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Showing posts with label Katherine L. Gordon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Katherine L. Gordon. Show all posts

Wednesday, 30 July 2025

announcing The Banished Poets Society

 

July 30, 2025



Dear Chris,


         I think this may be of interest to you:


Announcing the Advent of The Banished Poets Society.

Some of the founding members include Becky Alexander, April Bulmer, James Deahl, Katherine L. Gordon, Andreas Gripp.


No fees required, no costly contests or arranged readings. What you will receive is a monthly printed newsletter with every contributor's work published in that month, mailed to them each month. Poets are free to read their newsletters in whatever setting they choose.


We are hoping for poems that represent all cultures: Palestinian, Jewish, immigrants of every culture, black and indigenous poets who need their voices heard, the marginally suppressed in a tough economy, those who yearn to find their unique places, their own spirits and meaning in a challenging era. We hope to reflect the true spirit of the turbulent 21st, the glory of its diversity in loving and living.  Poetry is a universal language as is music. Your work will not be channelled or changed to suit the opinions of others. Just express it beautifully.


It won't be boring, it might be startling, but it might open the door to the harsh reality and sometimes wonder around us. It is time that we allowed our poetry to do that.


Please send suggestions and inquiries to: klgordonpoet@gmail.com


Send your monthly poem to:

Katherine L. Gordon

104 Alma Street South

Guelph, Ontario

N1H 5W9



         Perhaps you could help spread the word.


Fraternally,


         . . . James




Poet Girl Reading Poem to Listener. Inspired Creative Female Character Presenting Poetries on Event for Artists Poet Girl Reading Poem to Listener. Inspired Creative Female Character Presenting Poetries on Event for Artists in Room with Paper Scroll, Feather Pen and Inkwell. Cartoon People Vector Illustration cartoon of poet stock illustrations



email from Katherine L. Gordon:


You are a welcome member now. Just a poem a month and you will get a newsletter.  Please send me your return address for the mailing.
We have to change the current stagnant poetry scene and hear from suppressed and side-lined poets, no fees, this is my work of the heart for all of us. We need 
diverse points of view, all cultures. You are certainly a new era poet.  I am well Chris  Hugs from Katherine.


The 

Banished

Poets

Society 

 

      A Periodic Poetry Newsletter Produced by

Valley Press

Wednesday, 12 March 2025

The Heart Of An Exile: Katherine L. Gordon

I consider Katherine L. Gordon a kindred spirit poet. A spiritual poet who also remains active in our confusing political realm. 



This little town holds
a fragile charm
where my elsewhere birthed spirit
learns to survive.
My sustaining friends candle it into home
though shadows shimmer in contained corners.
The land of ancestors buried is hard-won
sacred soil calls out to my waiting bones …
I am forbidden to answer,
grieve for my moment to come
when alien soil covers restless remains
and spirit hovers between
the world that barely embraces me
and the pulsating claim of blood and ligament,
heart, spirit and tribal ties
that scream for my absorption
back into fiery particles that stoked my entity.
Wine cannot placate, bread and other fields
          seldom satisfies,
a communion I must re-learn. 

After Midnight: Selected Poems by Katherine L. Gordon 

Chinese translation by Anna Yin
2024 Sureway Press



Wednesday, 23 October 2024

Full Moon in Late Winter/First Time: Katherine L. Gordon

 

Full Moon in Late Winter


Like a communion wafer
perfectly round and subtly silver.
I swallow it for transubstantiation.

It is inside my spirit
I am inside its ancient magic
for a transient moment
a piece of immortality,
the sun embraces me
through this deceptive reflection,
transmitted light
I am too frail to seize,
but I carry this moon sphere
into an undiscovered mystery,
a stream of shimmering dreams.


First Time

The first time I heard rattling
on the tin roof of a farm attic
I understood rain:
that tidal tattoo scattering
the clouds of my mind
into a million pilgrim orbs.
Water to awaken, nourish,
explore, imprint.
I became a wildflower.


Katherine L. Gordon


from Awareness Poems
SureWay Press, 2024





Monday, 21 October 2024

Autumn Ducks, Late October: James Deahl


For Raymond Souster

January 15, 1921 - October 19, 2012


Another autumn, and mallards
blanket these secluded waters
of Chipican, sheltered from
the sharp gusts off Lake Huron.

