Vanessa Shields's Blog, page 54

Lagoon #morningcoffeesessions

When I see the word lagoon

my mind feels embraced by the double Os

grateful my thoughts get two tunnels of

OOOO in which to dive

When I see the word lagoon

my skin feels electric

vibrating with slick samphire

rambunctious reed catty cattail

opening like thighs to brief

interludes of sunshine

a revelation of mysteries

daring to be solved

When I see the word lagoon

my ear tops twitch in anticipation

of what curious sounds will unfold

in the thick delicious air a

hidden realm releases

When I see the word lagoon

I dip my painted toes in the white

feathery folds of a hissing swan

her grace on the murky pond

a lesson in movement – monumental

When I see the word lagoon

I lean my hip on the mossy stump of

a felled white willow protruding

through a bouquet of smirking sedgewort

siberian statice – stoic

sea turtles winking as they

swim in the shadows

When I see the word lagoon

I sway my eyes across a magical space

all fairytale and parable and allegory

all skipping songs and hand-clap tunes

too real to be real for my fading

childhood freedoms

When I see the word lagoon

I accept that my mermaid past

has made many stops in the

blue-green love stories that are

tucked in the muted orange-browns

of the raised moles under my left breast

above my heart

like an X on a

treasure

map

That is all for today. Peace.

Two Poems #morningcoffeesessions

Anti-Ode to Allergies

Inspired by ‘Ode to Common Things’ by Pablo Neruda

The infinitely small

play leap frog in my nose

resulting in a land of itch

Two pinky moist nostrils

landing strips for pesky pollen

I cannot see or smell

The so soft softness of

dandelion fluff flutters

about on tangents of

adventures on a quest

for my eyes – my lashes

gathering forests

broken blossoms that

make my eyeballs

rage with rub me

Oh, these days of whispering

willow whirls conspiring with

weed whimsy wails –

‘Tis the season of allergy atonements

my eyes my nose my tongue my throat

battlegrounds throbbing under

scratched up skin

Oh, allergy season!

Masked beneath brilliant sun

basking moon and skies

so blue they make birds scream

Your costume of summer is a

tricky ruse – theatrics

Shakespearean in the

tragedies of my inflamed body

Oh, allergy season!

You saucy fox!

Go back into your hole!

Hibernate amongst the

thirsty roots and cicada cocoons

Give my face rest!

Summer is a treasure in golds

A scattering of spring’s things

pushed skyward – lift them

up up up and away

Oh, wind, oh wild, wild wind!

Carry off these remnants

wreaking havoc on my senses.

Farewell season of allergies –

Away! Away! Away!

A Writer’s What Ifs

What if I wrote one story at a time?

What if I taught myself how to focus

on one set of poems

one group of characters

at a time. What if I

stayed with them until their stories

were completely told?

What if I dedicated the same hours

each day to delivering the words

kindly gently powerfully to the page?

What if discipline wasn’t a bumpy path

but a paved road bathed in sunlight?

What if I was the kind of writer who

finished one project at a time?

And finishing garnered a minor celebration

maybe a slice of pie and a cup of tea

before heading into the hilly land of revisions?

What if the words were always priority

silver-plattered ahead of everything except

illness, births and deaths?

What if when the story was finished

revised with reds edited with enthusiasm

a bell would ring in my throat and I’d know

it was time to send it into the world?

What if I wasn’t afraid to submit?

What if I wasn’t wounded by rejection?

What if I always re-submitted instead of giving up?

What if I got an agent?

What if I got a book deal?

What if I got film rights and the characters got

another life on the big screen?

What if through all these types of

successes and failures – I kept writing?

I kept dedicating the same hours each day

to delivering the words kindly gently powerfully

to the page?

What if I taught myself how to stop

comparing words and I just loved them?

What if each day opened like a book and

I trusted the inky shapes of fine letters and

the peaceful tradition of time flowing and

I wrote what I wrote when I wrote it?

And I loved each necessary letter even

If it got edited out?

What if I ate pie and sipped tea

whenever I so desired?

What if ‘what if’ didn’t matter?

The words always lived

Inside and out

of me

A writer.

These days are steeped in grief. Poems comes and go like memories. My pauses in sharing…in communication…in community…the only way I know how to navigate. There is much to witness and so I am witnessing. Holding. Finding respite in privacy.

