Joyce Ray's Blog, page 2

Yearling Deer

 Today I'd like to share a poem written by a poet friend who lost a long battle with cancer this year. Loisanne loved the natural world. She was a gifted teacher of children. Her sense of hope and gratitude while facing her illness head on was an inspiration to all who knew her. I regret that I cannot ask permission to post Loisanne's poem, but I feel her generous spirit would say yes. I am grateful for Loisanne.

YEARLING DEER

Little one, I would touch that tawny fur,
That velvet nose, still damp with dew.
Little one, I would watch you place those hooves
Daintly on forest path known just by you
And walk by your side in meadow mist
Little one, I would sleep curled next to ferns and you
Through heavy midday sun
And merge with you at dusk along the river
In you, I feel my heart beat fright, your one protector
In you I feel the need to run from creatures
Hungry for warm blood
Then go, and let me feel the thunder of those hooves
Separate us now.
                                       ~ Loisanne Foster


Joyce Ray photo
 Tanita has the Poetry Friday Roundup today at [fiction, instead of lies] where Gratitude is the word of the day. Tanita shares a delightful poem about earthworms and the work they do that makes life possible and her own sonnet "greasing the wheels," reminding us that a simple "Thank you" makes "the gears and cogs" of our lives run more smoothly. She also invites us to join in a New Year's Poetry Challenge. Thanks, Tanita.

Giving Thanks on Poetry Friday

Asian Rural Institute muralHappy Thanksgiving Poetry Friday Friends. I'm thankful for all of you and the gifts you share each week. The Roundup today is at Sloth Reads. Rebecca is celebrating Your Favorite National Food Day! Thank you, Rebecca.

It's "stick season" here in New Hampshire. Bare limbs are silhouetted today against gray skies. The only color is from evergreens, the rust colored beech leaves that hang on into winter, and red winterberries near swampy areas.

So in preparation for hibernation  mode, I've been working on a children's book abut the Asian Rural Institute in Japan where my husband and I volunteer. Today I'm sharing some haiku from a first draft. Rice harvest and sweet potato harvest are September celebration days at ARI. The big annual Harvest Thanksgiving Celebration is an annual event in mid-October.





golden rice bowsawaits the sicklecrows circle










sweet treasure
hiding in black soilOctober’s prize














song, dance, food, gamescelebrating the harvestwith thanksgiving



Haiku and photos copyright Joyce Ray

Cloister Ruins

Good morning, Poetry Friday! Laura Purdie Salas has the Roundup over at Writing the World for Kids. Thank you, Laura!
I may have posted this poem before. I thought I'd share it again in honor of Saint Hildegard as I prepare a virtual party to celebrate her Feast Day on September 17. I wrote it in 2002 after visiting the ruins of Disibodenberg, where she first became a nun. There's a link to the Facebook party below. I'll share Hildegard's poetry and music. There will be prizes! I'd love to see some of you there.
Ruins of Disibodenberg, Odernheim, Rheinland-Pfalz
CLOISTER RUINS
Seeds sprout in holy space untilbeech and oak arch over toppled stones.
Larks trill in a hilltop canopy where psalms once floated upward,and leafy hands now murmur prayers.
The stones, weighted with
longing whispered in secret, sink into the earth.Centuries ago they tumbled, like thunderrumbling through the Great Silence.
Ivy anchors their moss velvet faces.  Rose thorns ramble over crumbled gables.Helpless to shelter, the stones stand sentry, mute witnesses to divine desire.
Did you think wind, rain, the shifting of earth’s crustconspired to collapse these hallowed structures?
Know this - the human heart beats a hunger for its creatormore powerful than natural forces. Echoes of supplication saturate each stone. Ages of murmured ardor are stronger than gravity.
These stones are deaf now.Speak freely.                                © Joyce Ray

 https://www.facebook.com/events/524716134400829/

Saint Hildegard's Feast Day

Saint Hildegard wrote some wonderful poetry back in the 12th century. She wasn't a saint then, but the songs she composed for her monastic community show her love of language and her skill at using it.

O branch of freshest green,
O hail! Within the windy gusts of saints
upon a quest you swayed and sprouted forth.

2. When it was time, you blossomed in your boughs—
“Hail, hail!” you heard, for in you seeped the sunlight’s warmth
like balsam’s sweet perfume.

