random little poem of appreciation... you can write one too, can't you?

I think we can all write poems (being a writing teacher, I would think that, wouldn’t I?). It’s fun to write poems. Just get out your journal and let the ideas flow. Nobody needs to read it but you. Here’s an example. Yesterday I was just kind of writing gratitude things (which I do to keep my chin up) and it turned into a poem. Abraham-Hicks calls this kinda thing “a rampage of appreciation” or “milking the good feelings.” This kind of thing really dug me out of horrible despair in the past, so as silly as it might seem, I try to keep it up. I love this day and the sunshine in it. Blue sky on the mountains and a full tank of diesel in the car, New socks. Lots of socks. A sunny man on my mind. A sunny competent smart interesting intriguing man. Endless possibilities await me in Europe. Bananas and nespolas,* bombs and dishes?** Friendships. Joy. Health. Music. Possibility. There are frozen seasons of snow and despair. But despair melts. Flowers grow. Meadows invite you to rest. To dream. To make love. To take new paths That you find when you are still enough to pause, and rest, and SEE them. That’s what the world holds. nespolas are my favourite fruit. They don’t travel. ** thinking of going volunteering in Ukraine

From A Trance in the Rocky Mountains Somewhere

From a music-and-camaraderie-induced trance in a room full of writers to Pachelbel’s Canon in D on an old ranch in the Rocky Mountains somewhere.

How much love is too much love?

I came home at lunch

How do you measure your achievements?

 A productivity guru on LinkedIn just asked how we plan to measure our achievements in 2024.

Hm. I thought about it. I don't need an app for that. I'll do this:

How about you? Do you have measuring and goal-making plans for 2024? I feel I've just lost that plot, never to return.

I will measure the joy I can wring out of every day

Every sunbeam I can gather.

I will measure the gratitude I remember to have

And the friends I remember to thank

I will count the people I love,

The people I like

The people who choose to help me, to write me, to love me.

The unexamined life is not worth living, but maybe the measurement most important

Is the light we choose to shine

The light we produce with our choices

The praises we sing with our voices.

The measure of joy is not in the actual achievements

But in the counting up of every healthy step.

Every step on the path I take that helps another, is worth it.

Every word I speak that lifts a heart, is worth it.

Every time I rejoice in the health and good feelings of my body, my activity, my meditations, is worth it.

Those "wasted" little words of praise for each individual, 

the hours I spend writing that I'll never publish... they cast light. 

They enable the receiver.

They lift hearts.

Those little words I write are doing their tiny butterfly-wing part to make the world a better place, because each person who receives that seed passes it to another.

We are a relay of light, or we are a relay of dark.

How shall I measure my accomplishments? 

By the light cast 

along the path 

where I have passed.

What else is even worth counting?

The Fool

Fools wear bright colours

and dance erratically

Serious folk

Think Fools don't know where we're going.

In Tarot, they're card zero.

Unlike the grown-up cards

The Fool can not be contained or defined

by a number.

Zero, like Infinity

Is impossible to grasp.

We love it

We're fascinated

We hate it.

In a playing deck, the Joker

Is anything.

Often left out

But when needed, all-powerful.

By being nothing

Indefinable

Hard to Catch

The Fool is Greater than the rest.

Fools are temporarily popular

When the mood is good.

They're the first to burn

When the crowd needs to blame. 

Different.

Indefinable.

Scary.

Do you dare to be the Fool?

If not, if you're afraid –

Take a number. Be anything else.

Be easier to tame.

Be safe.

Do not go out naked, naive, innocent

on a mal-informed adventure.

wise men say that

fools rush in

where angels fear to tread

But indecision is more foolish!

Do Something, 

And if you hate that,

Do Something Else.

That is wisdom

The wisdom of innocence. 

Of rushing in

And carrying on

Go with a pure clear heart

See, adapt

Climb, continue

Believe. Try.

And keep trying.

Don't listen to the numbered folks.

The rules folks

The "you can't" folks.

You can. If you will.

The Fool will.

The Fool always will.

Because the Fool has not heard 

that she can't.

So she will.

Ignorance is bliss is possibility.

The Garden Hose of Love

 

I am a cat

I follow the sunbeams around the house all day. 

I'll follow them outside rather than be in a shadow.

People think I appear and disappear like the mist.

I'm made for adventure.

I am intolerant of noisy people and likely to leave the room when noise starts.

I love to be petted... by the right hand, but don't tolerate the wrong one.

I love to stretch luxuriously and just sit there gazing at people I love.

I love to snuggle and be cozy and warm.

I don't need you for food... I can hunt my own. 

... But I'll gladly share a meal and company if the meal and company are good.

I'm loyal to people who are worthy of it.

I don't follow rules that don't make sense to me.

