Saturday, April 29, 2017

A WEDDING IN THE GARDEN



There is going to be a wedding in the garden
this morning,
Mother Earth, the patient bride,
awaiting fickle Sky-groom,
fair-weather friend.
He is dawdling,
arranging his clouds just so,
to look his best.
He can be seen casting glances
at neighboring planets.
The groomsmen look at each other
and shake their heads.

The bride is resplendent 
in her grass-green gown,
dotted with magenta rhododendrons.
Her cascading waterfall tresses
roll bountifully down,
and an exaltation of skylarks
cavort about her head and shoulders,
joyously singing.

Birds just love a good wedding.

Wild bunnies peep, big-eyed, 
from under the floral garlands.
A mama deer and her fawn attend
but at a distance, out in the pasture.
The bride's attendants are covered
with pink and purple blossoms.
The trees stand tall in their tuxedos,
sporting a carnation in every lapel.
From every bough,
a collective of assorted yard birds 
warble a clarion call
to the assembled guests~
joy on a summer morning.

Sunflowers and weeping willow
line the aisle with splendor.
Mother Earth approaches,
carrying pink luscious peonies,
smiling a tremulous smile,
faintly tinged with tears.
She is softened and sweet,
with an attitude 
of wistful hopefulness
against the inner fear
she does not wish to see:
her groom is changeable,
can burn or freeze her at will.
Nevertheless,
she is dressed in her best,
lets her heart do the rest.
She steps forth with head held high,
into the moment.
The only time for love,
my friends,
is Now. 


One from the spring of 2015, my friends, to be shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United on Sunday morning. Wishing you all a wonderful sunny weekend!

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Beach Day


Note the carved words:
We Are All One



On the left of the cloud, in the outlined area,
it looks, to me, like a Pup angel....see the wings? 
and he is laughing: happy I am at the beach. 
It is hard to see until the photo is enlarged.
I didn't see it when I took the picture, 
it only popped up when I 
downloaded the photos.
But, to me, there was a Pup angel 
at the beach today.


Now he looks like Puff the Magic Dragon.
It was a beautiful day for waves and clouds today.



Frank's Island



I ran away from my desk today and 
enjoyed the beach in the sun. 
I wanted to share some 
highlights with you.


Wednesday, April 26, 2017

HOUSE OF SAND AND SEA



I spun my house from sea sand
and early morning mist,
filled it with daybreak and evensong,
used beach glass
for all the windows.

I left my roof
open to the sky,
a ceiling of stars and windsong,
seabirds on the wing,
sea fog and ever-changing clouds.

At the shore,
I replenish my stores of peace,
let the sursurration of the waves
wash through my ears, my heart, my being,
till I grow as calm
as the lull between waves,
as strong and silent as the smooth stones
scattered along the shore,
as patient as the sand dollar,
that spins its house
from the sand and grit around it
and carries it
within.

Full of whalesong
and sand and sea,
my heart is its own
little sand dollar home.
I carry it along
with me.




for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: A Grain of Sand. A topic I know a fair bit about. Smiles. I borrowed a few lines from  older writings to make a new poem, since I am not writing much at the moment.



Monday, April 24, 2017

My Favourite Activist



This is Ta'Kaiya Blaney's latest video. Ta'Kaiya is now fifteen. She devotes her life to speaking on behalf of Mother Earth and its children and creatures. She sings straight to my heart, and has done since I first happened upon her. Ta'Kaiya is a member of the Sliammon Band in Powell River, B.C. She has addressed the United Nations, speaking for the children of the world, and their right to a future. Five years ago, I posted her first video, Shallow Waters, made when she was ten years old.

I so admire her original songs, her video, her vision, her clear eyes and voice, her message, her life. When she sings, my heart melts, and I have hope.

Shine on, Ta'Kaiya!


