Vanessa Shields's Blog, page 55

Brother [electric]

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Brother [electric]

the smell of people lingers on the things they give away.

walk in any second-hand store and your nose will tell you so.

at the salvation army, the scent of loss is strong.

[loss of life | loss of love | loss of home]

it smells like tired dust, mourning mold, the sweat of unfinished business.

thoughts of how we name things fill my mind as I snail around the clusters of

[other people’s things].

salvation

army

second

hand

consider an army created for the unwanted – a flurry of open arms and empty, ill-lit rooms for things undone but not garbage.

consider a thing’s first handed-ness – crisp collar | shiny spoon | lucky lamp shade.

[salvation for things to re-live]

i begin to feel uncomfortable.

items are dirty | broken reaching for end-of-table suicide.

quick, small breaths bring me to focus.

i am looking for a shelf.

i steer toward the back of the space where the furniture leans lazily against the paint-chipped wall like discarded damsels.

i see several shelves.

but my eyes take a left and settle on a black case.

a fat cord hangs out an unclosed edge like a corpse finger.

curiosity engaged, i go to this mysterious misfit and lift the lid.

inside a Brother Electric profile 12 typewriter.

complete with birth certificate instructions, ribbon, the scent of oil and need.

on a browning piece of masking tape: IT WORKS.

a promise. my fingertips tingle.

there is no price tag, of course. i’m buying this dreamy dinosaur.

i slightly pull a muscle in my neck as i lift it to the counter to pay.

[what shelf?]

the ghosts of this Brother [electric] have attached to my marrow.

magicians, all of them.

This day. Gosh, so gorgeous. The birds. The bees. The trees. Miller’s laughter. Pages’ smile. Oscar’s smile. Jett’s jokes. The hubby reaching for my hand after dinner. So. Much. Love.

Tonight…it’s reading poetry…watching a movie set in Italy because that’s where my soul is dreaming it could be.

#morningcoffeesessions – Still continuing…! At Firefly Creative Writing.

Be kind. Be gentle. Spread love.

Dream, Book, Moon

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I just googled ‘bats’ thinking I’d put an image of a bat here because I had wild dreams about bats last week. As soon as I saw a photo of a bat in flight, it occurred to me that bats are a hot subject these days. That it is from a bat, some say, that this coronavirus came. Huh.

Doesn’t negate the fact that I had a wild dream about bats. I was in my bedroom (or a room that kinda resembled my actual bedroom, but it was bigger) and all of a sudden hundreds of tiny bats flew out of the walls and all around the ceiling then out the windows. A few of them caught in my hair but were able to disconnect and fly away. The bats were very small – each could fit in the palm of my hand. I wasn’t scared of the bats per se, but of their speed and the sheer amount of them. It all happened very quickly, and soon all the bats were gone and I was left out of breath and wondering what the heck just happened.

I looked up the animal totem significance of bats. Bats as animal totems signify major life changes. Often misunderstood as scary, night creatures, they are, in fact, kind and cuddly (with each other, I assume!). And, they are perceptive which extends into their spiritual meaning realm too. Bats as totem animals suggest that one who connects with a bat totem is very perceptive.

My dreams are a wild landscape. A new recurring dream has me on a beautiful university campus. It’s big and there’s only one building where the food is. I’m late for a class, but I’m super hungry so I need to eat first. There is only one entrance into the cafeteria building. In front of the door, is a huge piece of lawn and it is covered in poop. A group of people stand beside the building watching those of us crazy enough to walk through the dump to get in the door. A guy ahead of me thinks he’ll run through it, slips and lands in it. The people watching laugh. I sneak in…miraculously when I get inside, my shoes are clean. The poop is gone. The inside of the cafeteria looks like a food court in a 1980s mall. There are maybe five food places, all offering different ethnic food. I’m so hungry…but I have to look at the food before I decide. Nothing looks right. I settle on the greek food kiosk. There are two older women with big hair in black nets, and red lipstick on their scowling mouths. They don’t speak English. I point at a gyro and some lettuce, hoping they’ll decipher that I want a greek salad with gyro meat on it. They don’t…but they fondle the food with knives and tongs and reveal that the meat is rotten…everything is rotten. I tell them no…and back away. They don’t understand. Then I wake up.

