robin's nest

A Bird in the Hand

2009-12-14T14:34:00.003-08:00

I took this photo on a lovely late summer hike up Cypress way with a very good friend. He insisted that the birds would come if we held out our hands with a bit of something tasty. It worked! It was a long and difficult hike, I must say. However it was well worth the effort. The views, the conversation, the exertion, the birds and the sense of peace was indeed memorable.

Auspicious Bloom

2009-12-14T14:13:00.000-08:00

My Christmas cactus is actually about to bloom. There is only one sweet red flower bud about to open. On a couple of occasions in the past few years, buds have formed. However they dropped off the plant before blooming. I never know if it somehow my attention, or lack thereof, that stops the process. This time I did something different. I moved the plant to an entirely new ledge. I wonder if this will result in a long awaited burst of flower. I hope so.

Oil Painting by my Loca Mexicana Amiga Liliana Barreto

2009-10-06T11:49:00.001-07:00

2009-10-05T15:57:00.001-07:00

'nuff said

end of summer

2009-10-05T15:54:00.003-07:00

this is an old photo taken by an even older friend - my great friend Terry - who has now passed on. Wow would he have loved the English Beat concert I was at on Friday night!
"sooner or later" I will be able to tell him about it!
hiyhhiy!

Autumn

2009-10-05T15:42:00.004-07:00

is with us now...and it is crisp and cool bright and sharp... yet days like Sunday held the memory of summer's warmth in its grasp. I walked out of my little home wearing my bright blue bomber jacket - the first time for the season - figuring I would need it in the crisp autumn air... but alas - it produced a belt of sweat once I tied it around my middle during my leisurely walk downtown. What a glorious warm day this Sunday turned out to be! Lucky me - I was able to go for an energetic walk by the ocean's edge with my lovely niece. The leaves of the Sumac tree outside my bedroom window are slowly changing to vibrant red. I notice a brighter and brighter view each morning - and notice an earlier and earlier sunset in return. The days grow shorter, the clothes grow more important as the chill night air sets in during my evening walks. I will grieve this loss of bright sunlight, yet I know I will embrace the warmth of my little fireplace and the comfort of my warm wool clothing, stockings and boots of autumn and our coming winter. The warmth needs be internal for autumn and winter... yet I hope my inner warmth shines through all the seasons.

Spring Blossoms

2009-04-23T10:17:00.002-07:00

Tentatively they begin - then one day they have arrived for our pleasure. So fleeting - but anticipated by many - the blossoming trees inspire me. I walk under them hoping a few petals will concede to land on my shoulders or head...signalling something special is coming into my life. I revel in the delicate smells as I wander down the tree lined streets of my neighbourhood. I admit to premeditating my wanders to coincide with trees just blooming now...or just finishing... for the new limey green leaves appear all too soon replacing the blossoms as my new wonder. Truly I also look forward to the infant green leaves slowly hardening and darkening into mature leaves whispering in the breeze. Only then will I know that spring is here and summer is on its lazy way.

Affirmations

2009-02-09T20:26:00.006-08:00

I rejoice in my femaleness. I love being a woman. I love my body.

I release the pattern in me that attracted unhealthy experiences. I create only good in my life.

The movies in my mind are beautiful because I choose to make it so. I love me.

I lovingly forgive and release all of the past.

I choose to fill my world with joy. I love and approve of myself.

I rejoice in my own expressions of life. I am perfect just as I am. I love and approve of myself.

I easily forgive. I love myself and will reward myself with thoughts of praise.

My concept of god supports me. I am normal and natural. I rejoice in my own sexuality and in my own body. I am wonderful!

I accept my full power as a woman and accept all my bodily processes as normal and natural. I love and approve of myself.

I am balanced in my creative flow.

I am free to be joyous.

I easily flow with change.

My life is divinely guided.

I am always going in the right direction!

Shamanistic Journey

2009-02-09T20:08:00.003-08:00

Recently I went on a shamanistic journey. Yes I did! Prior to going on the journey we had to set an intent - give a concrete and specific outcome we wanted help with in our life now.

