><div style="text-align: center;">my peacefulness</div><div style="text-align: center;">and my joy,</div><div style="text-align: center;">along with love and pain</div><div style="text-align: center;">for Mother Earth.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Grandmother,</div><div style="text-align: center;">now that I am</div><div style="text-align: center;">a grandmother too,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can hear you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wrote this poem at work in Tofino in the summer of '93. Early that morning, I was on the road at the blockades at the women's gathering to stop the logging of Clayoquot Sound. We did a spiral dance on the road. We were joyous, dancing for the trees, and for life, and a future for all beings. My heart burst with passion as, one by one, people were arrested for standing on the road for the trees. I could not risk arrest as I had kids to raise and I had to keep my jobs (three or four at a time, at those days of struggle.) I reluctantly went from the road to work that day, and the poem came to me as I fulfilled my tasks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHoNvPvdxYnjBVHh1PNdjnY3gj7CRs-gLNNRcllMLQLJXm_ykXgI6bS_-Jn6vKPaNsW92qquMJR1oFDlhRjS0jvd5_ogEMUa2orV5Z0mIXVn1Mn3jo04ML3jrlxlb_5f2gVEQ47kKHEj2Z43-DmHbByULE89ufYjYaVnGkcV_-8iu7CuUTdPSz9_VFuC9a/s320/sally%20sunshine2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="320" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHoNvPvdxYnjBVHh1PNdjnY3gj7CRs-gLNNRcllMLQLJXm_ykXgI6bS_-Jn6vKPaNsW92qquMJR1oFDlhRjS0jvd5_ogEMUa2orV5Z0mIXVn1Mn3jo04ML3jrlxlb_5f2gVEQ47kKHEj2Z43-DmHbByULE89ufYjYaVnGkcV_-8iu7CuUTdPSz9_VFuC9a/s1600/sally%20sunshine2.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />Sally Sunshine</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">How I longed to be at the Peace Camp that summer, on the road every morning. But I was there on the mornings I could be there, and the women's blockade was the most passionate morning of my life. Nothing filled my heart like standing on the road to protect the trees.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tonight I am watching Fury For the Sound, a film about the women of Clayoquot in the summer of '93. 856 people were charged that summer, and many were jailed for their participation that summer. Some grandmothers spent months in jail for standing on the road to protest the clearcutting of the ancient forests. Children and the elderly took pride in making that stand, fighting for a future for the beings of the earth, who need trees to live and breathe and stay shaded from the sun.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here we are, so many years later. Clearcutting continues. Wildfires occur now every spring, summer and fall, Tofino's rainforest is no longer a rainforest, as we have drought much of the year. Hardly any intact old growth forests are left on Vancouver Island. Talk and log continues because Money Rules. And politicians want to keep their jobs, so no hard decisions are made. I weep as I watch the film of our passion in 1993. Those brave people stopped the clearcutting of Clayoquot Sound for a time, but we have watched, these past years, more and more trees fall - to housing, to development, to what they call "Progress". As the planet heats up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheMb2zX5Wq0S8GYIahOFR-IDCWjjg9yXWLVvzGrDeyiSoBBfKkXt5KOnm8LZRA3q8j7LlvzKLK_t3zVi3NhJD_EslamVLLXdz24emM0n7gpubfNmjImrs2TGTQUMLzh9K9R32JUoFjQMnv4-06A9UCQZea4KEYkcz1gi1lUTaZo2DKhIVNDUCUH6RfplhT/s320/sherry%20tall%20tree%20trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="320" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheMb2zX5Wq0S8GYIahOFR-IDCWjjg9yXWLVvzGrDeyiSoBBfKkXt5KOnm8LZRA3q8j7LlvzKLK_t3zVi3NhJD_EslamVLLXdz24emM0n7gpubfNmjImrs2TGTQUMLzh9K9R32JUoFjQMnv4-06A9UCQZea4KEYkcz1gi1lUTaZo2DKhIVNDUCUH6RfplhT/s1600/sherry%20tall%20tree%20trail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-6186211275318733032024-02-06T08:50:00.000-08:002024-02-06T08:50:36.881-08:00Dispatches From the Edge of Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNCoqKl00dni-Q4opqv6dP6LNxsL2f9Rnjg8LuTi0IRAi9ZHo1ACDtkZlhx9pVZnPbZFKTGPIoabHICcRR2T-Aqh-Zzx8E5N8MFLMOggVTM2EAR28bHaKRPZgAg0X-OdoGNznR7COoqLt2BRIeU9sUcuUIUAmYjh6V_hJ-X_Lc_OiZ7mCO8EvHABa9mSb/s275/bell2%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNCoqKl00dni-Q4opqv6dP6LNxsL2f9Rnjg8LuTi0IRAi9ZHo1ACDtkZlhx9pVZnPbZFKTGPIoabHICcRR2T-Aqh-Zzx8E5N8MFLMOggVTM2EAR28bHaKRPZgAg0X-OdoGNznR7COoqLt2BRIeU9sUcuUIUAmYjh6V_hJ-X_Lc_OiZ7mCO8EvHABa9mSb/s1600/bell2%20(1).jpg" width="275" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Fellow traveler,</div><div style="text-align: center;">across the charred landscape</div><div style="text-align: center;">of our broken dreams,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I bid you safe passage,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(a safe journey, a safe return,)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">a door open wide</div><div style="text-align: center;">on arrival to shelter you,</div><div style="text-align: center;">cool water to drink,</div><div style="text-align: center;">sustenance</div><div style="text-align: center;">and rest.