Saturday, April 22, 2017

Running Free In the Forests of Heaven



Running free
in the forests of Heaven
is how I see you,
tail and ears up
and that old wild gleam
in your eye.
I never tamed you.
I never wanted to.
We both loved the wild,
and I honored it in you.

Those big puppy paws,
I hope they're lolloping along
miles of sandy beaches,
dipping in and out
of the waves,
the way you always did,
impervious to my calls
as you always were,
until you were done,
and then along you'd come,
galloping back
to me.
You'd pick up a piece 
of driftwood
as we left,
and carry it to the car,
for remembering.

Now I am the one
who is remembering.
And one day,
when it's time,
old wilderness pal of mine,
may you come lolloping
back to me
to guide me safely home.

There are only three things
I need to see in Heaven -
the first is you,
and old growth forests,
and the sea,
so we can walk those trails,
hike endless sandy beaches,
and watch the sunset, 
once more,
you and me.

One from 2015, my friends. I cant believe how much I still miss him, six years later.  Shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, wonderful reading every Sunday morning.

Friday, April 21, 2017

No Mouth To Scream




For five decades he has lived,
a disabled non-verbal adult,
at the ministering hands of staff,
in their varying moods of brusqueness,
efficiency, false cheerfulness,
stress, fatigue, or distraction.

They dress him,
shoving brittle arms into sleeves,
feed him, pureed glop,
spoon impatient for his difficult swallow,
bathe him, quickly, as the clock is ticking,
sit him in a wheelchair, park him in a corner.

Day after day, he lives
inside his mind,
unable to express a wish,
hoping the day person will be
gentle, unhurried, patient.
Some days are golden,
when the shiny one comes,
who asks him:
which shirt? this one? or this?
the one who laughs and sometimes dances,
acting silly, like a long-legged stork,
just to make him smile.
Her hands are gentle.
She tells him, one late night shift,
"I see you and you are beautiful",
and watches a single tear
roll down his cheek.

He has no words, but his eyes tell her
he is grateful.
He has no mouth
to release the scream that has
been building for fifty years
at his forced confinement,
the sameness of his days,
living in a world
of few choices,
trapped in a body that doesn't work.

But sometimes the golden girl comes,
and those days shine.

Grace. It is what makes us all
shiny dancers.


True story.  for  Magaly's  prompt at Real Toads: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream



Thursday, April 20, 2017

Crow At Large




Canuck the Crow was helped to live
by the humans of the Lower East Side
when he fell out of his nest
as a baby.

Midst the disenfranchised
and the struggling,
he lives with camaraderie
for his fellow beings,
who share what little they have
with Canuck the Crow.

He  alights on peoples' shoulders,
begs for treats, tilting his head winsomely
and shining his beady eye.
He even rides the Skytrain,
zoom zoom.

One morning, as police were arresting
a young man brandishing a knife,
the knife fell to the sidewalk, with a clatter.
Canuck swooped in,
picked it up with his swift beak
and flew off, partner in crime.
The police gave chase.

Eventually, the news anchor
informed us that evening,
the knife was recovered
and entered into evidence.
The crow was still at large.
Canuck, the newsman added,
with droll face and lopsided grin,
was "known to police."


Canuck and his dad Shawn Bergman.
Shawn is relieved here after Canuck's recovery 
from being knocked out  by a flag at a soccer game,
apparently on purpose.


True story. For Shay's prompt at Real Toads: Crows. Very clever birds. I must say the photographer was as quick as Canuck, to capture this on film. Canuck is a famous denizen of the Lower East Side. As a baby crow, he was helped to live by Shawn's landlord's son. When he was deemed big enough to be released, they set him free, but he returned straight to Shawn's shoulder, and has stuck close by ever since.

His fame spread after the above incident. He has his own facebook page, has been featured in paintings at a Vancouver art show, and has had his own meet and greet in the downtown core.  As of last word, he is still very busy finding objects and schmoozing with folks in the Lower East Side.


Shawn Bergman photo