John Krasinski continues to make his way into different dreams at different points in the dream. The latest was that I met up with (she was on The Office with John). We were friends. John came up to her/us. She suddenly had to go…and told John to hang with me. He obliged. Our attraction was instant and fierce. The rest of the dream is…ahem…well, my secret.

Bats. Poop. Food. John. My dream life is nearly as full as my waking life. Apparently, many people are having wild dreams since the pandemic started. It’s a legit ‘happening’ – at least that’s what the segment host on Sunday Morning said. You know it’s legit if they’re doing a segment about it on Sunday Morning.

I’m still writing in my journal nearly every day…sometimes twice in one day. It’s keeping me able to breathe…able to think…able to get through the myriad of emotions I feel every day.

I’ve also been pulling oracle and moon cards. And praying. I believe that faith is seeing an increase too. Or in the least, check-ins when we need somewhere/something to surrender our fears to.

Getting back to the bats though, I’ve been thinking very much about transitions and change. Certainly, on a global scale, things are changing massively. It’s debatable how/why and what outcomes of the change(s) may be. No matter…big change can come from the collective of small changes, and this is where my heart has been roaming.

As a small business owner (which I feel weird calling myself, but it’s true. Also, I’m married to a small business owner…), I’ve been faced with some new feelings about ‘transition’. So, I’m doing lots of writing and dreaming about what this difference in ‘work’ means…how it looked ‘before’, how it looks and feels ‘now’, and what it might look like in the ‘future’. This is keeping my head and heart busy working together.

I finished reading ‘Untamed’ by Glennon Doyle . Her name came up several times before I purchased her book (thanks Biblioasis!) so I took it as a sign to read her words. It was a fast, interesting read.

I’m still reading ‘The Overstory’ by Richard Power. I’m sooo close to the climax but I’m scared of how the story will end…and so I’m avoiding finishing it. The same is true for Miriam Toews’ new novel ‘Women Talking‘. The subject matter makes me want to throw up. Really, I got dizzy and nauseated the last time I was reading it. So, I’m putting it down for now. It’s like my fears of unknowing how things will end is reaching into my reading life. I don’t know how else to explain these fears of finishing.

Last night I started reading a YA romance. Super cheesy, but easy and a nice place to settle into before I fall asleep.

The New Moon comes on the 22nd. I’ve been following the moon more too. It’s another way for me to pay attention to my energy…the planet’s energy…and find calm, loving ways to wade through the sludge that is this bizarre time.

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I was an actress over the long weekend. Indeed! I played a lead role in Jett’s short film! I played…wait for it…The Mother! It was a lot of fun working with Jett; watching him create and make directorial decisions. What an exciting experience. I had to memorize lines and rehearse. We laughed a lot. Big laughs. I can’t help but feel Jett’s creative soul growing right in front of me. It’s extraordinary…and I can feel that his passion for films will lead him down an amazing path. No, I don’t want him to ever leave us! But…he will. And we’ll manage what happens to our hearts as his life unfolds!

Oh look! The sun is shining brightly! Yay! Gonna go make dinner…

Peace, friends.

Be kind. Be safe.

Woo! Woo! For The Woo-Woo – Interview with Lindsay Wong

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Meet writer Lindsay Wong. I’ve spent hours with Lindsay and her unbelievable, heart-felt, soul-full words – that is, reading her 316-page memoir entitled The Woo Woo How I Survived Ice Hockey, Drug Raids, Demons, and My Crazy Chinese Family (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2018). Memoirists are high up on my ‘amazing people’ list, if you must know. It’s one thing to experience a life unique, it’s a whole other thing to write about it. All writers are brave, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a special path a memoirist travels down that is extraordinary. Memoirists hold mirrors up to themselves – reflections travel back in time, galavant in the present, and shake a fist to the future.