Specifically I went on a journey to meet my spirit helpers and ask for help to let go of pain in my heart and to free my heart to love myself and others.

and this is what I remember of my journey...

turned out I went to the rock in Jericho Beach Park. I went and asked the rock for help, hugged the rock and told the rock I need help letting go of the pain in my heart so I could open my heart to love myself and others. The rock told me I had to go through it. I was confused. An old woman appeared, bent back, with a white cane. She was pointing the cane toward the rock I think. I understood that I had to go through the rock. I asked her for help with the same intent. I faced the rock, I hugged the rock. I began to go through the rock. I was sort of pushing and then swimming through it. It was hard and then sort of like muddy material - I had to swim through it, push myself through the hard rock then the mud - then it split open and became water and a pool with portions of the rock around it - a rock pool and a small seal was there. A dark seal - I asked the seal for help - the seal was swimming in the water and I was swimming with the seal and I think I became the seal. Then I was standing holding the rock - it was transformed into a large pumpkin shape - but it was light and white and split open with light coming out from the middle of it. I was holding it - it was the rock - but changed. It was shining. I held it in my outstretched hands and felt it. I knew the white rock split open was my heart free of the past pain and open. I swam around the rock pool. Then I saw the old woman pointing again and she was pointing to an image of sunshine, and I saw two people holding hands and running or skipping in a field - I think it was me and someone - I don't know who or the gender. I felt energized and free. We were running, light and happy. It could have been children or adults, the energy was light, but I could not see the forms distinctly. The old woman kept pointing, the seal swam and the rock was still open and white. It was time to leave so I hugged the big rock, I thanked the rock, the seal, the old woman, the place and the spirits and I came back.

Peace of Mind

2009-02-09T19:39:00.002-08:00

Apparently disposition is 50% hereditary, 10% is based on life circumstances
and a whopping 40% is based on intentional daily activities - conscious attention to make ourselves happy.
so, if that is the case, what are the kinds of things that can help boost the 40% we have in our control?

Well, I recently learned that one author - don't know the name - suggests the following twelve things we can actually do on a daily basis to consciously make and create happiness in our lives:

1) Expressing gratitude - contemplating blessings - appreciating people and things in our lives;

2) Cultivating optimism - imagining a bright future - manifesting happiness and what we want in our lives - opening our minds to the best possibilities happening - looking at the bright side and remaining positive;

3) Avoiding over-thinking;

4) Avoiding social comparisons - instead encouraging commonalities;

5) Practicing acts of kindness - doing things for others;

6) Nurturing relationships - choosing them actively and being present in a nurturing and social support network;

7) Developing coping strategies to overcome stress and increase energy and attention;

8) Learning to forgive - we store negative energy in our bodies - so forgiving someone (our ourselves)is healing - storing or holding resentments is not. We need to find a way to express pain or resentments and let it go;

9) doing activities that truly engage us - something that makes time just fly away while we are doing it - like writing, drawing, running, dancing, anything that helps us get out of our thinking selves and let go into the present;

10) Savouring life's joys - paying attention to the delight in life - receiving messages and taking moments to absorb moments and emotions as they occur - beauty in little things - notice little gifts life presents us if we are able to see them;

11) Committing to our goals - as small and insignificant as we need them to be - as grand and life transforming - just commit to try our best;

12) Practicing some form of spirituality - finding some form that is good for us - some belief or faith that is life affirming;

13) Taking care of our bodies - breathing, moving, exercising, eating healthy - learning what our bodies need to decompress and feel alive.

online dating

2008-11-09T20:59:00.004-08:00

Can I show you "where to look among the garbage and the flowers?"

I am watching a Leonard Cohen special on tonight. Leonard Cohen reminds me of Quebec. What a time! New friends, passion, hours of talk and debate, art and philosophy in the cocoon of our little part of a perfect little city. Quebec city. Catch your breath on the romantic. Yes. Around every corner I would revel, in awe, walking from one cafe to the next. Always a treasure found when walking amongst the cobbled hilly streets in and out of the old city. Our old apartment was furnished upon such gifts. Crunchy snow, red cheeks. Snow. I think I may have seen a newspaper dating ad in Montreal while visiting the city to go to Leonard Cohen on a rainy night with my friend Terry. All those years ago, dating through the newspaper would have been the format, had I participated. It was an alien thing.

Today? I would just say my boiled down or coulis version...

online is to dating just as mall is to shopping.

Now I don't know about you, but I can't breathe in shopping malls.

All would be grand if only my inability to breath in shopping malls was due to being drunk on the never ending nectar...

like my bee friend in my photo above.

new beginnings...

2008-11-04T12:37:00.002-08:00

Ok, so yes, it has been literally years since I posted anything on this lovely bloggeroooo.... that is now remedied!
Ta Da!!!