Be kind. Be peaceful.

bodies of water #morningcoffeesessions

bodies of water

you ask about the body of water I love

I drift to Lake Erie – her rippled bottom sprouting seaweed hair in silky clumps

the way i become mermaid writhing in her rolling belly

there are the two oceans Pacific and Atlantic – each a sassy crone who tumbled

me under her lashing tongue     stole my sunglasses

there is the Okanagan river without a name – black and steady shy maiden

content with anonymity     I swam alone in her thighs but didn’t feel lonely

the mountains watched us frolic

water is easy to love

and then my skin 75% water gurgles what about?

my brain 85% water gushes you’re forgetting…

my heart 80% water waves your body!

I remember this body is a body of water

I move in her every waking moment

in sleep she brings in tides of dreams

that water knows me – how to protect regulate cushion

even as I act impervious is surely an indication of devotion

I am in the least 50% water at all times

should I not then naturally embrace gliding?

my bones 25% water – flotation devices nuzzling skin

and what of my River Vulva – current of moving waters

mouth expanding and releasing into pleasure pools?

how can I forget my own Lake Superior?

how melted coldness laps between

my shadowy terrains and shifting ridges?

what about the phenomenon of in the water?

fully immersed –

the pressure on my throat as air traps

the way my ears become beacons

widen to the interiors of earth’s vibrations

how fear slithers away searching for her school

this home between sky and land holds me

is responsible for my soul’s education

breathless I feel more alive – in the water

not under except maybe…under her spell

these bodies that my body can go in

these waters are easy to love

yet – this body

the body of water I live in

why is it so difficult to love?

Thank you Chris at Firefly Creative Writing. I’m loving these #morningcoffeesessions.

If you’re noticing that some of my posts are disappearing…it’s because I’m pulling them so I can submit the poetry that’s within…if you’re not noticing, that’s fine too!

Monday. Another. This week Jett graduations from elementary school. He shared the valedictorian speech with a schoolmate. We look forward to watching the graduation video on Wednesday. Congratulations to all those graduating!

Peace and love to all.

it’s okay #morningcoffeesessions

it’s okay

these days I’ve been noticing

sometimes I don’t want to notice anything

I want to be the characters (even the bad ones)

in the books I read

I want to be the characters (even the bad ones)

in the shows I watch

bad vs. good

right vs. wrong

they vs. us

are the honey badgers of our time

relentless

exhausting

necessary

these days I’ve been noticing

my thoughts are natural disasters

tsunamis of grief

brain quakes of unknowing

mud slides of madness

forest fires fuelled by my own rage

these days I’ve been noticing

I am a fox

I love my fox family

in our fox family hole

the stories outside of our fox hole

are scary and dangerous

narrated by a soothing voice without a body

that wraps me up in a blanket of stay home

a swaddle that renders me immoveable

these days I’ve been noticing

my ability to focus is a flea in a jar

frenetic

banging its head on the lid enough times to adapt

to the confines then jumping – manifesting

small-spaced action

forgetting where it was before

oblivious to where it could be

stuck in the spaces of glass walls

playing with freedom

these days I’m noticing

writing with ink-pen in my hand

is the only way I can feel my self

body bewildered

brain full

skin ashamed

mouth hesitant

heart anxious

soul weeping an ocean of change

transformation happens on the page

contemplation crosses ts

subtext drools from

soft edges of my eyes

I barely understand it

I notice that this is okay

(probably)

okay

This poem was created from the prompt: These days I’ve been noticing…from Firefly Creative Writing #morningcoffeesessions. I wrote in on Wednesday morning.

Anyone can join these writing sessions. That means you.

Today’s poem is too close to home to share…but here’s a nibble…

you have everything you need to let us go…life constantly regenerates….

…otherwise my mind is already working on the next writing project…

Be kind. Be compassionate. Offer peace into the world.

Videos & Lives! Creativity Abounds!

Here is a smattering of events and videos for your perusal. Some are time-sensitive.

Tomorrow, Friday, June 12 is the last day to vote for awards for Windsor’s first Youth Short Film Festival (Thank you Gemma and the City of Windsor ACHF grant!) filmmakers!

The voting link is right underneath the video in the text box (you may have to hit ‘show more’ to see the voting link!). Our Jett is a contender with his first film ‘Time Record’! Thank you for voting and supporting the arts!

LINK TO YOUTUBE

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A bunch of amazing poetry on nature and environmentalism will be read LIVE on Instagram tomorrow evening starting at 8pm as part of the Grown Lady Garments poetry e-zine poetry event (another great grant recipient, Alley Biniarz, brought this to life as part of the City of Windsor’s ACHF COVID-relief arts grants!). Please tune in on Instagram at @abeaans. I will be reading at around 8:25pm…as well as many other fantastic poets!