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It was not easy to read about Lindsay’s childhood or her teen years…her life story is powerful and heartbreaking, but her courage lights up each page, and I felt it carry me forward as I read. I’ve had her book on shelf for nearly two years…and like all magical books do, it called to me when this strange isolation began. I hope you’re paying attention to the magic on your bookshelves…

I tagged Lindsay in a social media post, and bless her heart, she responded. We had some back and forth communication, and she agreed to let me send her some questions for an email interview. THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

Full disclosure here: prior to tagging her, I totally googled her and watched her in several television interviews. I was happy to learn more about her, see her, hear her voice…as I’d been able to so intimately learn about her through her memoir. It was cool to put a face and voice to the face and voice I’d created in my head. And so, I hope you enjoy the Q & A! I hope you appreciate her wit and wisdom as much as I do! And, I hope you’re compelled to buy her book, read it, write a few words on Goodreads or Amazon or on your socials.

Oh, and be sure to eat cake at some point while you read her memoir.

Tom Cruise #morningcoffeesessions

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Turns out I’ve still got a dream to meet Tom Cruise. Don’t laugh! We must all have someone who’s famous that we want to meet – and the want is a little deeper than usual. For some reason, when prompted to use words that writers loved and shared via chat, visions of Tom whirled in my head like giddy child laughter. The words, so you know, were: magnolia, luminous, erotic, potential, tower, and muffin. Perhaps it was the word magnolia that pulled up images of Tom in the role a lifetime – enter Frank ‘T.J’ Mackey in my movie mind. I’m not going to read too much more into this. The words ignited a poem, as they do. *Note* There are some vulgarities in the poem.

Tom Cruise with long greasy hair

pulled back in a half pony

ten o’clock shadow ripening on his face

that silly microphone like the ones

desperate 1990s female pop stars wore

straddling his sweaty cheek

ironic? maybe

Tom Cruise with muscles popping

spotlight on his wild-eyed plea for men

to ‘respect the cock’ – a veritable

rooster rage for damaged dudes

Tom Cruise blooming blissfully inside a magnolia

poisonous beauty unleashing a character

I’d not seen in his garden before

my feminist tower toppled

my muffin a luminous furnace

the erotic exposure of Cruise as

masterful masculine mother fucker

delicious degrading demi-god

ego engorged excrement

it was outstanding

Tom Cruise out of the sky slapping his hands

on a hotel conference room fake stage

who knew he had such potential?

then in luscious character arc

sob-weeping at the side of his

dying father’s bed – vicious vulnerability

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Tom Cruise with a beer-belly

Tom Cruise with fat hands

Tom Cruise with balding scalp

Tom Cruise in a wheelchair

Tom Cruise in a race car

Tom Cruise breaking bones and

high-falutin scientology leadership

Tom Cruise jumping on a couch

Tom Cruise running and running and running

He had me at ‘we were inverted’

(okay, before that even)

Tom Cruise in the making-of documentary

for Vanilla Sky – awkward needy

in a sea of blazing frilly-skirted women

in confident tango

When he married K

I thought…huh

he married every young woman

with devotional drooling capabilities

I thought…huh

he mustn’t have gotten my letter

I thought…huh

what is wrong with me?

Tom Cruise with long greasy hair

pulled back in a half pony

nearly naked in an interview

with a no-nonsense woman

his laugh

his laugh

It’s Wednesday. The air smells like freshly cut grass, moist soil, ripening spring. I’m feeling steady.

Yesterday…was doily-ed with anxiety. I took a hot bath at 3:45pm to help calm my nerves. I wonder if it was because I didn’t write first thing?! I did write two poems though, and otherwise it was quite a productive day. I don’t know…my body was an anxiety bag.

But here’s a new day! Here’s Tom Cruise on my mind! Do you really think that one day I could meet him? Dreamers be dreamin’.

Be kind. Be gentle. Spread love.