Today is a lovely crisp autumn day... cool weather so great for walking...and talking....jogging... thinking.
I love autumn!

I will post something more substantive soon... I just wanted to get my fingers working again on this blog...

done.

good day to you sweet readers!

PG

Newest Shoe!!

2006-10-11T12:14:00.001-07:00

I'm told this would go well with my Halloween costume: a maid's outfit.... hmmmmm
I ended up giving these to my sister as they were just a tad too small... lucky sis huh?

Postsecret.com

2006-02-19T21:18:00.000-08:00

this is my fave... what can I say?

Shells

2006-02-18T12:12:00.000-08:00

Shells, yes we all have them... some of us more obvious than others... some hard... some soft... some cracked...some open... some iridescent... with soft rainbow colours swirling in the light... some are grooved and marked, washed by the waves of life... but inside our shells, one and all, we hold something delicate, vulnerable and intimate... and when we share this little something of ourselves.. it is delicious.

New Boots

2006-01-24T17:42:00.000-08:00

... how pleased I am with them too!

Ahh the joys of the wooden roller coaster!!!!

2006-01-24T11:15:00.000-08:00

My Great-grandmother Poonoo

2006-01-24T10:42:00.000-08:00

...yes, this is a very old photo of my great-grandmother Poonoo, taken on the porch of her home in northern saskatchewan. She was my father's mother's mother. She had 18 children and eventually lost her lower legs...yet that did not stop her. She kept her home and was pulled around in a small wagon when she was out and about. She smoked a pipe and brought a piano up north on a canoe. Yes, that one seems crazy, but I have learned that the more crazy of my father's stories are often true. He also tells me she was called the "Mother of the North". She was born in Lac Brochet, Manitoba. Her maiden name was Tawipisim, which means half sun ie the sun was only half in the sky. No wonder I love sunsets and sunrises so much. As for resemblances, I do know I have her hands.

Oma, as painted by my Tante Willy

2006-01-24T10:33:00.000-08:00

...yes, this is a painting of my Oma, as painted by my Tante Willy, in Amsterdam. It is based on a lovely old black and white photo taken when my Oma was a young woman in Holland. I never met her. She died when my mother was a child. My Tante (auntie) Willy took some liberties here... by painting in some make up. There is another photo I love of her, which I will scan when I can get my neice's help... of Oma on a motorcycle! Apparently there is some family resemblance. Hmmm...

The Questiona poem by Pablo Neruda

2005-12-04T13:28:00.000-08:00

Love, a question
has destroyed you.

I have come back to you
from thorny uncertainty.

I want you straight as
the sword or the road.

But you insist
on keeping a nook
of shadow that I do not want.

My love,
understand me,
I love all of you,
from eyes to feet, to toenails,
inside,
all the brightness, which you kept.

It is I, my love,
who knocks at your door.
It is not the ghost, it is not
the one who once stopped
at your window.
I knock down the door:
I enter all your life:
I come to live in your soul:
you can not cope with me.

You must open door to door,
you must obey me,
you must open your eyes
so that I may search in them,

you must see how I walk
with heavy steps
along all the roads
that, blind, were waiting for me.

Do not fear,
I am yours,
but
I am not the passenger or the beggar,
I am your master,
the one you were waiting for,
and now I enter
your life,
no more to leave it,
love, love, love,
but to stay.

Laughter

2005-12-04T13:17:00.000-08:00

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter ilke
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

Pablo Neruda

lonely anticipation

2005-11-27T22:20:00.000-08:00

my
face
and
this single tear
fall
silently
as
this hope
that
bloomed
now
wans
from
neglect

Upcoming CD - sneak preview

2005-11-19T10:45:00.000-08:00

Perfect Girl Productions

will soon** be releasing its first ever CD titled:

The Perfect Girl First Ever CD

(yes very original name)

Tracks will include:

1.

Perfect Girl

(yes we know still very original)
2.

Crunchy Lips

Everything Tastes Like Chicken

4. What are You Gonna Do?

4.

Lee Lee Zombie Girl

and others

So stay tuned!

[this message has been brought to you by

Perfect Girl Productions]

(who else did you think it would be from????)