They arrived from up north on their
journey to the Gulf of Mexico.
In afternoon’s sun they bob
on water surrounded by the gold

and burnt red of maples,
the yellows of locusts touched by frost.
All our flowers are finished,
even the brave asters have folded.

You have been gone six years, Ray,
and every year at migration time
your spirit comes on autumn’s wind
with the mallards on their way south.

Ducks tarry on Chipicon, safe
before whisking away as winter
advances with its teeth of ice;
they sanctify each year since you were here.


from Awareness Poems
Katherine L. Gordon and James Deahl
SureWay Press, 2024

Monday, 10 December 2018

Caution: Deep Water - a poetic book review



the free spirit must not be caged

for Katherine L. Gordon (on reading her Caution: Deep Water)



Dear Katherine,

this may be your best book yet
your most important story
the imprisoning of a shaman spirit
in a 'progressive' Canadian retirement home

your saddest book, too
it's all here - readers will
feel your loss of the spirit visitors
the ferny spreadings and season
changes in your Spirit Valley

A too true cautionary tale
first word in your title
CAUTION!
Caution: Deep Water

I, too, left my spirit valley
retreated to a small village lot
but your wisdom decrees
when the retirement home beckons

CAUTION!!!!!
swim - swim far, far out
into Lake Ontario
this body will sink
but the spirit owl shaman
who invaded me long ago

will rise and fly
deep water is not the realm
for free spirits

Chris


Thursday, 7 January 2016

On Nelligan: Katherine L. Gordon


Emile Nelligan.JPG


(for J.D. and Shona)
 
 

He must be read
in a snow-filled spinney
beside an ice-thick stream
where all is cold, empty and still,
bird-abandoned deer-deserted
no twig trembling in its winter sheath.
Then will the cliffs become
his bristling deserted ramparts
with spectres massing, threatening,
ancient bells will shake to sound within you,
his fever possess you
with the bitter beauty of a god-riven
god-abandoned world,
trailing shreds of the forsaken
the mysteries of dissolution,
a savage view of a mad earth
filled with a passion you can never retain,
dare not interpret.
 


Katherine L. Gordon
January, 2016.


                                   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~


Christ en Croix

Je remarquais toujours ce grand Jésus de plâtre
Dressé comme un pardon au seuil du vieux couvent,
Échafaud solennel à geste noir, devant
Lequel je me courbais, saintement idolâtre.

Or, l'autre soir, à l'heure où le cri-cri folâtre,
Par les prés assombris, le regard bleu rêvant,
Récitant Eloa, les cheveux dans le vent,
Comme il sied à l'Éphèbe esthétique et bellâtre,

J'aperçus, adjoignant des débris de parois,
Un gigantesque amas de lourde vieille croix
Et de plâtre écroulé parmi les primevères;

Et je restai là, morne, avec les yeux pensifs,
Et j'entendais en moi des marteaux convulsifs
Renfoncer les clous noirs des intimes Calvaires!

Translation by Konrad Bongard

The gypsum Jesus always stalled me in my steps
Like a curse at the old convent door;
Crouching meekly, I bend to exalt an idol
Whose forgiveness I do not implore.

Not long ago, at the crickets' hour, I roamed dim
Meadows in a restful reverie
Reciting 'Eloa', with my hair worn by the wind
And no audience save for the trees.

But now, as I lie with knees bent beneath Christ's scaffold,
I see his crumbling mortar cross
With its plaster buried in the roses, and am saddened -

For if I listen close enough, I can almost hear
The sound of coal-black nails being wrung in
To his wrists, the savage piercing of Longinus' spear.



from Wikipedia



                                    ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~



On 2016-01-08, at 9:34 AM, Katherine Gordon wrote:

Beautifully laid out Chris.   Just to see that face!  He speaks to me
so powerfully.   Do you think his family thought he was gay? A very
Victorian crime it seems.   I long to comfort him,  he certainly tears open
all preconceptions.
Love to you and the Chase,    Katherine.




                                                 .   .   .   .

