Song for Jesse

en.wikipedia.org

From the dock to the cabin took seven minutes.
The little boy ran ahead,
his father following more slowly.

Somewhere along the way, 

he hung his jacket on a bush.

Good boy, Jesse, only seven years old.

When his dad got to the cabin, 
Jesse wasn't there.

Calling, searching, not finding. 

Alerting the neighbors, 

all searching and calling.

In a while, a shout came from the beach:

his father walked the worst 

hundred yards of his life.

Bloody jogging pants is all

the cougar left behind.

In the old theatre, two years later,
Jesse's friends sang a song for him,
in memory,
voices high and sweet,
their father's sobs
in counterpoint.

A sad song for Jesse,
only seven years old.

True story. This happened to a friend of mine, years ago. He lived in a cabin on an island across from Tofino. 

Life's Gifts

conservationalliance.com

Accept my gift of air,

says Tree -

a free exchange.

Sit upon my softness and rest,

invite the mossy roots.

Feast your eyes!

brags the fiddlehead fern,

unfurling itself like

a trapeze artist

in mid-flight.

Around us,

Mother Earth is showering

her love upon us:

rock and river,

flower and tree,

teaching us there is great peace

in simply being

who we're meant

to be.

Distraught Sister Moon

scienceno

Distraught Sister Moon,

I see you up there, pacing around,

wringing your hands,

"what to do, what to do, what to do?"

Down below, all hell is breaking loose:

bombings, shootings, drought,

famines, floods, melting icebergs,
forest fires,

wildlife fleeing in terror,

with no where to hide,

dangerous people with bad hair

behaving badly.

I see you trying to efface your fullness

quickly, perhaps thinking

if you lessen your roundness

the populace can return to calm

under a slice of moon.

But when were we last calm?

Between the dinosaur era 

and Cro-Magnon,

was there once an age 

of hunting and gathering,

feasting and rejoicing,

before My Cave and Your Cave 

became issues and clubs started swinging?

By your light, madmen and prophets collide.

By your light, poets seek truth and beauty.

By your light, we dream of a better world.

You have stopped pacing.

You like where this is going.

Okay, hear this:

By the Light of Your Silvery Moon,

on earth we dream, we dream,

we dream of peace.

Inspired by my offhand remark in an email....LOL.

Postcard From the Edge of Summer

WWI postcard

Just a line to tell you so,

for I am sadder than you know,

that off to war you had to go,

beautiful beau.

The summer heat

is not discreet.

I can feel the pulsing beat

of tribal rhythms

in my feet,

much too happy

for a heart

so full of woe.

And after ten a.m.

it's just too hot.

Limply languid on the couch,

all-I-am-not

totes up the gains and losses,

dot by dot.

I am forsaken, all bereft.

My poor heart has

a leaden heft.

I was a happy girl

but then you left.

Watch the farthest distant shore,

where I am waving, ("Je t'adore!"),

hoping we will meet once more,

after the war.

for Kerry's postcard challenge at Real Toads.

A Simple Transformative Dream

Ryerson University students Ilya Zatolokin, Sonya Noronha, 

Stefany Nieto and Ben Canning. 

Enactus Ryerson photo via Canadian Press

He did not accept that

the prohibitive cost of

imported fruits and vegetables

in the frozen North

was "just the way it is".

He dreamed a dream,

found funding,

built an igloo-shaped greenhouse,

and began.

He is teaching local youth

how to grow kale, and potatoes,

tomatoes,  cucumbers,

and hope.

Nothing is impossible,

given vision, and will,

and a collection of energetic hands

working together.

On the news last night I saw a cheering news clip about a young man with a dream.  Ben Canning, a student of Ryerson University in Toronto,  Canada, made a series of trips to Nunavut in the frozen North this spring, with three fellow students, to build an igloo-shaped greenhouse with a hydroponic system,  to grow fresh vegetables for the community. The locals call it the "Green Igloo," and the community has been involved in the work.

In Nunavut, the cost of fresh fruits and vegetables, which arrive by boat and plane, is exorbitant and beyond the reach of most locals. Ben said four apples cost him $13. A jug of orange juice costs $26.29. Impossible.

The students made several trips in, first to build the structure, and again to involve local youth in planting the crops, teaching them how to continue the work once the students have left. Last night's newscast showed the locals tasting fresh kale and celebrating the accomplishments of the young people involved.

The project is part of Enactus, an international organization that connects students and business experts, with a goal of using entrepreneurial action to raise living standards.The Green Igloo project is known as Growing North, a non-profit organization. They hope to expand it to neighboring communities.

How I love to see good news, and practical needs being addressed in such a positive way, on the evening news. We have long heard about the prohibitive price of groceries in the north. It is heartening to see students step up and address this, involving the community,  in a solution-oriented way that brings tangible results. So much more effective than endless talking and high-priced "studies" which are exercises in futility.

What's that quote?

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, 

committed citizens can change the world; 

indeed, it's the only thing that ever has. 

Margaret Mead

Sources:  Huffington Post , CTV News

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Acceptance

HALF-MOON, WANING

Source

The half-moon and I

greeted each other this morning.

We both were waning.

Consulting my oracles

on facebook,

I learned this is the time for

going rogue,

for bringing forth 

our Inner Roar,

for singing

"I've Gotta Be Me."

Whoa.

I have never been much

for roaring and chest-thumping.

But I have observed,

it can be somewhat effective.

The moon has no answers.

She has her own stuff

to do,

filling in her other half,

inch by inch,

between now

and the next full moon.

I need to set to as well,

in the other direction,

honing my round, blurry shape

-and my round, blurry life-

into something

more definitive.

Going rogue?

Wild Woman may not roar,

but she has been known to be 

quietly subversive.

LOL.....I gazed at the moon, and she gazed at me.

Half the Sky

wang-lili.com

In Buddhism, satyagraha is the enacting of truth, as the Dalai Lama, Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr.......and especially the heroic women of our world  so powerfully exemplify.

Robert Thurman, in his foreword to the Dalai Lama's book, My Appeal To The World.

Women Hold Up Half the Sky

Chinese proverb

In the footsteps of our 

mothers and grandmothers,

we walk,

doing the work of nesting, nurturing,

chopping wood, carrying water,

children on our backs,

their future in our eyes and hearts.

There is work to be done,

and the children must be fed,

so we roll up our sleeves.

We do less talking about truth

than living it.

We suffer under oppression

until we grow strong enough to fly,

and then

live free under the limitless sky.

We do the work of the world, unseen,

and largely unappreciated.

In poverty,

we find a way to feed our children.

In wartime and famine,

we bundle our rags and our children

and walk a thousand miles 

seeking refuge.

As grandmothers,

we look at the world 

with wise eyes,

seeing clearly

what it took a lifetime to learn,

that the young are too youthful to hear. 

Enacting truth and loving beauty

is what we offer to our villages,

for the women of the world

hold up half the sky.