3. For in you bloomed
so beautiful a flow’r, whose fragrance wakened
all the spices from their dried-out stupor.

4. They all appeared in full viridity.


-from  ‘Song to the Virgin,’ “Symphonia,” Nathaniel M. Campbell, translator

You can read the entire song here and listen to a choral group singing a beautiful rendition of the entire song here.

This icon painted on wood was discovered in a tiny church  by a friend traveling in Tallinn, Estonia. Isn't it gorgeous? Then again, I have a thing for Hildegard!


I'll be sharing more of her words at a virtual party to celebrate Saint Hildegard's Feast Day on September 17. This is  new for me! I've participated in an virtual book launch party, but never hosted an online event before. Wish me luck!f you have the time, please check it out. Here's the Facebook invitation.
Please venture over to today's Roundup at Poetry for Children, where Sylvia and Janet share a poem for school read alouds and their excitement about the upcoming IBBY Regional Conference. See you there!

Cirku - Haiku in a Circle

Since my last post, I've been lurking for 8 months, dropping in now and again and occasionally commenting. Writing projects, traveling and just plain procrastination got in the way. Today I want to share that I recently learned there is a name for haiku written in a circle - Cirku. Poetry Friday friends who specialize in haiku probably already know this!


"Cirku - a haiku presented in a circular form, with gaps indicating lineation. You read the poem clockwise, usually beginning at about the one o’clock position. The reader is free, however, to start on any ‘line’. A true cirku will work, irrespective of which gap you begin reading it from. It is not easy to compose a good one!"   https://hailhaiku.wordpress.com/tag/circular-poem/
 My fiber artist friend, Susan, and I have been invited to facilitate art and writing on a small cruise ship next June in the Aegean Sea. I know, it's fabulous beyond words, and full disclosure - the tour organizer is my one of my amazing daughters! If you'd like to know more, feel free to contact me or visit Rowan Tree Travel. I hope this doesn't smack of shameless promotion, but it occurred to me that this trip might be of interest to makers of all stripes (I'm learning the 21st century term for creative people!) on Poetry Friday.

So Susan and I are practicing and playing! She painted these exquisite flowers of Greece, and I started writing Cirku. I love being inspired by Susan's art. She folded it in half and then again accordion style. Here it is standing on our deck railing in Maine with three Cirku on one side.



 

bright color riotyellow, orange, red petals-an island bouquet
luxuriant bloomsleaping from window boxesfor salt air embrace
bees and blossomswaking up to each other-honey makers


Susan and I have collaborated before, and this time we're going to have a ball creating a sample art journal. She has me writing shape poems in a Greek key design, and I think haibun and haiga are perfect forms for the many photo memories that will be made.

I'm happy to be posting again. Thank you, Kathryn Apel, for hosting. Now on to reading this week's poetry offerings!

LIGHT

Poetry Friday
© Joyce Ray

This year I had decided to celebrate my muse by producing something concrete with my poetry. Jone Rush MacCulloch planted the idea a couple of years back when she was my Winter Poem Swap partner. She sent the most beautiful desk calendar with her exquisite photos and poems that perfectly capture each image. I knew I wanted one of my own someday. So thank you to Jone for the inspiration!

This is one of my 2019 calendar pages. I took this photo at a Greek monastery - Byzantine, holy and still, yet I felt prayers and footsteps in the the ancient stones.

I am grateful for every writing partner in the Poetry Friday community. May we all be led by light in the new year.

Donna at Mainely Write has gathered more inspiration from everyone at the Roundup. Thank you, Donna!

Happy Haiku News

New mural at Asian Rural Institute, Japan by artist Iris BurbankI'm sharing happy haiku news for this week's Poetry Friday. My entry for Whole Life Soaps' haiku contest is one of the Honorable mentions! It was number 8 out of 500 entries. That makes me pretty excited. Here it is:

my skin, your skin
scrubbed into one people-
clean living

You can read the excellent Honorable Mentions, Runners up and Winning Haiku at Whole Life Soaps' Blog.

When I heard about this annual contest from Rattle Magazine just days before the deadline, I decided to give it a shot. The winning entry gets printed on a line of soap! Pretty cool. If you like to write haiku, keep your eye out for Whole Life Soap's annual contest next fall.

I wrote the poem while living in a multicultural environment in our volunteer assignment in Japan. I was introduced to this music video by Kwabena, one of the Asian Rural Institute's participants from Ghana. It's titled "Different Colours, One People" and is by Lucky Dube.  The idea of different skin, one people leaped into my writing process.

Linda has the Roundup over at Teacher Dance with a Rosemary Wells Giveaway!