Hi Katherine,
I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't know anything about him, & I had to Google to learn the barebones of his story from Wikipedia. Your poem perfectly captures the mad sadness of his life and art.
thanks again for a haunting poem,
Chris ... & Chase wrrfffzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz   (still napping)


                            



Sunday, 18 October 2015

What of this 2015 Election? - Katherine L. Gordon


I have heard the rants of taxes
clang of coins
money in our pockets
if we have some,
what of calamitous climate
what of homeless
what of native peoples pleading equal place?
What of veterans, unemployed, elderly poor,
what of sharing
in this tight-fisted rule?
Any mention of the desperate dying?
Refugees we created in brag of bomb barrage?
Don’t cover your face, be of old stock,
some of us will be smugly rich,
what of our soul- values in this election?


Katherine L. Gordon

                                               ~   ~   ~   ~

Thanks, Katherine, for two hugely timely poems. This campaign has been the biggest dud I can remember, and considering its importance in choosing the direction Canada will take, and the lack of discussion of crucial global issues like climate change and refugees, it's a pity that petty, irrelevant BS wedge issues like the niqab* have dominated.

The NDP, which should have been 'the party of change', instead fell into the trap of debating Harper on his chosen issues like the economy. And Trudeau cleverly followed an old Liberal trick of campaigning from the 'left' with a couple of progressive sounding soundbites, signifying nothing. The lack of any leadership, and especially vision, from our politikal klass proves once again that it's the Canadian people, voiced through people's poets like yourself, who are the true agents of change. I still haven't decided whether to hold my nose and vote for zionist, Thatcher-praising Angry Tom, or to follow my conscience and vote for the only candidate I feel any respect for, Elizabeth May. 

Again, many thanks for articulating how so many of us feel about this election.

peace & poetry power!
Chris & Chase Wrfffffffffffffffffffff!



* At the start of the silly niqab thing I kept hearing the word 'knee-cap' on the radio, and I wondered what the heck the IRA was doing involved in the Canadian election.


                                              ~   ~   ~   ~



Late October Landscape



Here in the umberous peace of late October
the rustling cornfields shake
with the tremor of marching feet
a world away in darkening Europe,
thousands of weary migrants tramp a beat
that all the places of the planet shiver to.
It is the dying quarter of a gun-rage year.
Brave birds still plan migration
with their songs of life and love
across the lands of man-torn terror,
no corner to carry babes and scant belongings
out of the range of endless bombs,
clouds not of nature but of a new black death.
Here in darkling wood-paths owl and coyote converse
in a season of restless change and orange radiance,
which of us will choose the light?
 

Katherine L. Gordon


Thursday, 25 June 2015

Stone Soup: Kate Marshall Flaherty (review by Katherine L. Gordon)

Stone Soup FC


Stone Soup
by Kate Marshall Flaherty
Quattro Books Inc. Publisher        


Reviewed by Katherine L. Gordon                                                 
Poet, Publisher, Judge and Reviewer.


From a butter-cream background cover an ancient iron pot entices, it has  the four legs: earth, air, water and fire, grounding the circle of the cauldron of life.

Stone Soup is the apt title of Kate Marshall Flaherty’s book, evocative of the cauldron of renewal as well as the brew of soul-food we all share in, each of us unique in the co-operative effort of trying to nourish each other through the rough, the ritual and the jubilation of days. The stones of this book jangle through some of the poems,  each of us surely carrying one, the rough edges, the smooth, even the cutting ones as in Kate’s poem “every boy should have a stone in his pocket.”

These are our contributions to the simmering pot of days: “to purge all that’s not best.” Little events stir profound observations in Kate, in language equally accessible and wondrous: “Like rough prayer beads/to feed his family”  from Light Within, and the amazing “alleluia!” of The God Particle.

The spirituality of diverse cultures is gathered here,  added to the collaborative soup, to nourish with insight not division. Kate begins with a Dragon Fruit section, the taste of the exotic and the plain blending harmoniously.  She has a trick of catching the sublime in the simple, so much sacred in all human action. Much reverence glows in the reference to Native lore, as in Lost: the “migwetch” for all natural beauty.

Her feelings so palpably human as in Mosquitoes, yet so connected to the deeper dimensions we sense.  Next of Kin in the Lost section is a revolution of thought, our beginnings, our shared condition with all creatures. Fairy tales are here, reality is here, all blessed with a light Kate knows and transmits so easily to the surprised and enriched reader.  Her language can leap from literary lovely to playful patois,  entertaining and delightful. It is quite a mix.