** soon is a relative term.

[photo credit to Willy]

The Guest House

2005-09-15T23:31:00.000-07:00

This being human is a guest house,
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
Still, treat each guest honorably,
He may be cleaning you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Poem by Rumi

The Lady's Yes a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

2005-09-08T22:31:00.000-07:00

"Yes!" I answered you last night;
"No!" this morning, Sir, I say!
Colours, seen by candle-light,
Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below --
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No!

Call me false, or call me free --
Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on your face shall see
Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both --
Time to dance is not to woo --
Wooer light makes fickle troth --
Scorn of me recoils on you !

Learn to win a lady's faith
Nobly, as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life and death --
With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries.

By your truth she shall be true --
Ever true, as wives of yore --
And her Yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes for evermore.

Outside the Minnesota State Line PART 3 Recipes for disaster and all that jazz, as performed on a rusty tin whistle

2005-09-04T11:24:00.000-07:00

It was a difficult few months, finding himself outside the minnesota state line with nothing to show for himself. I mean, whilst within the borders of that hospitable state, he felt lulled into a quazi comfort zone. What prompted that delusion to rear itself from his soul to sustain that reaction, we will never know.

Be that as it may, now, at his peril, the lulling had terminated, abruptly, or so it seemed.

He found himself in the midst of a storm without hope of a door upon which one dare dream of collapse. The poor dear.

Instead, he found himself wondering the byways and straitways of life outside the minnesota state line, with only his collection of recipes, and a rusty tin whistle, to keep him company.

(yes, let us pause here to reflect upon the crafty hilar perfectly tangled into that last run on sentence.)

northern saskatchewan, july 2005, road trip

2005-08-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

Epipsychidion
lines 174-189, Percy Bysshe Shelley

Mind from its object differs most in this;
Evil from good; misery from happiness;
The baser from the nobler; the impure
And frail, from what is clear and must
endure;
If you divide suffering and dross, you
may
Diminish till it is consumed away;
If you divide pleasure and love and thought,
Each part exceeds the whole; and we know
not
How much, while any yet remains unshared,
Of pleasure may be gained, of sorrow
spared.
This truth is that deep well, whence sages
draw
The unenvied light of hope; the eternal law
By which those live, to whom this world of
life
Is as a garden ravaged, and whose strife
Tills for the promise of a later birth
The wilderness of this Elysian earth.

Well: Millstone and Cistern Under Trees (Meule et citerne sous bois), Paul Cezanne 1892

2005-08-23T21:55:00.000-07:00

"The Well"
written by Pablo Neruda

At times you sink, you fall
into your hole of silence,
into your abyss of proud anger,
and you can scarcely
return, still bearing remnants
of what you found
in the depth of your existence.

My love, what do you find
in your closed well?
Seaweed, swamps, rocks?
What do you see with blind eyes,
bitter and wounded?

Darling, you will not find
in the well into which you fall
what I keep for you on the heights:
a bouquet of dewy jasmines,
a kiss deeper than your abyss.

Do not fear me, do not fall
into your rancor again.
Shake off my word that came to wound you
and let if fly through the open window.
It will return to wound me
without your guiding it
since it was laden with a harsh instant
and that instant will be disarmed in my breast.

Smile at me radiant
if my mouth wounds you.
I am not a gentle shepherd
like the ones in fairy tales,
but a good woodsman who shares with you
earth, wind, and mountain thorns.

Love me, you, smile at me,
help me to be good.
Do not wound yourself in me, for it will be useless,
do not wound me because you wound yourself.

Salmon Chowda

2005-08-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

Wild Salmon Chowder

NB. The salmon must be wild or else you’re not allowed to use this recipe!

Recipe was created on January 3, 2004 w/ Huck as salmon skin advice-helper and consumer.

photo does not represent how the chowda in the recipe will look like, it's just the most recent chowda I made and was silly enough to take a photo of, ok? Geesh.