Haiga

Poetry Friday is here and it's almost stick season in the northeast. Some leaves remained on their trees long enough for those of us who have been away to see some color this year, so I'm grateful for that. I'm also grateful for Jama who's hosting today's poems and their authors! Her posts are always gorgeous (and delicious), informative and inspiring.

Today's post is PASSIONATE about our responsibility to VOTE in Tuesday's election. Go read the poem by Judith Harris, enjoy the wonderful art, and get ready to cast your vote in the most important election of our lifetimes.

On Halloween,  my husband and I left Japan after two months volunteering at the Asian Rural Institute. We had been appointed as short term missionaries by Global Ministries. As we flew over Alaska in the middle of the night on our way home to vote, the view out my window was peaceful, almost ethereal. I was surprised at the words that emerged as I began to record this scene in a poem. Here is my haiga.

Photo and poem  Joyce Ray Copyright






right wing slicing throughstillness over moonlit clouds spurs at the ready

BRONTË PILGRIMAGE

Brontë Sisters - Bob Ray photoMY soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.  The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves, beneath them, are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.  I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!    ACTON (Acton Bell, pseudonym of Anne Brontë, December 1842. From Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell)  In May of 2017, I enjoyed a dream trip to the UK to pay homage to some of my favorite authors. Since Jane Eyre holds a special place in my heart (the only novel I re-read periodically), I set my sights on Yorkshire, England. From the moment we arrived at Haworth and looked up the steep main street, cobbled with pavers leading to the Brontë Parsonage at the top of the fell, I was in heaven.  
Thanks to the Brontë Society, the Brontë parsonage is essentially as it was when Patrick Brontë, a curate, brought his family there in 1820, except for a side addition added by a subsequent owner. The dark stone is the same as all the old Haworth  buildings, giving the town a sombre effect.

 Brontë ParsonageThe large dining table where Charlotte, Emily and Anne, under the pseudonyms of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell, penned and discussed their stories is strewn with manuscripts, inkwell, tea cups and sewing box.

Parsonage Parlor or Dining Room
Charlotte wrote in 1850: ‘We did not like to declare ourselves women, because we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice.’

They were forced to reveal their identities when there was a misconception that the author of Wuthering Heights was one in the same as the author of Jane Eyre.
Branwell, their brother who died young from alcohol and opium abuse, also wrote and painted. 2017 was the bicentenary of Branwell’s birth, celebrated at the Brontë’ Museum with an exhibit, “Mansions in the Sky.” Branwell’s writings and drawings were displayed with poems by Simon Armitage. Branwell painted this portrait of his sisters and included his self-portrait but later covered it over.  
Branwell's portrait of his sisters  I learned so much about this family and drank up every detail. The Brontë children were writers from a very early age. They created tiny manuscripts about their imaginary worlds featuring the Duke of Wellington and Branwell's toy soldiers. Two older sisters died very young from consumption, or tuberculosis. Emily and Anne also succumbed to TB. Charlotte, pregnant and married less than a year to her father's assistant curate, died in her prime.

Parsonage KitchenThe BBC documentary “To Walk Invisible” had been filmed in 2016. I recommend it highly for all Brontë fans. The period costumes worn by the actors were displayed throughout the house, which helped me imagine Charlotte, Emily or Anne just ready to don a bonnet for a walk on the moor. Charlotte’s actual shoes and dress are displayed in the Museum.

Charlotte's Shoes
Charlotte's Dress








    A storyteller guide gave a wonderful tour of the churchyard and area surrounding the Parsonage. He encouraged us to enter a local stationer’s in what was the Haworth post office during the Brontë’s time and say hello to the proprietor, Margaret. 
She is the great-great-great granddaughter of the Haworth postmaster during the Brontë era. We had a lovely chat. She showed us the huge drawer sectioned for individual stamps and the wide wooden counter where “the girls mailed their manuscripts.”  I caressed that well-worn counter and absorbed whatever it had to give. 
Me Writing Wuthering Heights!
There was a wonderful project going on during my visit. Since there is no original Wuthering Heights manuscript, visitors were invited to create one. I set aside my strong dislike of Heathcliff, and along with over 10,000 other visitors, wrote one sentence! The manuscript is now bound with the list of all who transcribed it and will be on display this year during Emily's bicentenary.    On the storyteller’s advice I bought a recent biography of this literary family, The Brontë’sby Juliet Barker. I am loving it and reliving my trip all over again. 
One of these days. I'm going to bake Moggy Cake,  (love the name!) a Yorkshire dessert which looks like gingerbread to me. First I have to locate some black treacle. I thought I might substitute molasses, but they say the taste is different. 