I can't be caged.

But I'm symbiotically beneficial when the conditions are right.

 

A drop to drink

Old OneFish

Rests his too-long fins 

Looks so peaceful and cozy

Hovering above the ledge of a bowl

Or lightly in his hollow log

Just that little thing.

So nice.

I sit on the stairs so I can hang with him

Pull up the coffee table

Rest my laptop

Like his fins

He eats lightly these days

Like any well-aged person

Impassive, disdainful, as extra food drifts past

Young TwoFish darts for every morsel

She vacuums the extra from the bottom.

Do they hear the storm battering the hatches?

The house felt like a submarine last night.

Me, under the water, but cozy inside.

I'm going to have to brave the storm

To go for drinking water

I should have put some buckets outside last night

So much water came down!

The waves are frothing

Whiter than cream

Everything around here is called white this or blanche that

I wonder if it's named for the waves and not the sand?

It's the kind of weather to name a place for

For sure.

But OneFish is peaceful as ever.

And Kokopelmana Twofish doesn't seem to know 

There's a storm either.

Beauty without

Beauty within

Water without

Water within

Must plan better

To get a drop to drink!

I think of this as one of those CBC poems -- those things people come up with when they live alone in the country with quiet time to think and then CBC people put them on the radio for other people who live alone in the country. :)

Russ Everett

 I knew this man named Russ.

We met online and I think we were maybe friends right away.

We didn't date, precisely. No kisses, none of that.

But connection, yes. Wasn't that what we were all looking for online? 

Well, 

I think of him a lot, anyway, more than a dozen years later.

So I guess we're connected.

I remember lying under a tree by Glenmore Reservoir

Staring up at the sky.

Was that the first time we met?

I think I remember him saying that I taught him something that day. 

Something about staring up at the sky. I don't remember what, but maybe, simply, that it was important to take time to do that, lie under yellow-leaved trees and marvel at the blue blue sky.

He taught me.

He taught me something important, but at the time he said it, I was surrounded by less wise friends, silly little folk who believed in making others fit expectations (an impossible task, really, a foolish goal). 

Russ said, "If you want him, you gotta accept."

And I think I said "but..." and "what about..." and all kinds of other silly, small, foolish things.

And Russ was a mountain. Russ knew.

If you want him, you can only take him as he is. That's how it works, said Russ.

Russ was not silly, and Russ was not small.

And Russ died way too young, but his lessons live on.

Alone but not alone

Me attempting to emulate Rumi. Will keep practicing.

 To bed alone, and awake, alone…

Well, I can

Take the time to stretch the body

To drink the lemon water

To ponder the advice of friends

Open the door and the air here is kissing me

Embracing me

Calling me to walk

But the neighbour stepped on a nail (that does not sound poetic)

the sea is singing to the right of me

I could use some jokers to the left

Ah. A deer. 

Another doe and her daughters

And then another two.

Jumping and joking, as requested.

Blue jays

Fluffing and flitting 

Even funnier.

A friend from France

Joins me for some conversation

The shades of loneliness

Men, our kids, ourselves… 

A heart touch.

I am alone, but not alone. 

Part V: Ragmornaroch and Choranromgar

 

 

A blizzard

Started to blow.

The air

Turned bitterly cold.

 

"There's... a. cave,"

Said my man

So I helped him to rise

From the pool of his blood

Red ice pool.

Red on the ground.

 

He leaned on me.

He dragged his leg.

He dragged his sword.

 

I took the weapon in my hand

And I took his weight on my shoulder.

 

 

We limped to the cave

Behind the weeping tree.

"I thought... to rest here.

Then that dragon came at me."

 

That dragon that was now with our daughter.

Did I have the worry of a mother? Aye.

And yet

I realized too

That my wee Blessa

My tiny toddler

Was bigger than me this day.

She had powers, aye.

 

More than before.

And I knew she'd be my tiny tot no more.

The power was out now

Out in the light.

 

It would not hide again.

She controlled magic coins.

She healed... dragons?

And now I healed too.

 

I'd healed my Ragmornaroch.

I looked at my hands

My hands that still pulsed

With the chi.

 

Would the power stay too, with me?

Or was it linked only to Blessa?

Only time would tell.

My husband shivered.

 

"Take my cloak."

I covered him

Weak as he was.

Leaned him against the wall.

 

 

It was chilly in here

He'd need warmth to heal

I took off my pack

Fetched out my fire-things

 

Turned to leave the cave for sticks

And stopped.

Blessa, wee Blessa

Was coaxing the dragon in.

 

Without thought –

Without intention –

I was drawn back to Ragmornaroch

Stood beside him.

Stronger, we were, as two.

 

But did we need protection from our own daughter?

Surely not.

My mothering hands reached out

Then fell back.