2 tablespoons of good olive oil – Portuguese was used for this recipe
Four garlic gloves crushed or chopped, your choice
One big onion chopped in small pieces
One tablespoon of fresh chopped ginger
Sauté these ingredients together for 7 minutes

One half of a side of roughly chopped wind dried salmon from Lil’Wat
One cup roughly chopped smoked salmon by Grace Kelly from Lak’lahamen
One commercial can sockeye salmon (in a pinch) or better yet two cups chopped fresh salmon - for the fresh salmon, add in the last 15 minutes before serving – yes use a timer!
Two and a half celery sticks and the leafy heart of celery too, all chopped nice and small
Two thirds of a cup of dried mushrooms – in fridge weeks for drying, or get dried ones, or use one and one third cup of chopped fresh mushrooms.
Two litres of good filtered water
“Major” brand fish base one and a half tablespoons
Two cups of small yellow potatoes chopped in two
Tablespoon of fresh dried dill or fresh dill
French dried herb mix – marjoram, oregano, basil, thyme
One big yam chopped small
One big sweet potato chopped small
Three medium sized carrots chopped small
One medium leek chopped in rings – soaked in water for five minutes and drained before adding to the slop – I didn’t do that but my mum would be disappointed in me as a result. But this evening it was only discussed.
One third cup of dried barley
Skin of one side of wind dried salmon for flavouring… no you don’t eat it – think bay leaf…

Leave all the above to boil then to do its simmering thing for 40 minutes at least, maybe 50

Then add
One and a half cups of roughly chopped organic kale
One green onion chopped nicely
Juice of one lemon squeezed in

Let it all cook together for five or seven minutes

Put in serving bowls
Finish with one big dollop of sour cream, with one teaspoon of dried sumac stirred in haphazardly.
Done
Let the eater mix that in
And enjoy!

Wine to accompany such as, Stoneleigh Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, 2004 Marlborough or if you are really lucky you could drink a Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand (Aotearoa), alternatively a Stein Lager (or a Heineken in a pinch)

non alcoholic post chowda beverage recommendation: rooiboss w/ wiggiskwa (wild mint)from northern saskatchewan

bannock or baguette or irish soda bread are ideal breads to sop up the juices

If...

2005-08-02T22:44:00.000-07:00

Two Poems by Rumi

THE ALLURE OF LOVE

Someone who does not run
toward the allure of love walks
a road where nothing lives.

But this dove here senses
the love-hawk floating above
and waits and will not be driven
or scared to safety.

SKY CIRCLES

The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.

How do they learn that?
They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.

Untitled Poem by Rumi (photo by Willy)

2005-07-17T10:22:00.000-07:00

If you want what visible reality
can give, you're an employee.

If you want the unseen world,
you're not living your truth.

Both wishes are foolish,
but you'll be forgiven for forgetting
that what you really want is
love's confusing joy.

Gamble everything for love,
if you're a true human being.

If not, leave
this gathering.

Half-heartedness doesn't reach
into majesty. You set out
to find God, but then you keep
stopping for long periods
at mean-spirited roadhouses.

In a boat down a fast-running creek,
it feels like trees on the bank
are rushing by. What seems

to be changing around us
is rather the speed of our craft
leaving this world.

Withdrawal

2005-07-10T01:33:00.000-07:00

What would I say to you if you were here with me?
Now? This very night?

Would my eyes betray my confusion?
Or would they be smoky with hurt?

My head, tilted to one side,
would it feel unsure and heavy,
upon my tense shoulder blades?

My hands, would they be nervous,
twisting my rings non-stop
around my fingers?

Would I frown in concentration,
in silent agony, of how, or whether,
to begin?

Would I want to bury my head in your neck,
your arms wrapped around me, snugly?

My cheek, would it soon rest upon your chest,
breathing in your scent, content to be in your embrace?

Or would my wet salty tears appear
cool my burning face,
and soak through to your skin?

Birch Bark Biting

2005-07-10T01:28:00.000-07:00

Birch bark bitings are thin layers of birch bark with a design bitten into the bark with the eye tooth. The designs were originally used to create patterns for decorative work applied to traditional leather clothing. Now the art of birch bark biting is being learned by young people interested in reviving what could have become a lost tradition.
Sally McKenzie from Grandmothers Bay Indian Reserve (Kohkominanihk in Cree) on the Churchill River in northern Saskatchewan learned the art of biting from her mother about ten years ago. Mattilda Roberts was taking a break from making birch bark baskets. She took a small piece of birch bark and began tearing it until it was the right thickness. Then she traced a pattern on the bark with her fingernail, folded the bark as you would to make a paper snowflake and began biting.

Sally was curious to learn how to do this, so her mother showed her how to select the bark, how to make the right thickness, and how to use her eye tooth to create the pattern.

Sally is now teaching her young daughter, Valerie.

The Almond

2005-07-02T16:33:00.000-07:00

The almond tree announced
your secret softness
which had been hiding
behind the garden wall.