As in the original folk-tale, the outcome is up to all those who enrich the meal. The reader will partake and be permeated with the revelation of Stone Soup.

Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Tuscan House: Katherine L. Gordon



 

Tuscan House
 

for Signor Bellini

 

There is a house in Tuscany
so mellow in time
her stones share secrets,
rose of love, gold of life,
black iron of private endings,
history furls with green vines
around ancient windows
glinting the embrace of belonging
in a country-side steeped in reverence
for ancient gods of earth and water
the wine of communion
with each rock and flower.
Here is the quiet of paradise
a spirit-place that calls me
the pulse of all that beats
    in my centre.
 

Katherine L. Gordon

Monday, 22 June 2015

And With Thy Spirit: April Bulmer (review by Katherine L. Gordon)



And With Thy Spirit
Poems by April Bulmer

Reviewed by Katherine L. Gordon
Poet, Publisher, Editor, Judge and Reviewer.

            A manuscript to jolt you from the comfortable edges and spiritual inertia of this hugely selfish and somewhat shallow generation, into the deep and heady seas of vision.   A welcome philosophy for the famished soul to make sense of pain, life, death and rapture.  This book by April Bulmer is a landmark of literature to cherish and reference as we evolve from static views into a discovery
of our own divinity and purpose.
         
Sections of this work approach multi-layered vision:  in April, Fathers, we catch glimpses
of the Father who dies, returns, companions.   April struggles with the difficulties of rejection in
childhood but the resolution of understanding relationships throughout meetings in many lives,
how the Father’s perceived return “your mind an aura of evergreen” represents the Christ-like relationship:
“there is a god of torn nets and broken vessels.”   The impelling memories of an Ojibway time of fathers/elders/medicine men/  arise.
   
       In Bernadette, Mothers section the hot immediacy of the body compels with its fullness, desire and pain, fleshing out its command over all:  “the water a shade of wound.”  Women receiving men,
birthing children, fashioning the grit earth of it, the fiery universe of us.  Native visions are palpably real in April’s work, as though keenly there,  lush with longing, Johnny Nanticoke an ever-mate.
In bruising lines the stark appraisal of this life: “I rattle my pills/like lost teeth.”
          
 Blue, the sacred colour of Mary’s mantle and the sky goddess,  occurs as a theme of cleansing,
“that blue soap” fair linen cloths to purify “the musk/of your land/ on my skin.
“We read souls like poems/ their rhythms/their tears/their bones.”
        
   One senses that incarnations could alternate between male and female presentation.
The vital gnosis here is that rock, tree, animal, all peoples, intertwine with us in the passionate cycle,
the shape-shifting, “the scent of my shadow.”  There is fierce passion in manifestation, from root
to galaxy.  One begins to discard preconceptions as this work unfolds.
        
   Mary and Jesus remain symbols of our long conflict with history:  “an apple broken
open”  “before the legend of hurts.” Here is spirit experience as profound as the Nirvana of meditation, like the rapture of the ancients into the presence of god: “My spirit grazes on flowers.”
Not for the timid to open the stars. A whole new assessment of the Jesus vision as fellow sufferer, prophet and partner, who can also be interpreted as a feminine aspect of ourselves.
     
    Menses blood, as poetisized here is also a force for renewal.  Rudolph Steiner once wrote
that “blood is the bridge between spirit and matter.”  April makes this continuum observation
as well as the link to sacrifice in The Scar, a hint of blood-offering to leap into the ecstasy of spirit-union. Vision becomes fusion.  Jesus, the Moon, gods and goddesses, coalesce into spirit personified through many incarnations, to permeate and celebrate.

         April’s  Contemplations of Moon remind one of the ancient figurines of Neolithic women, emphasis on hips and breasts, the life-force of humanity.
       
 The constant interplay of light and dark, the snake and the blossom, as in May, Healer, emphasizes the need to recognize both forces as necessary to our existence.  We hold the quality of each: “something howls/
it is my heart/ all that whimper and growl.” 
      
   Perhaps April has glimpsed the true meaning of our gods, the need for ever-changing
perception, the ringing role of the feminine, the rapture caught in earth, blood, pain and bone,
and the re-creating.
     