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I’ve written a review for a forthcoming collection of poetry by Frank Watson entitled The Dark, Soft Earth (Plum White Press, 2020).

Read the review here at PoetryNook

I was introduced to poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer during Firefly Creative Writing’s #morningcoffeesessions. Her poetry is bursting my heart with its poignant, powerful, provocative voice that holds up a mirror to our world. You can get her poetry in your inbox everyday if you subscribe.

I created a video that describes my creative process since I was not able to be physically in a classroom at the University of Windsor for the class ‘The Creative Process’. Thanks to Barry Brodie for continuing to invite me to share my creative process with his students! And, thanks for challenging me to make a video…It was an interesting ride! And…now I have a video I can share with you about how my brain works when it comes to writing. It’s pretty long (21 minutes), so maybe save it for when you have some time to watch it…It’s always an illuminating experience answering the question: what is your creative process?

WATCH THE VIDEO NOW – CLICK HERE

Thank you for watching!

I hope everyone is continuing to be creative, be kind, be peace-full.

Awake #morningcoffeesessions

awake

w/ first line from ‘singularity (after Stephen Hawking)’ by Marie Howe

do you sometimes want to wake up to

lightning so stunning

it writes words across the sky

thunder so throbbing

it serenades a love song

rain so walled

it makes rooms for you

to hide in

do you sometimes want to wake up to

the shuddering waves of

an oceanic orgasm

pleasure so rich you make

new stars when you exhale

the folds of your garden

swelling into mountains

so you sometimes want to wake up to

a hungry haiku

wrapping its quiet ode

around your heart

with tree roots and

amphibian choruses

letters curly-cueing

into your veins

do you sometimes want to wake up to

one broken-fingered

scrape-soaked hand

hanging you off a cliff

your skin drenched in

worry and fear

your leg fractured

your thigh punctured

then you

just let go

do you sometimes want to wake up to

joy – volcano-ing out of your

eye sockets

blink

then go back to sleep

do you sometimes want to wake up to

everything you believe is good is good

everyone you love is alive and

loves you back

people are all pages

in a book we write together

we read together

everyone reads

everyone writes

there is no more sleep

because dreaming happens

in the dazzlings nows

constantly

like clouds

translucidus cirrostratus

as long as we still are

we are always awakening

these days…a slow goodbye to coffee…drips sweats from gardening…refreshing swims…zombies…grieving…filling pages in journals…inability to focus…bewilderment…hope…prayers

I am reading The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Gifted to me for my birthday…Thank you, Charis! It is breathtaking. I read until the wee hours of the morning…my eyeballs drying up.

Morning coffee session writes are still going strong. Join us HERE.

Be kind. Be compassionate. Be well.

Time Record – Official Selection & Vote

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Jett’s first-ever short film that he made is an ‘official selection’ in Windsor’s first Youth Short Film festival created and organized by local filmmaker Gemma Cunial. Gemma’s great idea and plan for this festival was recognized by winning one of the the City of Windsor’ Arts, Culture and Heritage Fund special COVID-19 art relief grants earlier this month.

Jett wrote, directed, shot and acted in his short time he titled: Time Record. (Yours truly plays ‘the mom’. #oscarworthy)

In any case, the film was ‘officially selected’ as one of top films and now we need a smidge of your time to screen to the films and vote on your favourites. Jett’s film is among a group of unique and creative short films made by the youth in our great city. Celebrate the kids, shall we?!

[image error]Jett working on a shot while sister Miller makes a classic funny face. Miller was our sound tech! #familyaffair

How it works:

Screen (watch) the official selection of short films.
Vote for films to receive various awards such as Best Picture, Best Cast, and Best Rookie Film.

LINKS

TO SCREEN THE FILMS CLICK HERE

TO CAST YOUR VOTES CLICK HERE

SCREENING & VOTING DATES JUNE 5 – JUNE 12

Thank you for your time and voting! Congratulations to all the young filmmakers! And thank you to Gemma, her team, and the City of Windsor for making this possible!

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Inspiration Box – Video, yo.

Thanks to the Windsor Public Library’s ArtWorks presents program, I give you a video that I made about how to make an inspiration box! It’s about 20 minutes long but takes you from what you’ll to start to completing a fun box of fun things to inspire your creativity. Feel free to share the link…All supplies you’ll already have at home! Happy creating!

Thank you Windsor Public Library for the opportunity!