Your scent is subtle, yet heady
as jasmine on a hot humid night.
Or lavender, once crushed between my fingers,
announces its presence.

Laughter, unbidden,
bubbles and tumbles
out of my mouth, my belly, my heart,
in answer to your desire.

The warmth of the sun
is like your smile, dear one.
It melts into me and nurtures me.

Robin Red Breast

2005-07-02T16:30:00.000-07:00

Poems by Rumi

2005-07-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

Each Note

Advice doesn't help lovers!
They're not the kind of mountain stream
you can build a dam across.

An intellectual doesn't know
what a drunk is feeling!

Don't try to figure
what those lost inside love
will do next!

Someone in charge would give up all his power,
if he caught one whiff of the wine-musk
from the room where the lovers
are doing who-knows-what!

One of them tries to dige a hole through a mountain.
One flees from academic honours.
One laughs at famous mustaches!

Life freezes if it doesn't get a taste
of this almond cake.
The stars come up spinning
every night, bewildered in love.
They'd grow tired
with that revolving, if they weren't.
They'd say,
"How long do we have to do this?"

God picks up the reed-flute world and blows.
Each note is a need coming through one of us,
a passion, a longing-pain.
Remember the lips
where the wind-breath originated,
and let your note be clear.
Don't try to end it.
Be your note.
I'll show you how it's enough.

Go up on the roof at night
in this city of the soul.

Let everyone climb on their roofs
and sing their notes!

Sing loud!

Granite and Wineglass

You are granite.
I am an empty wineglass.

You know what happens when we touch!
You laugh like the sun coming up laughs
at a star that disappears into it.

Love opens my chest, and thought
returns to its confines.

Patience and rational considerations leave.
Only passion stays, whimpering and feverish.

Some men fall down in the road like dregs thrown out.
Then, totally reckless, the next morning

they gallop out with new purposes. Love
is the reality, and poetry is the drum

that calls us to that. Don't keep complaining
about loneliness! Let the fear-language of that theme

crack open and float away. Let the priest come down
from his tower, and not go back up!

The Shape of My Tongue

This mirror inside me shows...
I can't say what, but I can't not know!

I run from body. I run from spirit.
I do not belong anywhere.

I'm not alive!
You smell the decay?

You talk about my craziness.
Listen rather to the honed-blade sanity I say.

This gourd head on top of a dervish robe,
do I look like someone you know?

This dipper gourd full of liquid,
upsidedown and not spilling a drop!

I form a cloud over that ocean
and gather spillings.

When Shams is here,
I rain.

After a day or two, lilies sprout,
the shape of my tongue.

Night on the Island, a poem by Pablo Neruda

2005-07-02T16:03:00.000-07:00

All night I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep,
between fire and water.

Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,
up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down below like red roots that touch.

Perhaps your dream
drifted from mine
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before,
when you did not yet exist,
when without sighting you
I sailed by your side,
and your eyes sought
what now -
bread, wine,love, and anger -
I heap upon you
because you are the cup
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.

I have slept with you
all night long while
the dark earth spins
with the living and the dead,
and on waking suddenly
in the midst of the shadow
my arm encircled your waist.

Neither night nor sleep
could separate us.

I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.

My Birthday Shoe

2005-07-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

Outside the Minnesota State Line PART 2 unpaused by "Axwy"

2005-07-01T23:17:00.000-07:00

She came back toting two wine glasses made of blue glass, the wine and opener. Handing the bottle to him, she smiled as she looked away, krinkly eyes and upturned lips. He realized she had been made shy by his unspoken offer to open the wine.

"Axwy" is a fine descriptor for this self-conscious phenomena women tend to indulge in! he thought to himself. Perhaps he would begin to use it: "Axwy". Yes, in his next text message! To see what response might result. If pressed to define it, he would. Only on occasion would he use it. A rare occurrence, no doubt. Unless he were to make it a practice, even a ritual to have occasion to use the "Axwy" expression at least one time per day. No, make that one time per week, instead. For how could he ever guarantee finding a woman exhibiting just that shyness on a weekly basis? That task alone would occupy his thoughts and his actions rather completely, let alone thinking up something which might elicit just such a response in her. He squinted into the glass, his mind taken by the thread.

So did I ever tell you the story of the resourceful Albanian? she asked, pouring the wine into his glass and offering him a taste.

Yes, I believe you did. He replied. Slighty smirking, he opened his eyes wide with mischief. He nodded to affirm that the wine was tasty, so she filled their glasses.

