Farewell

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He woke agitated, disoriented, confused. Rushing in to his mother's bedroom, he asked, "What's happening? What's happening?" She tried to calm and soothe him but, as she approached, he turned and ran upstairs.

She followed.

On the terrace, she found him straddling the lip of the concrete wall. Life stopped, suspended, in that moment between Before and After. Fourteen floors below, the sound of traffic. Nearby, the chirp of a startled bird, then all was still and silent, a moment suspended in time.

"Carter! Please! It's all right. Don't. Let me help you."

He looked at her, wavering. Almost, he leaned in her direction. But then, he raised his hand, whether to stop her from approaching or in farewell, she never knew, and toppled from view.

from A Mother's Story, by Gloria Vanderbilt, about the suicide of her son Carter, which she witnessed.

This is for Magaly's flash fiction prompt at Real Toads:  to write something sparked by the last book we read. Carter was under medication after a painful breakup, and his mother feels he was affected adversely by it, when he woke from his nap. The conversation is approximate, just what I remember from the book.

I discover I misread the prompt: to use a line from the book as a springboard. But I am tired, so will just leave this, as it may inspire others to read the book. Smiles.

Under A Befuddled Moon

Wolf Moon - January

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I once had a tryst
with someone who was
a legend in his own mind.
He wooed me with poetic phrases,
beady eyes, and butterscotch pudding.
I ate it up, spoon by spoon.

"Je t'aime", he said,
looking up at me on the porch
under a  befuddled moon.
But he didn't, he didn't.

Some men are hollow.
Some men are not
to be followed.


Well, this weird little poem is in response to Kerry's prompt at Real Toads: to use diction and imagery to write about humans in terms of the non-human. The man in this poem was all too human. But in the closing lines, I am thinking of a most inhuman man, who is much in the news for his lack of humanity. Not sure if that counts. Smiles.

The Door

My daughter Stephanie's photo

of Chestermans Beach, where dogs are most joyous

In the middle of my life,

the door to the life of my dreams

stood ajar.

I peeked in.

All the wonders of the universe 

awaited,

if I had the courage 

to leap: the ocean,

and whales, 

old-growth trails,

nature, pristine and beautiful 

and wild -

the place where my soul belonged.

If I stayed in place,

it meant giving up my dream.

And I knew I couldn't live

without a dream.

It took trust and a far-flung prayer

to take me from where I was

tamely living

to being there,

where I became Wild Woman

and lived the ten most joyous

years of my life.

         ***

I have mourned that loss

all the years since,

longed to return,

nearly gave up hope.

And now, suddenly,

in my dwindling years,

the door to that life

has opened once more:

one more chance

to experience the beauty
of the shore.

In old age,

one more mighty leap

over the mountains,

back to the song of the sea,

and the ancient trees,

proving the universe brings gifts

to those ready and willing

to receive,

and that life can change 

in a heartbeat

from resigned but grateful living

to the realization of a

long-held dream.

My friends, I had given up hope that it would happen, and was at peace with that, when the call came: a small suite in the apartment complex in Tofino. I am sorting and packing, and still can hardly believe it is happening. I will have more beach walks and sunsets before I die. I am, of course, nervous and rattled, but also am feeling the rightness of this, that I have wanted for so long. I just keep thinking of how my windows will look out on big old trees, and, with my window open, I might even be able to hear the song of the sea. Wow, hey? I will be there for the Whale Festival, when the Baja whales arrive on their whale highway. Whu-hoo! Once again I will stand on the dunes and watch. Maybe I will sing.

I read something the night before the phone call came: that this year the planets are aligning, as they do only rarely. That during this time, if you have a dream that has been blocked and you get offered it, SAY YES! Do not let fear hold you back. So I said yes. And yes. And yes.

for Sumana's very cool prompt at Midweek Motif at Poets United, which will post tomorrow : The Door. And for the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

AN IMPERFECT PILGRIMAGE

google image

Step upon step,
spinning the prayer wheels,
mumbled prayers rising,
pilgrims, we are making
our imperfect pilgrimage.

Come with me
once around the sacred mountain,
and erase the karma 
of the errors of a lifetime.
Take me to the mountain,
holy one.
Make me clean.

The prayer flags flutter
on the precipice.
The search for the snow leopard
remains elusive.
Step upon step 
up the slippery slope,
each step on the path 
to enlightenment
icy, precarious.

The winds howl down the mountain
like ravening ghosts
and shake the candlelit tent
till it almost takes flight.

I'm tethered here,
but only for want 
of a perfect rhyme.
I hear the message
in those shrieking winds.
I feel the hoarfrost
on the hand of time.

When I die, holy one,
lay me on the plateau
for a sky burial.
Let the big birds come
and pick my bones clean.
Let the leopard gather them
and carry them off,
so I become
one with the mountain,
the air, the sky,
no more pondering how
or wondering why.

Return me to the mountain
of past lifetimes,
I beg you,
and let me
begin again.

One from December, 2011, my friends, re-posted for the Poetry Pantry.

Wild Woman Has A Vision

White Buffalo Calf Woman

Rogue Guirey Simpson, 1992

Wild Woman has a vision
of the world,
now that the seventh generation
has arrived,
now that the white buffalo calf
has been born,
and the Rainbow Race
is arising.

Corporate greed will not
loosen its grasp willingly.
Money-lust has caught
its captives in its
deathly grasp so tight
they don't even realize
their souls are dying.

But for the other 98 percent,
our spirits rise
to the vision of a world
longing for social justice,
a world of care for Mother Earth
and all her creatures,
a world where humans
are as beautiful and connected
as the other expressions
of creation: a fox,
a tributary,
a fiddlehead fern.

Wild Woman is told this vision
is impossible.
But it is Possible.
It is here, now,
within our grasp,
in every choice
we make.


for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Vision. A great prompt for a brand new year. Let's use our purchasing power wisely, since dollar bills is the only language corporations speak.

OWL DREAMING

Darkling the night spins its web of stars,

Hazy the moon in its tangerine shroud.

Owl Woman calls out from the forest deep:

Waken, all dreamers, from your sleep.

I rise, all unwilling, from my wildish dreams.

The midnight is peopled with wild creatures' screams.

The trees lie in wait with their strangling roots,

ready to trip my scruffy boot.

The forest moans low as the fog moves in.

When I look up, the starry heavens spin.

Dark and drear, the ground I tread upon;

When I turn to go back, the path is gone.

One from 2014 for the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

Tofino Skies

Photos from our trip to Tofino. Stephanie rented us a cabin 

on Chestermans Beach where we spent three glorious days 

enjoying sunshine, sand and surf.

Sunset  our first evening

                                      

Morning before sunrise

Lennard's Light pre-sunrise

Lone Cone

Sun coming up at South Chestermans

Stephanie - morning joy

Family coffeetime

Happy dogs

Cali ~ Steph photo

Chloe ~ Steph photo

Gord Oien photo

Wild Woman

Steph Oien photo

By the Fire

As I sat there, I was thinking how beautiful this place is,

and that it likely was never going to happen

that I would be able to return.

I accepted that, and decided

it would be all right.

I was lucky to have had the ten years there that I had.

Steph Oien photo

Steph Oien photo

It was the day after I got home that the phone call came.

I was offered an apartment in Tofino.

Life had one more surprise for me.

So I started packing.

What a gift this new year will be.