Broadcast Wasteland Debuts! Interview with Ben Van Dongen

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Local sci-fi writer Ben Van Dongen has published another book! The man is prolific, I tell you! He is one of the many writers who have books launching during this wild and strange time. Let’s continue to show our support for writers everywhere by doing what we can to buy their books, talk about their books, and talk to them! I sent Ben some questions via email to get us acquainted with his newest literary endeavour, Broadcast Wasteland.

Here’s the synopsis:

On a distant colony world taken over by a rogue corporation, a hacker risks everything to intercept and distribute the one remaining piece of freedom, the Broadcast. When an old friend’s betrayal leaves him with an ultimatum, his only hope is the latest message hidden in the signal. Now, he must escape the city, hoping past comrades will stand up to the tyrannical corporation. With soldiers and highly trained corporate Operatives hunting him down, he must find the source of the Broadcast before he’s sent to work in the mines, if they don’t kill him first.

VS: Congratulations on another completed book in your hands! How are you feeling about ‘Broadcast Wasteland’ being completed?

BVD: Honestly, I’m feeling a little conflicted with the new book. Ultimately, I’m happy with the end product, but it was a different experience from the last book, The Neon Heart. Neon Heart came much easier and I was more sure of the story when it was finished. That bogged me down when editing Broadcast Wasteland, but in the end, I think I wrote a better book.

VS: How did you come up the story for ‘Broadcast Wasteland’? Is it a continuation of a previous book? Give us a bit of info on the storyline…

BVD: If I remember correctly, I got the idea from one of the podcasts I listen to. Maybe, 99% Invisible. I had heard a story about how in communist occupied Europe there were copies of British microcomputers but no software to use on them. Some radio stations would broadcast programs over the air so that people could record them to tape and use them on their computers. The idea fascinated me and I knew I wanted to tell a story about that. While writing The Neon Heart, the plot for Broadcast Wasteland worked itself out in my head. The only thing I had to really figure out after that was how to connect it to the shared universe. I’ll leave that for the readers to discover.

VS: From start to finish – how long did it take you to complete this book? Was the writing process for this book different than for your other books?

BVD: I’ve been trying to shrink how long it takes me to do a first draft, so I really dug into writing Broadcast. I started in September and wrote every day until it was finished. I think it was about 49 days, some more productive than others. The speed was helpful in making a cohesive story. Editing took longer than it had with the other books in the series, though. Partially because of my uncertainty with the story being so different from Neon Heart, which received a lot of praise, and partially due to my beta readers either taking longer than usual, or not being available. I got it finished before my April deadline, though. Just before.

VS: You write sci-fi…do you ever get a tickle to write in a different genre? If so, what genre?

BVD: I write sci-fi mostly because those are the types of ideas that come to me. It’s a genre I love and where I feel most comfortable. I have ideas for other genres that I would love to get to some day. There isn’t one in particular that I am eager to try, but one fantasy story keeps coming back to me. Maybe when I’m more established.

VS: What other creative projects are you working on? (Including helping other writers/beta-reading/copy editing/etc..)

BVD: I recently finished writing a comic for Glen Hawkes, the artist who did the cover for Neon Heart. He has a long running series, The Misadventures of Bowling Ball and asked if I could try my hand at a script. It was a challenge as I had little experience with comics. He seemed to think it was good enough to draw, though. So, that is in the works. I recently did the layout for Brittni Brinn’s new book, which will be coming out under Adventure Worlds Press, I believe this summer. AWP is the publishing collective I help run. I have done beta reads and edits for others in the past, but no one has asked lately.

VS: Why is it important to attend writing retreats? Tell us about your experience with them…and what works/doesn’t work?

BVD: That’s a hard one to answer as I’m not sure my writing retreats are the same as others. I am a big proponent for writing groups and physically meeting with friends to get work done. It’s helped me keep productive countless times. With that in mind, I have gone away with some of those friends a few times to spend a weekend dedicated to writing. It’s a good way to get a push with writing or editing on a project that needs a lot of work. Some retreats are better than others and that mostly depends on the group attending and the project you’re working on. I’ve been lucky with the folks I’ve gone with, but I can see how one disruptive person could ruin the time for everyone else.