Cake #morningcoffeesessions

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This morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed. But, the Firefly Creative Writing #morningcoffeesessions motivated me to get my a%$ out of bed, get dressed, and get writing. (Nope, didn’t brush my teeth. Yet.)

This came first:

on the edges of my mother’s words

a different version of her hangs on

and then…nothing. Nada. Niente.

I waited. Wrote: “I got nothin’.” in my journal…

Waited some more. And then…cake.

Cake

What is the reason for this morning’s gloom?

The sky is overcast – could that be it?

Could that be all it takes?

A shift in brightness in the swath of colour

on the daily dome I look up to?

Could be…could be.

Could be I’m ready for cake now but

it won’t be here until tomorrow?

Perhaps it’s knowing that fourteen

years ago my water broke and a

gruelling labour unleashed on my body?

Or that forty-two is what I’ll answer

when you ask me how old I am?

It’s a lie. I’m really only ten.

On the inside…

Part of me is in Lake Erie

on a raft enjoying a slow float,

worry buried in the cool sand like a body.

I want to hug my mother.

And the ferns!

The ferns are bursting!

Fronds flapping in the morning wind whoosh,

taking the heat like champions.

Medusa-blades startling green –

How can this plant not lift my hiding spirit?

My breath is coffee and chaotic dreams.

My tongue still holds onto yesterday.

Yes, cake.

Cake would be perfect right now.

And then…a list of how amazing yesterday was! I wrote down all the things I accomplished. I filled a page with proof that I can build a day by doing numerous things I love with the people I love. Yesterday was one of those pretty perfect days. I planted. I read. I wrote. I edited. I ate. I watched a rom-com. I mean, it was filled to its brim with joy.

I wonder…why can’t we carry over our joys from the previous day naturally? As in, why can’t my body remember how good it felt yesterday when it snaps awake in a new today? I consider how easily grief, anger, fear – the darks, if you will – carries over. It feels more natural to awake feeling gripped by a shadow than by a beam of light. Why is that? Perhaps that is the state of my natural waking tendencies? There’s a choice to be made, isn’t there? Lift off the bed in a shadow or in a beam of light?

Sometimes, the choice is easily made. I choose the shadow and flop through the day…letting time and action help me release its grip. I choose the beam of light and skip through the day, grateful for time and all the joyful things I can do.

But for me, there’s definitely a practice…a habit that wants to form around choosing the beam of light. I hope that it can be a natural tendency to see the light and choose it easily.

Now that I’ve been up for nearly two hours. Now that I’ve written and reflected…I choose the beam of light.

Big love. Be kind. Be safe.

The Field #morningcoffeesessions

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The Field

the field knows me

keeps coming to my mind

like the wind’s mouth

slightly parted

exhaling the delicacies of the past

inhaling the electricity of time

the field is permanent

the mole under my left breast

the inflammation in my finger joints

let’s recall the land

the land that held the field

thick grasses

steady weeds

a wideness

when every place else

was clutched in a fist

the field was there and I never went in it

I never heard its calming whispers

I never saw its open arms – polygonum aviculare

its rooted hands – plantago lanceolata

buckhorn and knotweed – waiting

but here it is

a vivid space in the rugged landscape of my past

compelling me to remember

the field knows me

the wealth of extensions

plantago major

oxalis stricta

calamagrostis x acutiflora

miscanthus sinensis strictus

panicum vergatum

family members gathering to protect

grounded in witness

this field loves me

holds my maiden

sways my woman

will howl with my crone

imagine! that kind of love…

At today’s #morningcoffeesessions (Firefly Creative Writing), we were prompted about our relationship with the land. What a divine path to travel down…I will write more on this topic…Thank you Chris!

Today the land around me is wet, taking in more rain. I’ve never seen the grass so green. The trees so fat with leaves. Nature is reviving before my eyes. I will admit that I leaves on trees are some of my favourite things. I look at the sky a lot and seeing it held up with a collar of vibrant, plump tree tops…takes my breath away.

How do trees make you feel?

It’s Friday. Things are beginning to shift inside the sac that is a pandemic. I’m feeling…uncomfortable at times…worried…cautious…unsure. Kinda how I felt at the beginning of this experience…but a different shade of it. I am reminded to breathe and focus on gratitude by a strong woman. I am compelled to laugh by my daughter. Each morning begins with a long embrace with my husband. There is much to be grateful for.

The new moon rises to its place today at 5:40pm. If you remember…send out some intentions guided by the words ‘I know’…

Be kind. Be grateful. Laugh.