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Apocalyptic skies,</div><div style="text-align: center;">falling embers,</div><div style="text-align: center;">blowing flames,</div><div style="text-align: center;">have overtaken the road</div><div style="text-align: center;">most traveled.</div><div style="text-align: center;">See the burned-out cars</div><div style="text-align: center;">alongside the road.</div><div style="text-align: center;">See the creatures</div><div style="text-align: center;">with burned paws and hooves</div><div style="text-align: center;">limping beside us,</div><div style="text-align: center;">dead-eyed and stricken,</div><div style="text-align: center;">innocent victims of human folly.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Where are we going?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Forward, only forward</div><div style="text-align: center;">into whatever comes next.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I can only offer a blessing</div><div style="text-align: center;">for your travels.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(A safe journey, a safe return.)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">May all beings find</div><div style="text-align: center;">a place of safety in which</div><div style="text-align: center;">to weather the storms ahead.</div><div style="text-align: center;">May all beings find</div><div style="text-align: center;">that welcoming door.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(A safe journey, a safe return.)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For Mary's prompt Wednesday at <a href="https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/">What's Going On? Safe. </a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">While I feel totally safe in my peaceful rooms, in my sweet village, the global picture, between wars and an accelerating climate crisis, with its wildfires, extreme weather, and flooding, keeps me all too aware that anything can change at any moment, wherever we are. In troubled times, we have to carry our sense of safety within, like a turtle inside its shell. Wishing you all safe travels.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777854594703553858.post-62866738762595739902024-02-05T10:49:00.000-08:002024-02-05T16:29:56.200-08:00Poet In Search of a Poem<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjNzxBRIJ673RXLaycfxRYMn-do0YYTghAbWMUWSPQXEdqX6B7lxWRbDxjWUeX6MmkBjSfbPHDq11tfUOzZRWm9KLUmW3FHdM5bbKvl5g3wql-yZX0qG9RgV9-uTzH6XT41CJRk8UfDcy37Qoy3saN3dxeqxmDyCGExNedDwirzOhfy04wXrge7VutOi8/s373/pupster.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="181" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjNzxBRIJ673RXLaycfxRYMn-do0YYTghAbWMUWSPQXEdqX6B7lxWRbDxjWUeX6MmkBjSfbPHDq11tfUOzZRWm9KLUmW3FHdM5bbKvl5g3wql-yZX0qG9RgV9-uTzH6XT41CJRk8UfDcy37Qoy3saN3dxeqxmDyCGExNedDwirzOhfy04wXrge7VutOi8/s320/pupster.JPG" width="155" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">If I was granted a wish,</div><div style="text-align: center;">it would be a visit with the wild ones,</div><div style="text-align: center;">a coyote, perhaps, or a fox,</div><div style="text-align: center;">or - especially - a black wolf, smiling</div><div style="text-align: center;">his brown-eyed smile.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">I would tell him how many poems</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have written for him,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I would pick a bouquet of weeds</div><div style="text-align: center;">and wildflowers, to take home</div><div style="text-align: center;">in his memory.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">A dreaming friend said he appeared</div><div style="text-align: center;">in her last dream. When she told him</div><div style="text-align: center;">I miss him, he threw back his head</div><div style="text-align: center;">and howled his lonely howl.</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">It seems a poet always winds up</div><div style="text-align: center;">singing the blues in her poem.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Why is it that<br />art is so often sad?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This tapped itself out from <a href="https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/02/shays-word-garden-list-prompt-returns.html?sc=1707158260104#c2020939334902467603">Shay's Word List prompt</a>. I used eight of the words.</div><p></p>Sherry Blue Skyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01926508656571639801noreply@blogger.com10