VS: If one of your books could be made into a film, who would direct? Give us a list of actors who’d play the roles.

BVD: I don’t think I can answer this one. I’ve played the game with other writers before and I always come up blank. I’m no longer versed enough with movies to confidently say.

VS: Any thoughts on isolation? Being home and not working the ‘day job’, and how it’s affecting your creativity?

BVD: It’s been nice to be able to write nearly every day. Again, I’m lucky enough to have writer friends who help hold each other accountable. We log on about the same time each day and work separately together. It’s not the same as being in the same space, but knowing they’re working too helps me focus. I find, even with the increase in productivity, I still feel guilty, as there is always more time to write. I try to reassure my self that there is always room to grow and sometimes even a little progress is good enough.

VS: How’s your gaming life these days? What games are you playing the most? Does gaming inspire any of your writing?

BVD: I play too many games, from a regular D&D (Dungeons & Dragons) session (which I am lucky enough to have a good group to play with) to video games. Not to be too contrarian or perhaps pretentious, but I think everything in our lives is a story idea waiting to happen. A good story or experience in any media can inspire. Currently, I’ve been playing a lot of Forza Horizon 4 (I am a fan of driving games) and I started No Man’s Sky. The latter is a big one that requires more time than I’m currently willing to give it. I plan on going back, but for now, I’m trying to get my daily routine in order and spending five, eight, or more hours in a day playing a game doesn’t fit. (Though, I’ve been known to reach those hours when I’m not careful).

VS: What book(s) are you reading right now or have perhaps finished since you’ve been off work?

BVD: I’m currently reading, Will Save the Galaxy for Food by Yahtzee Crowshaw and I’m listening to the Dark Tower series by Stephen King through the library. I have a bad habit of reading voraciously while the books are good and stopping dead when I hit one that doesn’t tickle my fancy. I started the quarantine poorly, but I’ve been picking up the pace in the last week or so. Hopefully the list will grow before I go back to the day job.

VS: Do you read/listen to the news? How does this affect your creativity?

BVD: I try to keep up to date with current events and prefer to get my news over the radio. The hourly updates on CBC are a good way to get a brief overview of stories and when something needs more attention, I look it up online. I try to not let things I can’t do anything about bog me down, but sometimes there are stories in there, and sometimes there are things we can do that may seem insignificant, but are worth the effort. Like stay home right now.

VS: What are your top three go-to procrastination actions? Do you think that on some level, procrastination is actually helpful?

BVD: I’m not sure if you mean ways that I procrastinate or things I do to get my self to stop. I’m bad for starting. Sometimes the hardest part is to just get going. Having a group that can encourage and sometimes scold is a big help to me. Those writing sessions with friends make a big difference for me. I’m as bad for getting ready to write as the next writer, but knowing people are waiting for you helps. I’m not sure if it’s the same thing as procrastination, but I believe that some days the writing isn’t happening and pushing through isn’t always the solution. I’ve had some good breakthroughs cutting a writing session short and spending the day cleaning or doing chores and the perfect solution works itself out in my head.

VS: You’re stuck in a space ship headed to a new inhabitable planet – what three people, three types of food, and three books will you bring?

BVD: I’m a fan of savoury food more than sweet (not saying I don’t get sugar cravings) and pickles are my favourite, so that has to be at the top of the list. I’d put pizza after that and then round it out with some sour candy like CHEWS or something. As for books, that’s a really tough question. It’s not a perfect book, but I’ve read Ready Player One a few times and I think I’m likely to read it again. I’d argue that the Hitchhiker’s Guide was one story and should be counted as one book, but I’d take Life The Universe and Everything if I was forces to choose one. The I’d take my favourite and the book that made me want to write books, The Philip K. Dick Reader. I wouldn’t subject people to being stuck with me in a space ship. It would be far too cruel. I would likely go crazy, but I’d go it alone.

