Two Views

Absolute Vanilla

posted this picture and wrote this about it with a somewhat sad tone. When I saw it, I pictured the possiblities of the open gate which inspired me, with her encouragement, to write and post my poem below. Go have a look and see how the same image evoked such a different take. I'd love to see what others might write about it...open or closed. Funny how I so wanted it to be open, that I actually made it open up in my mind's eye just for me!

the open gate

unlatch the padlock
throw off the heavy chain
that binds my gate so tightly closed
so that I may freely
invite you in
to share all that I have seen
for I have seen beauty that knows no bounds…..

enter and behold
my story -
everyone's story
who has ever passed
through this threshold
beyond the lazy vines
that creep and wrap themselves around me
and have been awestruck at the sight
of strong billowy white clouds sailing in a brilliant blue sky
and a gigantic orange globe of fire sink in seconds beneath the horizon –
I beckon you -
your own story awaits

Master of Deception

behind the smokescreen he cowers

hiding his true self

so well

that even he is fooled

the same lies

trip off his tongue repeatedly
and fall fluently

from lips so well versed

and rehearsed

we blindly place trust
in his convincing performance

and then he effortlessly

reels us in
almost hooked

only to catch himself instead

for he is pathetically delusional

and has forgotten that smoke rises

to signal its warning...

behind smoke and mirrors

lie his fears

and he is exposed for what he is -

a liar and denier

and no longer

a master of deception

Save These Interesting Creatures!

I used this in a Gr. Two classroom when we were learning about owls. They all wanted to recite it "by heart" and they found it really easy to memorise. Of course, this might have something to do with the little prizes I awarded when they knew it all!

Owl

Owl perching on your tree,
turn your head so you can see
all around to find your prey,
Mice and birds you’ll find today.
Who who-who who who who!

See your wings spread through the night,
You swoop down on the prey in sight,
Bring it back for baby chick,
Your owlet learns to tear and pick.
Who who-who who who who!

On your face the discs so round
Help you try to catch the sound
Your sight is good, your hearing better
You’re waterproof when it is wetter.
Who who-who who who who!

Take poison out of their living space
Do not cut trees you can’t replace
Conservation is the key
Protect the owl for you and me.
Who who-who who who who!

Mother of Invention, who-who-whoing!

Red-winged Blackbird! (Mother's Day)

I saw you on a
Sunday morn so beautiful,
red and yellow bands
Riot of colour
screams out to me from the black
as I walk by you,
sitting on top of
dead old corn stalks from last fall
I can't help but stop
on this Mother's Day
you were singing just for me
Nature celebrates
It's what you gave me
and I have to honour it
I loved your spring song

What I Am And What I'm Not

I wrote this a few years ago when I was trying to pick myself up after a few unfortunate experiences with people who tried to tear me down in spite of my kind treatment of them. At first, they made me feel just so inadequate compared to others, and then I thought, "No! That's utter crap and I'm not letting them make me feel bad about who I am!" Since then they have all proved themselves to be unworthy of my friendship and I have lost much respect for them. What goes around usually comes around.

I may not have ten books published,

I may not read all the latest best-sellers,

(I may not have even read today's paper)

I may not belong to the Mensa group,

I may not win the duathlons or ski races,

(In fact, I may even have trouble walking around the block now)

My body's shell God created may not be the healthiest,

nor the most gorgeous-looking,

I may not have children who win "All Round Kid" awards

or who are in the enrichment class

or who will become doctors and lawyers,

I may not have the title,

"Top Volunteer of The Town"

bestowed upon me,

I may not be the key person sitting in a church congregation,

(Indeed, I may not even occupy a seat very often at all)

I may not have the fattest billfold from a bursting bank account

and my house may not be the newest, fanciest or cleanest,

my fingers may not be able to fly over

the ivories on a Heinzman

or effortlessly pluck the strings of a Martin,

and I may not always sing in perfect pitch

or write the most melodious songs.......

But

I have a voice,

albeit quiet and small,

seemingly insignificant,

sometimes unheard,

and

this voice sings

its own perfect sweet harmony

with the world and all who share it.

And

I have a brain,

a mind that thinks and ponders,

wondering

about many important things to me,

a mind that puts ideas and feelings

to pen and paper,

poems and songs,

living deep inside me.

And

I have a heart

that is honest,

open and inclusive,

and caring of others,

a heart that is kind,

generous and giving,

true to myself

and all my beliefs,

truest to my family and friends

with whom I share all I have,

a heart that pumps in overdrive,

compassionately synchronizing

its strong rhythm

with all else -

the internal rhyme and reason

many search for and never find...

this voice, mind and heart

are so alive with spirit

that they have taken on a life of their own....

and so even if all this life spirit

is not recognized and celebrated

by a single soul...

I do believe

that

in a place far beyond

my earthly existence,

it will not go unnoticed

and this spirit shall live on.....

Mother of Invention, feeling way better about myself these days!

The Artist Says It All

Mother Earth's Tears

On a trip out to BC, I visited many art galleries and loved the influence of the Coastal Native Peoples. Aboriginal people everywhere revere the earth and all that it gives them. I got a card with an artist's depiction of Mother Earth crying and I had to write a Haiku poem about it. The friend who received the card only had the first verse....here is the entire piece.....