The visit to Haworth was a highlight of our literary tour, but the homes of other authors were inspirational, too. I’ll be sharing more of these. Meanwhile Anne Brontë’s bicentenary is in 2020, in case you’re interested!
Kiesha at Whispers from the Ridge has today's Poetry Friday Roundup.

 

BRONTË PILGRIMMAGE

Brontë Sisters - Bob Ray photoMY soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.  The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves, beneath them, are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.  I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!    ACTON (Acton Bell, pseudonym of Anne Brontë, December 1842. From Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell)  In May of 2017, I enjoyed a dream trip to the UK to pay homage to some of my favorite authors. Since Jane Eyre holds a special place in my heart (the only novel I re-read periodically), I set my sights on Yorkshire, England. From the moment we arrived at Haworth and looked up the steep main street, cobbled with pavers leading to the Brontë Parsonage at the top of the fell, I was in heaven.  
Thanks to the Brontë Society, the Brontë parsonage is essentially as it was when Patrick Brontë, a curate, brought his family there in 1820, except for a side addition added by a subsequent owner. The dark stone is the same as all the old Haworth  buildings, giving the town a sombre effect.

 Brontë ParsonageThe large dining table where Charlotte, Emily and Anne, under the pseudonyms of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell, penned and discussed their stories is strewn with manuscripts, inkwell, tea cups and sewing box.

Parsonage Parlor or Dining Room
Charlotte wrote in 1850: ‘We did not like to declare ourselves women, because we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice.’

They were forced to reveal their identities when there was a misconception that the author of Wuthering Heights was one in the same as the author of Jane Eyre.
Branwell, their brother who died young from alcohol and opium abuse, also wrote and painted. 2017 was the bicentenary of Branwell’s birth, celebrated at the Brontë’ Museum with an exhibit, “Mansions in the Sky.” Branwell’s writings and drawings were displayed with poems by Simon Armitage. Branwell painted this portrait of his sisters and included his self-portrait but later covered it over.  
Branwell's portrait of his sisters  I learned so much about this family and drank up every detail. The Brontë children were writers from a very early age. They created tiny manuscripts about their imaginary worlds featuring the Duke of Wellington and Branwell's toy soldiers. Two older sisters died very young from consumption, or tuberculosis. Emily and Anne also succumbed to TB. Charlotte, pregnant and married less than a year to her father's assistant curate, died in her prime.

Parsonage KitchenThe BBC documentary “To Walk Invisible” had been filmed in 2016. I recommend it highly for all Brontë fans. The period costumes worn by the actors were displayed throughout the house, which helped me imagine Charlotte, Emily or Anne just ready to don a bonnet for a walk on the moor. Charlotte’s actual shoes and dress are displayed in the Museum.

Charlotte's Shoes
Charlotte's Dress








    A storyteller guide gave a wonderful tour of the churchyard and area surrounding the Parsonage. He encouraged us to enter a local stationer’s in what was the Haworth post office during the Brontë’s time and say hello to the proprietor, Margaret. 
She is the great-great-great granddaughter of the Haworth postmaster during the Brontë era. We had a lovely chat. She showed us the huge drawer sectioned for individual stamps and the wide wooden counter where “the girls mailed their manuscripts.”  I caressed that well-worn counter and absorbed whatever it had to give. 
Me Writing Wuthering Heights!
There was a wonderful project going on during my visit. Since there is no original Wuthering Heights manuscript, visitors were invited to create one. I set aside my strong dislike of Heathcliff, and along with over 10,000 other visitors, wrote one sentence! The manuscript is now bound with the list of all who transcribed it and will be on display this year during Emily's bicentenary.    On the storyteller’s advice I bought a recent biography of this literary family, The Brontë’sby Juliet Barker. I am loving it and reliving my trip all over again. 
One of these days. I'm going to bake Moggy Cake,  (love the name!) a Yorkshire dessert which looks like gingerbread to me. First I have to locate some black treacle. I thought I might substitute molasses, but they say the taste is different. 


The visit to Haworth was a highlight of our literary tour, but the homes of other authors were inspirational, too. I’ll be sharing more of these. Meanwhile Anne Brontë’s bicentenary is in 2020, in case you’re interested!
Kiesha at Whispers from the Ridge has today's Poetry Friday Roundup.