I weep
for the fools who believe lies and hand power
to the deceivers, whose actions cry, “Destroy
me, please! Give
me, me, me what you promise!”
and then blame those
who try to keep giants from grinding fools into the ground,
while fools bless them for the feet
upon their heads.
Your pain bursts out the barrel of a gun
punches holes through community
explodes small town security.
Neutrality’s a liar.
And in world news:
Notre-Dame Cathedral is on fire.
.
My own photo, detail around the main entrance of Notre-Dame. Paris, 2011.
My own photo. Notre-Dame tower details. Paris. 2010
A poem should stand on its own merits, but I feel like a bit of clarification this time. There was a shooting in my small, Canadian town yesterday. Two people were shot in their church; one died. Our community has been reeling from this shock, and now another tragedy. The loss of life. The loss of a building. Can you compare the two?
I toss.
You race.
You leap.
You flip.
You pant.
You return
on a joy-fueled frenzy
for the fun of the chase.
To vicariously share your bliss,
I toss.
.
.
(Just in from a supremely athletic game of fetch- with a Chuckit Flying Squirrel. Now a happily exhausted poodle is at my feet. I once saw a Ziggy cartoon that said he just wanted to go to dog heaven and toss balls for eternity. I sometimes feel like that is already my prime raison d’etre according to Kiltti! How about you? Do you play a lot of fetch?).
Year after year
smiling faces under glass.
So many smiles only a whisper of memory:
oh yes. I remember that one
and that one
and that.
But so many others
slipped out of mind,
phantoms who haunted our rooms.
Are they still hovering ghosts
watching life happening around them
or are they finally
corporeal?
Be tangled in the words.
Weave yourself ability.
Knit a world.
Unravel negativity.
Crochet characters uncurled
Stitch together possibilities.
Wind yourself in words.
You can’t think yourself out of a writing block.
You have to write yourself out of a thinking block.
~ John Rogers
Here is the true thing, my children.
It is dark outside.
There are beasts with teeth and claws,
prepared to rip and tear you into tiny bits.
Oh, yes, my children,
it is dark outside.
You must beware.
.
But come, my children,
here is another true thing.
There is light outside.
It glows from windows and from hearts;
it pulls what’s apart, together, wrapping gleaming strands
of hope, that shimmer if you look just so.
See?
There in your heart: a star!
Dare, my children, to shine.
It is dark outside.
You must
Be light.
She hasn’t published the obituary, because
what will she say when they approach her
at the mall with their condolences that will
break her into dripping pieces? But if she doesn’t
will they ask how her mother is? Will she have
to break the news and shatter them with awkwardness
instead, then answer questions about why, when it was weeks ago?
Is she keeping death a secret,
to ponder in her heart? Many things are mysteries.
Grief makes some a blanket to hide in.
It makes others a sea to sail on.
She hides at home, and lives the obituary
in silent, private grief.
I was sad to hear the news that brilliant and prolific Canadian poet, Patrick Lane passed away this morning, just shy of his 80th birthday. I was absolutely blessed to have an opportunity to study with Patrick at the Honeymoon Bay Poetry Retreat in 2017. Such powerful mentorship from a man who had astonishing poetic insight. What a loss to the Canadian literary community.
Just yesterday after spotting the first robin of the year, I was telling a student about my time at the retreat, lying on the ground trying to hear the worms the robin heard.
When Liz McNalley, organizer of the retreat, sent word this morning, she included this poem of Patrick’s and so I will share it with you, as well.
The Beauty
This too, the beauty
Of the antelope in snow
Is it enough to say we will
Imagine this and nothing more?
Who understands that, failing
Falters at the song.
But still we sing.
That is beauty.
But it is not an answer
Any more than the antelope
Most slender of beasts
Most beautiful
Will tell us why they go
Going nowhere
And going there
Perfectly in the snow.
It was a snowy day today. Rest in Peace, Patrick. Much love to Lorna Crozier and all those grieving our nation’s loss today.
PS. If you don’t already have a copy of The Collected Works of Patrick Lane, I highly recommend it. It is full of treasures.
.
(Note that I’m an Amazon Affiliate, so if you buy from that link, I earn a bit for the referral)
I received an ARC of this book from Netgalley.
I have read all of Carol Mason’s books, so I was delighted to have the opportunity to review this book which is scheduled for release the end of March 2019.
Carol writes “Women’s Fiction.” In other words, stories about women’s lives, beyond a basic romance story. In Shadow Between Us, she explores her deepest fear. What if the worst thing you can imagine happened to you? How would you cope?
Protagonist Olivia copes by abandoning husband and home in Seattle and holing up in the charming port town of Port Townsend, WA, where she meets a young veteran maimed in Afghanistan. I was glued to the e-reader working out the clues. What has happened? Why has Olivia left her husband? Will they get back together? Why isn’t her daughter talking to her? Will she stay in Port Townsend?
So much mystery! So much tension!
No spoilers here. Let’s just say, I didn’t see it coming, which is always great. It was a thoroughly enjoyable read.
I am an Amazon Affiliate, so if you buy from that link, I get a commission.
Shawn L. Bird 