She did not need me just now.

 

She toddled towards us, coaxing the dragon.

Led him, unresisting, to the other wall of the cave.

"Choranromgar, stay," said she.

 

I marvelled again 

At the long name on her lips

My tiny wee daughter

Who barely spoke yesterday

Today had such power in her voice.

 

Ragmornaroch and I stared

At the pulsing light in the dragon

His life force, plain to see.

Life force my daughter had given him.

 

The cave was warmer already.

No need for the fire.

Yet still, 'twas obvious he was injured.

 

The light pulsed 

But clear to see

It was Blessa's light.

 

'Twas not yet the full life force of the dragon.

Yet it warmed us.

The dragon was injured

Yet that dragon warmed us.

 

Ragmornaroch's hand squeezed mine.

I squeezed back 

But did not tear 

My eyes 

Away from the dragon

Beside my daughter.

 

Panting, Ragmornaroch

Leaned on me.

He leaned on the wall.

The adrenaline of combat

Flowed still through his veins.

Panting, the dragon rested, too.

His breath came large, and deep

With effort.

 

My girl made a small sound and I looked to her.

Blessa stared into my eyes

Then she looked to the sword

And again to me.

 

She made me to understand

That I should pick it up

And go to her.

She paced before me, led me.

And I with the sword

I drew a line in the sand

On the floor of the cave

To split the space in two.

 

When I had finished,

I looked back.

The line glowed and shimmered

A veil in the air.

 

I carried the sword back 

To the side of my husband.

Blessa followed.

As I laid down the sword

She took my hand and pulled me

To the side of the dragon.

 

She stood me in front of his nose

And carried my hand to his face.

His? Or hers?

I knew not.

 

But the face was warm

And soft, and alive.

And I loved this dragon too.

I couldn't not.

 

I looked to the dragon's side

To the battering and the blood.

And I looked to my husband,

Too, nearly dead. 

 

His beautiful, bright smart eyes

Were dim. He wanted to sleep, I knew.

The dragon, too.

They panted, and they bled.

They might die yet, ‘less Blessa and me

Could make them live.

Part IV: Blessa & the Dragon

His footprints were deep
The gold must be heavy.
I followed my daughter
And the arrow
To my man

For an hour she walked
On her sturdy wee legs
Then, so tired
She turned to be lifted
And rode on my shoulders

Another long hour
I know that she napped, but
The arrow kept leading.
So follow I did.

All of  a sudden
The arrow shot up
Shot straight up in the air
My feet stopped moving
My eyes did stare.

The trees were aflame.
Not all, but some.
The snow was melted
In swathes of scorch.

Blessa woke up.
Her eyes saw the trees
She looked straight up
Up to the arrow.

She spoke
And her voice was strong.
"Wa, come." 
The arrow dropped 
Into her hands
She tore the sapphire free.

Then raised her right hand
Palm face front
She threw 
a stream of water

The sapphire sailed
The water arced.
Words came from
My daughter's mouth
Words I'd ne'er
Heard a'fore.

And the sapphire obeyed her.

The water flowed
From that small coin
In amounts you would not credit.

The fires went out
One then another
As my Blessa steered the coin.
Over one tree
Then over another.

She steered me, too. 
Even wi'out knowing
My feet moved to her bidding, 
Following along as she 
Put out the fires.

The arrow, now
A triangle
Hovered
Beside us.

And then I saw him
Ragmornaroch
His body was bent, 
Though his right arm 
Bravely
Held his sword

Blood poured from him
On the left
Or seemed to pour
So much blood on the snow!

And then I saw 
The creature he fought
A dragon.

Huge. Grey-silver, and
Like my husband
Bloody.
Also weary.

In its eyes it seemed I saw humanity.
Sadness. Fear.
As my eyes met the dragon's, 
It crumpled
To its knees.

"Choranromgar!"
'Twas the longest word 
Blessa'd ever said.
She squirmed
To be set down.

As her feet touched the snow, 
She turned to me.
Reached to the hovering triangle
Took out the emerald.

She pushed it into my hand.
"Ma. Fix Da."

I kenned at once.
The power still pulsed in me
From the fire.
The green of the emerald
Would give power to heal.

In my need to save my husband
I turned away from my daughter.

I moved toward Ragmornaroch
Already focussing the light on his wound
The wound I could see
How many more?

I reached him
My love
Reached to him
Put my hands on his side
Staunching the river of blood
Even as I kissed him

He kissed me back
I was reassured
There was strength in him yet
My love.

A sound distracted
We turned to look

We watched together
As the fearsome beast
Fell to its side
Closed its eyes
We watched its life force fade

I relaxed
Turned to my husband
Focussed.
Poured my energy in him.
Healing.
Hoped I was doing it right.
Hoped I was not missing other, serious wounds.