BEN’S SOCIALS! CONNECT AWAY!

BenVanDongen.com

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBenVanDongen/

https://www.instagram.com/benwltp/

https://twitter.com/Ben_VanD1

[image error]If you are interested in buying Ben’s new book, Broadcast Wasteland, connect with him via his socials and he’ll do his best to get a copy to you. I got mine delivered to my doorstep, and I paid for it via e-transfer. Thanks Ben!

Haikus #morningcoffeesessions

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This morning I had a hard time settling into a poem. I did a quick journal to gather my thoughts…and decided on writing a few haikus.

I will read your veins

As you absorb morning light

Leaves are nature’s books

Reach for the most light

Falling from the blue jay’s beak

Mourning dove witness

Water loves to slide

Across arched grass green blade bend

Erotic dew drops

Ponder thunder’s voice

Rolling rumbling righteousness

Conductor of sky song

Stars wait in the sky

Let the now weave day baskets

Night is for shining

If anyone was watching me, they would have seen me counting syllables on my fingers. I like writing haikus…although they are good challenge in clarity and precision…which mostly is not my natural instinct when writing poetry!

I’ve been thinking about my Nonna a lot more these days. She’s not feeling well…and old worries are climbing out hiding places in my body. I’m doing a lot more praying. I wrote a poem for her…but I’m not sharing it because I’m going to submit it to a contest…and include it in my new book…so soon, you’ll see it somewhere!

It’s Friday. We made it. It was a long, busy week for me. I’m soooo grateful I can see and feel the sun’s shining. Miller and I will go for a walk shortly.

Have a beautiful weekend. Is it true that things are starting to shift? Places and spaces are beginning to re-open? I cannot believe it….we’ll see what the weekend brings.

Oh, and it’s May! My birthday month. Jett’s birthday month. Time to plant things.

Be kind. Be creative. Be loving.

*Firefly Creative Writing is extending its morning coffee sessions into August – three mornings a week. CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION.

Spring chicken #morningcoffeesessions

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This morning we welcomed in Spring. The season. The sounds. The animals. The changes…and I couldn’t get the words ‘spring chicken’ out of my head. Despite making lists of sights and sounds around me that are definite indications that spring is here…my brain couldn’t let go of ‘spring chicken’.

Spring Chicken

I am no spring chicken.

Yesterday, I stood in front of our hefty maple.

Her trunk we wrapped in a yarn scarf,

flat-plate basket and fake flowers.

Also, white string lights and a glittery star.

Her base we covered in a small mountain of

burnt yellow crispy leaves she dumped on us

in the fall that we didn’t know where else to put

so we gave them back to her.

There I was, no spring chicken,

standing in front of our hefty maple;

a scarf around my neck to hide my chins.

A long, loose shirt to hide my belly and enough

white hair on my head to boost the light and

put shadows under my eyes.

This spring I am hiding.

The tree called me because she wanted me

to read her poetry. Of course I obliged –

one should always oblige the trees.

But I was nervous, feeling silly

feeling ugly feeling old.

I am no spring chicken.

My pink rubber boots call to childhood,

call to innocence, call to naked in the rain.

I realize I am more worm than snail,

my tendencies are to dig slime nestle push.

I did it.

I read two poems to our maple.

Poems I wrote led by truths in my stuttering soul,

and even though the words came from me, and

even though the words are salvation,

I felt…a way no word could describe or maybe

no word I am brave enough to step into.

The reflection of me in every mirror is always jarring at first.

I see a me that in my mind I do not look like.

My gaze runs circles around the parts of my face

I don’t recognize. I am in constant re-introduction.

A dementia-stuffed wrinkle brings my voice into a

thoughtful, shocked, tentative ‘oh’.

I am no spring chicken and I’ve lost my farm.

I can’t hear the rooster smacking the sunrise

of my youth like I used to.