Mother Earth's Tears
Slip like blue raindrops,
diamonds falling down through
her long slim fingers
Oh, why does she cry?
Perhaps we sadden her when
we mistreat the Earth,
when we leave our mark
on her land, sea, and water
and we pay no heed,
She cries for our loss
and that we don't hear her
weeping and mourning
There might still be time
to save this sacred place -
It is up to us
to respond to her,
the tall, longhaired raven girl,
shedding tears for us

Mother of Invention
copyright 2005

Pondering The Dance!

Poetry Friday's word is , "dance" brought to you by Mona.

reading the bar codes of life

life has given me many things,
most of which I ponder…
(too much some might say)
but I will
and I do,
perhaps to make sense of the world –
order from chaos,
the very idea on which its creation was based --
gives it a little more form
to which I can better relate – attach
and thus become an integral part.
it is a powerful thirst I seek to quench –
that need to become closely intertwined
with all that exists.
how can we simply "be" and not ask
the questions
or wonder?
like successive waves,
repeated rests,
sustained nothingness….
unless ….perhaps …
we are to enjoy some moments
and some events
simply as separate entities,
taking on a life of their own,
worthy of our respect as such,
only for us to ponder the significance later,
as I always feel compelled to do.
we are truly blessed with this earth
and all life --
the stories, the songs…
yours and mine
are the individual threads
so tightly woven into the fabric
cut and sewn by
The Significant Seamstress
for us all to wear
as we learn the steps
to The Universal Dance ……
and I know that
you too,
have wondered about This Dance.

Mother of Invention, in my dancing shoes.

Poetry Friday...

Mona had Gary choose this word perhaps because he makes such beautiful, unique teapots, mugs and various other pottery. You just gotta check out his sight!
Mine is a little random today...the old Stream-of Consciousness I love so much! Always seems to give rise to a fractionalized poem, which might be called a Fragile poem without the magazine cut-out phrases.

Much Ado About Tea!

have a cuppa dear

in my fancy bone china cups

fragile

almost transparent

Spode, Royal Albert and Doulton

made in England

or Bridal Rose from Poland

and if you're lucky

Occupied Japan

embossed on the bottom

some hand painted French Limoge

delicate cups stand tall

on gold pedestal legs

a lovely flowered demi-tasse

and even smaller -

a child's pink

doll size tea set

she tells us to choose

but grandma

we both want the one

with the solid daisy handle!

we take turns

as we enjoy

using the family sterling silver tea service

and feel like rich princesses

as we daintily take out sugar cubes

with the etched silver tongs...

grandma has collected

the whole set of mini figurines

and all the bird cards

from Red Rose -

we share those too

and years later

we shall think of her

as we enjoy tea

in her fancy cups

and savour her

renowned butterscotch squares

neatly arranged

on her 3-tiered flowered plate

I do have many of my grandma's tea cups and I have a huge collection of tea cups with the solid flowers or butterflies for handles. They are very rare and most are expensive, but I just love them!

Guest Writer - Cliff Perry

For Red Dirt Girl who, at times, finds the struggle with Bipolar Disorder quite difficult. She writes very interesting and challenging poetry. Her succinct and carefully chosen words never reflect simply a surface level of meaning, but permeate several layers.

This poem was written by a friend and a former blogger who, at the time, was thought to have Bipolar Disorder too. Whether he has or hasn't is of no consequence; he seems to be able to express what he felt like at the time this was written and what some others may have experienced too.

No Junction

My mind is like a train, rather-
two trains of thought.
One is anxious for its destination,
Two, is definitely not.

One is blocked by backed-up traffic
Owing to Two's careless ways;
undecided, uncompleted
changing tracks, never stays.

One strides forward always trying,
to perfect his concentration.
Hopes held high of getting through
Two, often leads to frustration.

And just 'cause Two has feeble plans:
follows where his looking leads him-
seldom bothered by importance
only when his ego needs him.

To clarify the situation
of why they can't, content to live;
When One has reason to his action -
and Two, by only 'loco' motive.

I suppose that there must be
a rail on the track that's bent
causing Two to do his damage
havoc stir; success prevent.

One chugs on full of steam
complete his task his only goal
but the pressure's surely dropping!

Two, throws a single piece of coal.

Now why has Two the upper-hand?
It seems unfair to have control
When One is certainly deserving -
I hope that I will One day know.

copyright 2004

Cliff Perry

Mother of Invention, wishing everyone who struggles with something, the power to soldier on with all their strength.

Howlin' Huskies!

Huskies

ice blue eyes

pointed and perky

coal-tipped ears

thick fur

black and white

fluffy curved tails

adorable puppies

born leaders

proud

intelligent

powerful

driven to hard work

natural runners

can not bark

they howl their presence

curl in the snow

adapted to cold

won't make friends

with just anyone -

you must earn this privilege

My Gr. 3's and I wrote this poem when after reading a story about a husky, we jotted down quick facts mentioned in the selection. Then, we all arranged them in an order we liked, starting with appearance. Finally, we added some extra words to refine it. Voila - a mini lesson on Husky Facts in succinct point form which was pleasing to the eye and ear!

I've been dogsledding for a morning once and it was so cool! These dogs are truly born to run. And the puppies? Just as adorable as these pictures!

Mother of Invention, honouring those Howling Huskies today!