I heard him groan
My eyes darted to his face
His gaze was urgent,
Toward the dragon.

I looked.

Blessa was with it
She had toddled over
While I tended her dad.
She leaned on its side
Near its heart.

She took the ruby
Burning brighter than ever
And push it
Against the dragon's skin
The ruby went through, went in

Its life force flowed back.
We watched, aghast.
"Blessa, no!" I gasped.

"Choranromgar!" she shouted.
And again. "Choranromgar!"

But his life force faded again.

Her strong tiny body 
Pushed on his heart.
Her tiny strong body
Moved to his head.

"Choranromgar!"
She commanded again
But the dragon could not
Lift his head.

She returned to his heart
With the diamond now
In her hand,
It flared like a sun
melting the snow around.

She looked at it
Held it high
Roared Choranromgar! again
Then she thrust the diamond in.

Ragmornaroch and I felt the heat
It came over us in blasts
Was that our daughter?
She glowed.

And then the dragon glowed as well. 
From within, a bright light
A ball, a sun
It opened its eyes.

Choranromgar! shouted Blessa again.

Part III: Fire & ale

Blessa lifted her chubby hand
And the arrow, obedient, hovered,
leading with its ruby point.
"Da." commanded she.
So the arrow moved
out of the room
towards the door.

Blessa toddled after
On her, chubby, sturdy, legs.
Wobbly-not-wobbly 
A baby, yet...
Surely older than me.

"Blessa, wait," I called, though 
She couldna open the door 
wi'out me. (I thought!
We hadna met hovering arrows a'fore, tho.)

My exhaustion hung heavy on my shoulders
But out again we'd go
Ragmoarnaroch needed us
Twas impossible to say no.

Blessa stood by the door 
Playing with her pretty red arrow.
I tossed some food in our sack
And prepared myself to follow.

Need I put her up again
High upon my shoulders?
It seemed not so
She was ready to go
She had her arrow to follow.

I looked at the door
The arrow
The girl
And turned my own pretty head

To look at the shelf
The fire (still warm)
The mug
That he'd left on the table.

With the print of his lips
On the rim 
of that mug
on the table.

Blessa played on
With a sweep of her hands
She was learning the arrow
And how it moved.

Twas like she was gentling a horse.
I turned my shoulders
I set the sack down
I took up the pitcher of ale.

I poured it
As he had
Not long before.
Foaming ale into the mug.

I set down my bones, 
weary me
Upon the bench
Was he as tired as I am?
I put my lips
Where his had been
Not a kiss, but still, some magic.
I closed my eyes 
I felt him there. 

The ale was fine
The batch one of my best
Glad I was he'd had some.
I felt the good of the herbs
and the hops and the malt
Surge into my blood.
I breathed deep 
and deep again.

"Your chi, Beth," I heard him say
deep in my mind,
"It's yours to use if you'll find it."

I drank another long draught from the mug
Drank another long draught from the air.

A smile curved my lips 
I remembered the day 
that he'd taught me, or tried,
To meditate his way.
"The chi, you can find it."
Och, he'd been so sure.

"Stare into the fire
Find the twin flame
That burns in the hearth inside you."

I'd tried with him
To find that chi-hearth
But no luck I'd had
No feelings I'd felt
But the thud of my heart
As usual.

He'd shown me, though
He'd shown me his own
His own aura glowing
The fire afore us, growing...

"Zzzt, Mama!" cried Blessa
And my eyes snapped open
To see my wee daughter
In the glow of the fire

A big fire. 
Where before the hearth had burned lowly.
How? But...

"Mama zzzt!" Blessa cried again.
Her arms swung akimbo
She sketched an egg shape 
In the air around me.
Around me.

Around me?
I'd done it!
The room was lighter
And the light was from me.
And the fire was brighter
And that was my chi.

Joy surged inside me
And energy too
I had the power
For what we must do. 

"Zzzt, Blessa!" I sang, and rose to hug her.
Oh, this blessed chi.
She laughed and laughed
And hugged me back
And I felt our energy surge more.

I knew we had to hurry.
I drank the mug down
Drank half again
And filled my extra aleskin.

More weight to carry.
But now, it didna fash me.
How far would we go?
The way to know
Was to open the door
And take that first step

Twas Blessa who did
Take the first step
Her chubby sweet legs 
Seemed more strong by the minute
Like me, she knew
Her Da was ahead
And she'd shown me
That he was in trouble.

As I pulled shut the door
And pulled close my cloak
She toddled ahead
Sure after that arrow

Though the snow blew
His footsteps were clear.
Through the path down the valley.

I and my pack and a stout walking staff
Followed near after
My newly quick daughter.

Followed after my daughter.