   The language of this book can be like nails in soft flesh, even in the beauty of her spare lines,
an invitation to The Serpent to “nest in my petals,”  “rise in the morning/ with original sin.” also
“And God swells and contracts/ like the waist of the moon.”
                 
   Flashes of vision we need to confront and re-learn.
         Clues in the Introduction and Afterword are an insight into April Bulmer’s current work.
And With Thy Spirit will infuse and excite all the longings to understand oneself, part of the
evolving perspective of every culture.


        
            


AprilBulmerApril Bulmer’s poems have appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies including Arc, The Malahat Review and Quills. Born in Toronto, Bulmer’s education includes a Bachelor’s degree in English and Mass Communications from York University as well as three Master’s degrees: Creative Writing, Concordia University, Theology, University of Trinity College and Religious Studies, University of Windsor. Women of the Cloth is Bulmer’s newest poetry collection. She has published six other books of poetry and four chapbooks. Her second book Weight of Wings was short-listed for the Pat Lowther Memorial Award for the best book of poetry by a Canadian woman. She lives in Cambridge, Ontario.

Click here for all Black Moss Press news related to April Bulmer.

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Canadian Voices (for Marvin Orbach, RIP)


Canadian Voices
 

for Marvin Orbach

 

A daring grew to voice
the wonders of our own perspective:
the fierce of winter
the miracle of spring
sweet of summer, rage of autumn,
the restless politics of guarding wilderness
against the rape of oil,
our little heartbreaks
small triumphs,
against the backdrop
of a powerful geography.
A community of poets found their pride,
sometimes each other,
a rare and wonderful meeting
of inspired minds.
It took a genius of catalyst
to blend these voices and visions:
one man to appreciate and understand...
give us the encouragement
to see “that this was good”
a movement of confidence
chorus of voices blended
in affirmation....
we are the poets of Canada,
Marvin Orbach our flag of nation,
our founder, mentor, eternal emblem.
 

 

Katherine L. Gordon
love and gratitude always to Marvin Orbach
for his steadfast encouragement.




Special Collections

The Marvin Orbach Collection of Canadian Poetry



When I was a young teenager I collected butterflies. Then when I got older I started collecting poets. After all aren't poets butterflies? When they write, they take wing.
Thus Marvin Orbach, a book collector and a librarian at the Vanier Library, Concordia University, Montreal, writes of his passion for modern and contemporary Canadian poetry. He began collecting at the age of 17 and by 2002 had developed a collection of approximately 2400 books which he donated to Special Collections. This gift has been recognized by the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board as being of outstanding significance and national importance.

Mr. Orbach wanted to keep the collection in his home city of Montreal but happy circumstances brought him into contact with Special Collections which houses important archival fonds of Canadian literary figures such as Alden Nowlan, Alice Munro, Mordecai Richler, Guy Vanderhaeghe, Aritha van Herk, and Robert Kroetsch. The gift of such a significant book collection is a perfect complement in presenting the published works of authors who are already represented in the archival holdings.

The Marvin Orbach Collection of Canadian Poetry has representative works from the 19th to the early 20th centuries but the greatest strength is in works by poets who began being published in the 1960s, the era which produced an explosion of poetry by such writers as Irving Layton, Ralph Gustafson, Miriam Waddington, Dorothy Livesay, P.K. Page, and Leonard Cohen. Many of these works are personally inscribed to Mr. Orbach and often contain a poem in manuscript. In addition, there are manuscripts, letters, and advertisements for poetry readings as well as translations into other languages by poets such as Margaret Atwood and Irving Layton. The collection is being continually strengthened by additional donations from Mr. Orbach.

In an article published in Concordia's Thursday Report (March 18, 2004), Mr. Orbach notes that his collection is his thanks to the country that accepted his parents after they left Eastern Europe. I love Canada. This collection is my gift to Canada.

It is indeed a gift which Special Collections shares with Canada. At the present time there is a finding aid for the collection available.

                              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thanks, Sheila  ;  )
I sent my blog post to Quill & Quire, & the editor is going to do a tribute on Marvin!

peace & poetry power!
Chris ... & Chase wrffffffffffffffffffff!

