A lone loon
intones a poem
lingering long
across the lake.
Its echoing call’s
a prayer chant.
Summer song
whispered on the water
Lonely loon
listens for his lover
lost in
melancholy memories
of sun sambas on waves.
Haunting ghost calls
as cabins close
and summer dies.
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If you haven’t heard a loon call, here is a nice video that captures the mournful quality of their song:
Today (August 13, 2013) on Diana Gabaldon’s Facebook page, someone asked Diana whether she finds writing easy or difficult. She replied,
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If you’re a writer, on your project today, do you feel like you’re shoveling rocks uphill with your nose, or does it flow? Tell us what you’re working on!
Epic battle:
light and dark.
Musket muzzles flash
Light bayonets the hills
with slashing stabs.
In the concussion of the cannonade
Houses rattle.
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So let’s discuss this poem. Despite the nice circuitous connection of battle/rattle , I think ‘houses rattle’ is the weakest line in the poem, and ending with the weakest line is never a good thing. You want a nice strong ending. I started with ‘reverberation’ in the line (no houses at that point) which is perhaps better is some ways, though I felt too obvious a choice.
Let’s workshop this. What do you think? What would you do to the last line to continue the battle metaphor, but convey the quaking ground and rattling windows?
The tree outside my bedroom window
was the diameter of my skinny child legs:
smooth skinned trunk,
sweet green leaves.
Now, I reach my mother arms
around rough bark,
scrape my wrists as
I stretch to touch
my finger tips together.
There’s summer sun in the scent
of poplar leaves.
I look into the window
searching for my youthful face
gazing out at the future.
Overheard at When Words Collide Writing Conference (Calgary):
“It’s strange just being at a writing conference. I kinda miss the Klingons wandering about.”
I am at a Writing conference that emerged from what was previously a Sci-fi and Fantasy writing conference. I have never before been around so many fantasy writers. They are quite an interesting crowd. How so? Well, I suspect most of them get the jokes on the Big Bang Theory. The Sci-Fi writers not only ‘get them’ they understand the physics and can critique it.
The fantasy writers can discuss the strategies to building religions, and crafting entire civilizations. They are experts at “building worlds.” To say they have imagination, is understatement.
In most crowds, I am one of the nerdiest people there. Around here, I am not even close. It is quite astonishing. I am thoroughly enjoying being with creative, intelligent, unique folks! I feel right at home. Here are writers, editors, and publishers who appreciate the skills and challenges, offer interesting perspectives, fun ideas. The banter and exploration is fascinating.
There is a lot of talent in this building! Talent that changes worlds with every stroke of their pens.
A token poem-
It doesn’t feel quite right
Not a Klingon in the room
But let the writers into light
They’ll draft some very soon.
Good night from Calgary, When Words Collide 2014!
Illuminated sky,
brazing forest surrounds us.
Pile life in the car
Ghostly rain of pine needles
That are powder at my touch.
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This month is the tenth anniversary of the Okanagan Mountain Fire. In 2003 this devastating fire surrounded the hills in Kelowna, led to the evacution of 27,000 people (including my parents). 239 buildings were destroyed. As we were evacuating my parents, ash was falling from the sky. When we looked into our boxes later, they had many grey pine needles in, but when I reached to pick them out, they dissolved.
Earlier this week, Diana Gabaldon dedicated her Daily Lines to me, and sent out to her 250,000 fans on Facebook and Twitter the message #ThisOnesForShawnLBird. I was just remembering another time when my heart was warmed to bursting by a dedication from someone I looked up to.
Once upon a time, when I was 15 or so, a boy I adored worked once a week as a Disc Jockey on a late night radio show in Calgary. Some nights, even though I lived 650 km away on the other side of the Rocky Mountains, I could listen to him on the skip that happens when meteorological conditions were good. One night I called him up to say I was listening, and he dedicated this song to me. I have the dedication on tape, and when I hear it, it still chokes me up! If you have fond memories of your first love, you may want to get out a handkerchief.
“This one goes all the way out to Kelowna, BC. This one’s for Shawn…”
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(I sing “Share this thought with me” as “You shared the start with me” Hmm. Either way!
How about you? Do you have fond memories of a very public dedication you received from someone special? Tell us about it!
Gentle jade waters
leap in frothy white tutus
and wear down mountains
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As I was driving to Calgary today over the Rockies, I passed all sorts of lovely waterfalls with the prettiest pale green water. As I drove along, of course I composed a poem!
Whitecaps roiling
Water boiling
Waves pitching
Whirlpools spinning
Pull out the spoon,
Sit down, drink up
the storm you’re stirring
in your cup.
Today
I know what is right
Today
I have seen weakness
Today
I have seen strength
Today
I have seen courage
Today
I have seen tenderness.
Today
I have seen evil
Today
I have seen good
Today
I have seen you
Today
You have seen me
Today
you know who I am
Today
I know who you are
Today
Amid your warlike screeches
I am nestled in peace.
Shawn L. Bird 