Maybe today I’ll start collecting the feathers

that are disconnecting during this moulting;

lay them flat between heavy-paged hard-cover

novels about love.

Everyone I know is having strange dreams – and remembering them. It’s important to note that. Early this morning after feeding the dogs, I fell back asleep and dreamt I was in a deli/bakery. I ordered a delicious, huge fresh salad, and a cake. People started lining up behind me and within minutes, the place was the packed. Remember how that used to happen? I was trying to pay but the debit machine kept malfunctioning…so I was searching in my purse, which was big and a mess, trying to pull out cash I knew I had but just couldn’t get my hands on. People started yelling at me, at the server. We were sweating from frustration and embarrassment. Finally, I found a fifty dollar bill and shoved it in the server’s hand. “Just take this. Keep the change.” My salad and cake were a bit too much to carry but I managed to get it all into my arms and shuffle out the door. People were still yelling at me as I left. Then I woke up. *she shakes her head*

It’s raining. Miller is doing school work and humming a song from ‘Moana’. I’m feeling pensive…and don’t want to check the emails that keep booping into my inbox. I think I’ll get out the electric Brother. Thursday and Friday mornings are supposed to be for my personal writing.

It’s Thursday and I only know that because I’ve looked at the calendar sixteen times already this morning.

Tomorrow is May 1st – this I cannot quite handle.

Big love. Stay kind. Be creative.

The morning writing sessions will continue on through August. For more details, please CLICK HERE FOR FIREFLY CREATIVE WRITING.

For me, this has been a time of…#morningcoffeesessions

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living things

for me this has been a time of

gentle consistent denial

desperate powerful pushing

A

W

A

Y

of hailstorms

each icy ping of virus-fact rain

smacking tender parts of me

the side of my neck

the under of my armpit

the dimples above my bum

cold awakenings

jolt my emotions

into hyperdrive

I cry every day

sometimes twice

sometimes dry sobs

sometimes wet wails

then I read that the whales are joyous!

their waters more free of noise than

they’ve been for generations

if I could choose to be any living thing

I’d choose to be a humpback whale

massive graceful

fluorescent green with no envy

of being anything other than itself

my heart cannot accept

the curves the charts the tolls

at the speed in which they unload

the players are too unprepared

the director is illusive

quick to attack

scoffing at our meagre

attempts to vaccinate

as he hides in the shadows

at the back of the theatre

in the round clicking his light on and off

teasing us with a script

then yelling at us to go off book

and books have never been happier!

being fingered and fondled

ripped off shelves

dusted revisited

inky medicine for terrified souls

education and escape gifts

between covers

it is easier for me to pretend

that nothing is very wrong

that nothing is very changed

that for now I’m running in a

daisy-dappled field playing

hide-and-seek between

flapping flat sheets

clothespinned to a line in the sky

tied between redwoods and the

banyan in the distance has

opened a door for me to crawl

into so I can nestle into roots

of generations of living things

that know how to survive anything

gently

desperately

pulling themselves

together

Be kind to yourself.

Today I am – #morningcoffeesessions

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Today I am a list

A stack of things to do

A worker bee with hopes of

impressing my queen and my

queen is accomplishment

Thick gooey sweet honeycomb

Get it done

At first, I am distracted by the list of things to do today. It is long, not to arduous, but the things on it will take all day to get done…and I know for sure that at least two things will not get done today at all. Why do I torture myself by putting them on the list? Maybe for the same reasons why I write: get up, eat food, drink water on the list. Some things you just want to cross off so that the things you can’t don’t look so smug.

It takes me a few minutes to open my heart to a poem…and what comes out feels…sticky but sweet. I try not to judge myself on the topic as I write.

We say ‘Oh look! The sun is shining!’

On days when the sky is sassy blue

When the birds are in chorus when

The bones are rested when we can hear

The magical tender chattering of trees

But the sun is always shining

The sun is always shining and

We are lazy with our words

So easily manipulated by

Sky coverage

We accumulate like clouds

Consider that the sky half

Empty of light

Instead of always

perfectly full

Oh look! The sun is shining!