                                                  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On 2015-03-17, at 3:22 PM, Sheila Martindale wrote:

Yes, wonderful stuff, both the poem and the special collections piece.  Thanks, and Godspeed to Marvin on his final journey.
Sheila

Website: sheilamartindale.com



                             ~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hi Ariella,
I'm pleased you like Katherine's poem & the blog tribute to your dad  ;  ) Marvin was an inspiration for Canadian poets coast to coast to coast & generation to generation!

peace & poetry power!
Chris ... & Chase Wrffffffffffffffffffff!


                                                 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On 2015-03-17, at 12:41 PM, Ariella Orbach wrote:

Wow, beautiful...

Thanks for forwarding, and for sending along the other blog entries concerning my father. I'll be sending all of this to my mother as well, and I know that it will make her smile.

The question you ask me about the continuity of the collection at UofC is one that has been in the back of my mind. My father never mentioned anything about this, I imagine because his passing was not anticipated. I've posed the question to the folks at Calgary who take care of the collection, to see what they think. Unfortunately, neither my mother nor I inherited the expertise to continue in his name. I'll certainly keep you informed of any decisions, especially ones regarding forwarding of correspondence.

Thanks again for this!! and I'll be in touch with a photo + text soon.

Cheers,
Ariella

                                ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


On 2015-03-22, at 11:38 AM, Pearl Pirie wrote:

Hi Chris
What a shock that Marvin Orbach has died. Lovely man. Every death is a reminder to hug your loved ones.

Thanks for spreading the word. Hopefully Quill & Quire will get at that story soon.

Pearl

                              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



Tuesday, 10 February 2015

Yellow Wolf Eyes Follow (Katherine L. Gordon)





Yellow Wolf Eyes Follow

 

A black dog comes uninvited
into vision before I sleep
his yellow-fire eyes gaze
into mine before they close.
Through a fringed barricade
of half-closed cringeful eyes
I fight the penetration of that fixed mesmer,
I have met him before, understand the warning.
The wild soul in depths of wolf eyes
matches my own,
a wordless communication that incises
all the meaningless into the void.
He summons, soon I will follow.
In his eyes I see the path changing,
the circling of time-clouds over far forests,
I must let go into that yellow light of the cauldron,
fierce new beginning,   ease of old closed doors,
Secretly I welcome him with astral eyes.
 


Katherine L. Gordon
Wolf Moon, 2015.


                         ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thanks for this beautiful poem, Katherine. Not long after I retreated to the old mining hamlet of Cordova Mines 25 years ago, I had a similar encounter with a lone timber wolf. I was returning in the late afternoon from Peterborough, and decided to drive home by a winding remote back road. Just past Preston Bridge a huge timber wolf loped across the road and into the woods about 150 yards ahead.

I'd seen several dead coyotes by this time, one a dirtied roadkill beside highway #7, the other the size of a scrawny German shepherd, shot to prevent its predation of a farmer's livestock. The coyotes weighed about 55 pounds at most, but this lone timber wolf was huge and regal by comparison.

The surprise sighting of this rare animal overwhelmed me, so I stopped my little Honda in the middle of the deserted road to collect my senses. I looked longingly into the hilly woods where the wolf had disappeared, and suddenly there he was, staring with as much surprise and curiosity as I was.

Our eyes locked and we shared a moment of timeless interaction. Neither animal wished to break the spell of our encounter, until finally the wolf turned and faded into the brush. His coat was regal - a thick mottled grey and black robe. There was nothing frightening whatsoever about the encounter for either of us, and I've often wondered if he thinks of our meeting as often as I do.

Chris

                   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The January 2015 full moon is the first full moon after the December 21 solstice. In North America, we often call this full moon the Wolf Moon, Old Moon or Moon After Yule.
Astronomically speaking, the moon is full at the moment that it’s most opposite the sun in its orbit (180o from the sun in celestial or ecliptic longitude). For general reference, however, we can say the moon is full all night tonight, lighting up the nighttime from dusk until dawn.

The January 4, 2015 rising full moon in Italy, via Osservatorio Astronomico Università di Siena.
The January 4, 2015 rising full moon in Italy, via Osservatorio Astronomico Università di Siena.

Monday, 22 December 2014

Winter Solstice Ceremonies 2014


On 2014-12-22, at 10:20 AM, Katherine Gordon wrote:

A Sweet of Solstice

A creep of light
blows kisses at receding dark
we are blessed again,
saved from uncertainty
as sun decides
to embrace us one more time
in the cycle of our lives.
Wassail the trees
feast with friends
feed the needy birds and boys
deer and men,
hide the nag of doubt
that perhaps the heavens
will withdraw the light
that gives us life.
Strive to be worthy.
A silk of sigh, stray of tear,
light-blessed in winter
we can still dream.
 