You really are unfair! she giggled, and she began the story...

Outside the Minnesota state line PART 1

2005-06-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

Outside the Minnesota state line there lived a man called Tinterelli. He used to collect fortune cookie affirmations, and even tape them onto his laptop. Some called him strange, but they would be kind anyway. Our man Tinterelli didn't actually hail from outside the Minnesota state line, but that was where he found himself. In fact, his people could be found most commonly in the Tinterama region of south western Italy. But we won't quibble here.

"Hang on." she said, "I believe a glass of wine is in order."

Of course, the wine shall be from the Tinter varietal grape vines tended lovingly by the Tinterelli clan, one and all. Excepting of course, the Gipini's, a wandering tribe, who also invariably worked to bring in the grapes, in season. And we mustn't forget the hard-working travelling labourers from Bulgaria, nor the inventive light-spirited pixie from Albania.

Chip, the unfair story writer smiled, and waited patiently for her return, with the prized bottle in hand.

[PAUSED]

Butterfly Touch

2005-06-13T00:42:00.000-07:00

There is a stillness
that surrounds and is within him
I recognize the peace
like the sigh of coming home

I find I must look away
for my gaze must surely be too intent
for such pleasant greetings
and my swift fall will be discovered

Ah but there is a gentleness on him
it gathers upon his features
its silence melts my heart
with every gesture expressed

In concentration
concern passes across his brow
interest at the ideas that flow
across the space of this small table
between us

I feign participation
I can even nod with candor or smile in tune,
yet the words rush past my burning ears
and I strain to comprehend

I grasp at innane rememberances
my attempt at normalcy
to add to the flow of words
the memory of a sunny day
with song and laughter shared

I am struck by features I cannot escape
instead I catalogue their colour,
soft sweetened sage
wet with the last of the dew.
They are the windows I want to enter

It must be transparent
in my dazzled features
this now palpable feeling, once forgotten
like the touch of a butterfly.

Coming Soon: Butterflies versus Moths; No Contest?

2005-06-12T01:42:00.000-07:00

caveat...

2005-06-11T20:26:00.000-07:00

limitation clause
term of use
explanation...

I will not re-write, edit, revise, correct, or critique what I post on this blog...
so pleassssseee do not hold my impulsive words, my stray thoughts, my sappy phraseology, my timid ramblings or my spelling errors against me for future use!

I will simply not allow it. They will be ignored, rebuffed, sniffed upon with disgust, if you will...

For the purpose of this forum, if there is one.. is naught but to express myself...

surely you will agree that expression is sometimes silly, crass, immature and embarrassing...when looked at too minutely, with too much intent or judgement.

I wish to be kind to myself, is all.

play along!

...will you?

the wind

2005-06-11T20:10:00.000-07:00

entreats me
a spell is cast
I am torn and lifted
into its hands, its arms
invisible

always so swiftly I am taken by its greeting!
in silence or with a roar
I am delighted anew
the freshness splashes onto my cheek
and lifts me out of my stupor
alive it moves beside, inside, and through me

I run to meet it
I spiral my arms and dance
with abandon, with joy
oh yes I laugh, I giggle, I roll with delight

so sweetly it rushes through the green grass
upon which I stumble and prance
my hair flashes in flight
around my face now moist with dew and tears
and spit from the heavens

what lustiness this wind possesses!

misty spring day

2005-06-07T19:10:00.000-07:00

don't you just love misty spring days? a little bit of melancholy, a little bit of reflection, a little bit of a chill, a little bit of rain...

I always like to go for walks on afternoons like this... it is a great time to talk and walk and dream... a quiet time that puts everything in perspective.

Often on sunny days I feel like I have to get going, doing, being, activity central, if you know what I mean... I must be outside moving about and feeling exuberant and alive...

Yet on misty spring days I give myself the pleasure of my own company.... to slow down a bit, ponder, plan, laze about... whatever.

Pressure seems to be lowered somehow. There is a soberness to the air, the quality of the light, and the expressions on people's faces as they saunter by... some with umbrellas, prepared for the rain, others with newspaper ready to hide the head from a bit of water, and others just sauntering around the place ~ a bit like me... with a bemused expression on their faces.. or alternatively, with deep thought or concern showing upon their features...

funny how misty spring days bring about these phenomena...

I mean, what better day to create a blog, really? hmmmm.....