Constant like yellow breath

Desperately blasting pouring

Down her love in infinite abundance

Yes the sun gives infinitely

She only knows to shine

She accepts her gift

Oh look! The sun is shining!

Our planet’s wisest teacher

With the sky as her blackboard

And the earth as her playground

Yes, you understand

We are her students

Consider that she will never test us

But we will always learn – be capable

Of testing ourselves for the incredible

Opportunity to fail to discover to choose

The sun is always shining

I’m getting more distracted by the talk of ‘lifting’…lifting bans, lifting closures…and confused by articles of ‘second rounds’ and ‘no vaccines so this virus will keep running circles’…how does one breathe with all this going on?

Today, it’s by making a list. Writing things on it that are doable – simple, easy, kind. Writing things on it that aren’t. Because there is always some kind of struggle to endure. Some kind of pain.

I’ll laugh hard with the kids. I’ll kiss the dogs and get fur in my mouth. I’ll eat sweet and follow it up with salt. I’ll hold hands with the husband. I’ll walk outside and try to pull the sun deeper into my skin. I’ll inhale the smells of wet dirt and listen harder to what the trees have to say. Huh. I just realized that none of these things are on my list.

Be kind. Hug yourself. I’m hugging you too.

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Body Language #morningcoffeesessions

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I’m at it again because it feels so good to put writing first. Over the weekend, I wrote, but not first thing…and I could feel the difference in my energy. Thank you  Firefly Creative Writing family for offering another week of this bliss!

Chris read a poem by Joy Harjo called Eagle Poem. I had the distinct pleasure of seeing and hearing Joy read her poetry one year at Bookfest Windsor. She was phenomenal – joining a drum and song to her words.

And so…we were prompted to connect to a word or words from the poem…the words ‘other languages’ spoke loudest to me.

Body Language

my toes are small unspreadable

speaking the language of staying together

my legs speak the language of restlessness

lengthening in stiffened stretches

as I lay in bed searching for the entrance

to adventurous sleep

knee language is capped

cracking during times of improper bending

and oh! the language of my thighs is strength

muscles evoked by work weight wonderment

these hips don’t lie – gyrating the language of pleasure

inflammation and patience is the language of my guts

twisty and tethered we’ve been through a lot

my belly speaks the loudest – rumbles and rages

the language of comfort

these ribs speak boney protection

these lungs speak spongey steadiness

these breasts speak babies

speak sustenance

speak heavy

speak cancer

speak survivor

my neck speaks remember-to-look-around

my throat speaks respond-not-react or it

tightens and can’t speak at all

my chins speak remember-to-love-myself

(but so quietly I can barely hear it)

and all the parts of my face speak

the language of learning

pay attention

inhale

see deeper

bite down

my ears speak itchy curiosity

my lips speak I-want-to-French-kiss

my arms speak flail and embrace

my hands speak I-Am-Writer

all language is born in my soul

curly contagious conspicuous

expressed through my heart

whole broken mended scarred

love the most important verb

conjugated

consummated

lifts my tongue

in ecstatic

joy and pain

How are you feeling? My emotions are still acting like a young butterfly – flitting all over the place, looking for a place to land and catch my breath. To assess my journey. Figure out a plan.

As talk of isolation rules shifting begin, I’m feeling a whole new set of fears…concerns. How do I go back to how things were? Do I want to? What will happen if I change things? What has this different experience of living done to my mind, my body, my goals? Have I changed on a foundational level? Will Spring finally come and stay?! When we all start to go back into our cities – the stores, the restaurants, the parks…will we wear masks? Gloves? How long will it take to trust that the virus is gone? Can it really go away? Will trips to Hawaii be super cheap because my heart is reaching for it? Why?

My mind never stops wondering and wandering…writing helps me focus. Work helps me focus….but I also always an emotional butterfly. I cry every day – happy tears, laughter tears, scared tears. You too?

Be kind. Be joyful. You are loved.