 

Katherine L. Gordon
first increase of light, December, 2014.


 

Thanks Katherine!
I used to do smudging ceremonies for all the solstices and equinoxes, but I've become a bit slack about remembering to do this in my golden years. Yesterday I did remember, tho, and I drove out to ZenRiver Gardens with Chase. We wandered back to the old quarry site, and had a nice visit with the people who own it. They've built a small chalet carved out of the quarry ruins. Then we headed back to ZenRiver, where I built a fire on the rock outcropping in front of the shaman shack. I took down the very faded prayer flags from the wicker entrance way, and replaced them with a bright new strand of flags. I also took down the string which had been hanging along the front of the shack's porch, and replaced those with a Cuban flag which Sharon, my new 'assistant', had left in the shack. Then it was time to commit the old flags to the wind:

winter solstice fire
flares faded prayer flags
final voyage


I didn't realize how long I've been doing these ceremonies until I Googled the following haibun, from 2005:


Winter Solstice Smudging 2005


Had a great smudging ceremony last nite, altho it's obviously more fun  when Morley joins me. Stated the fire around 11 pm, & had to break a  trail to the chiminea thru a foot of snow. I've gotten so good at starting winter fires, even when my wood is covered in snow, that I had the chiminea roaring in 10 minutes. Had a large, almost empty bottle of Pelee Island chiraz, & made several (many?) trips back inside to take a sip & get warm while I waited for midnite. It was by far the coldest of the 3 Solstice ceremonies so far.

At midnite I did my usual ritual ringing in the 4 points of the compass, & got to use my spiffy new Tibetan bell - great strong sound! Then smudged in incense & rich smoke from the white pine boughs I collected on Monday's hike. When I awoke this morning it took a second or 2 to realize the great smoky aroma was in my hair :) Always feel refreshed & purified after the Solstice ceremony. When I looked out the window at noon all the trees were covered in white hoarfrost!

Solstice morning:
smudge smoke in my hair
hoarfrost on every tree



peace & poetry power!
Chris ... & Chase Wrffffffffzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz  (still napping)


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Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "Winter Solstice Ceremonies 2014":

winter solstice-
faded prayer flags



Happy winter solstice, Chris and Chase!


Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 24 December 2014 at 07:59

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Sunday, 9 March 2014

Hail the Sunshine! poem by Katherine L. Gordon




Arms of Light Rescue
 


The sky is silvered blue

the colour of archangels
who have gathered
with their swords of light
to split the darkness
drive Winterdark away,
the drab of days folded
as a used shroud,
spirits leaping out of rib cages
dreaming roses
love in scented bowers
troubles and sickness melted
in the sacred balm of sun’s light.
 


Katherine L. Gordon.  March 9,

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Daylight saving Time, 2014.
Andreas Gripp has left a new comment on your post "Hail the Sunshine! poem by Katherine L. Gordon":

Conrad was so right -- Katherine is the guardian of a true Canadian poetry. Thanks for posting this excellent poem. Really needed it after the horrible winter we've been having ...


Posted by Andreas Gripp to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 10 March 2014 06:19

Wednesday, 25 December 2013

Ice Storm Patrollers

Ice Storm Patrollers
a haibun for Marvin Orbach


For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow storms and rain storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across-lot routes, keeping them open, and ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had testified to their utility.


Henry David Thoreau
from WALDEN, first section "Economy", 1854



A major ice storm hit Ontario last Friday, and for several days it was unwise, basically impossible, to drive. Exploring the beautiful results of the storm wasn't possible until yesterday, Monday. Chase & I visited one of our favourite trails on the rocky plateau above the village. I call these the water tower trails.

ice storm
fleshes the bones
of old tipi sticks


 
Walking was very difficult. Fortunately Chase and I found a snowmobile track sunken under the ice crust and were able to crunch along above it. After a half mile the snowmobiler had circled back, and hiking was far more difficult. I sank heel deep with each step, while Chase skidded on top, enabled by his 'four-wheel-drive'. Walking was so laborious for me we didn't continue far. On the return hike, I noticed an ethereal surprise in the unblemished snow:
 
each footprint
glowing
bodhisattva blue


 
Day 2: The Reeve's Trail

This trail is part of the greater trans-Canada Trail, which was originally the old CNR railroad tracks. The rails were removed decades ago, but fortunately the rail bed was acquired and turned into long stretches of our national trail. It is extremely rare for Chase and I to encounter another hiker. The only humans we see are snowmobilers whizzing past at high speed in the winter, and ATVers in the milder weather. Chase and I enjoy our daily exercise and appreciate nature at an enjoyable pace. The crazed riders enjoy bruised kidneys and the aroma of small whining engines. The fuel scent lingers for minutes after their passing in cold weather. 

 

stunted dogwood swamp
magick fairyland today


boring stretch of trail
transformed to crystalline
archway

facing the sun
the whole swamp glistens
crysta
l

 

Chase & I turn our backs on the sun to start the return hike to the car. Sadly, the magick crystal swamp has returned to its usual dross colour. How can this be? Without the sun's brilliant magnification, the ice no longer reflects. Also the sun has also melted the ice on the south side of the cattails and dogwoods. Same swamp, two visions.

 

sun behind us
the swamp returns
to dull browns

looking back
crystal magick returns
with the sun's eye

lone black wing
swoops off the slag heap
this magick day


On day two the ice surface has hardened enough to bear my weight. I think of the sweet bread pudding I baked last night with its brown sugar crust. Tonight the forecast is for 25 below - no melt forecasts more ice magick tomorrow. 

 

Day 3: Water Tower Trails Again

It's a Christmas Day tradition to hike a certain section of these trails before Christmas dinner with my friend Morley and his family. While I hike I remember the image of the Christmas Day Chase & I flushed a snowshoe rabbit from a brushpile on this plateau.



faint sun
makes new magick:
all is silver-white



 

Even the daily high temperature has remained far below freezing since the ice storm visited. These sub-zero temperatures are tempering the ice crust to a steel-like hardness. Now it is a rare surprise when I fall through the crust. The edges are knife sharp, and I have a gouge on my thumb from one of these stumbles.

I worry that small animals may be trapped in their burrows by this once-in-many-decades ice storm. It would be reassuring to see tracks, but

 

even humans
leave no tracks now
in the frozen woods


 

Chris Faiers/cricket
Christmas Day 2013


Sunday, Dec. 29 : Thaw Day

I took Chase for a great ramble at Callahan's Rapids Conservation. Haven't been there in a month. I tried to explore the 'haunted woods' section by the rapids, but the thaw was in effect today, & I realized I couldn't make the round trip I like to do because the little creek was no longer frozen. So Chase & I hiked back to the parking lot, over the bridges, & took the little side trail which comes out in Riverside Pines.

Because of the thaw birds & little animals were finally out & about today. The warmer weather created a mist which made the hike feel like we were walking thru some primordial soup. From the bridges:

thaw day
beaver's slap a monk's tap
awake

 
Lots of falling ice & snow in the woods. It sounded like large invisible beings were tromping around in the woods, & a few times large chunks fell dangerously close to us.

We hiked for almost 2 hours, & I was so hungry I went to the Ranch by myself for crispy chicken. When I got home at 4:30 there were emails from Jim & Virginia, & another one from Gail. So I left Chase to warm up & drove back to El Rancho for a holiday drink with Jim & Virginia.



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Ancestral Roofs has left a new comment on your post "Ice Storm Patrollers":

Thanks Chris for this lovely wander through the ice storm woods - such dangerous beauty and now all signs gone, just broken branches to remind us where the ice lay heavy.
You two keep well.
Lindi 


Posted by Ancestral Roofs to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 30 December 2013 07:04


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Friday, January 10, 2014: Wraiths on the Water Tower Trails

Hi Marvin,

Thanks for letting me know the 2 UMBRELLAS arrived OK. I'm pleased I was able to feature the work of Martin Durkin in one, & that of Kathy Figueroa & Ursula Pflug in the other.
The small package of ephemera should arrive early next week. Chase & I were finally able to hike on our favourite trails for the first time in a week this  aft - first it was the ice storm & then the arctic vortex making hiking dangerous & unpleasant. Chase had a great time, it's hard to believe he's around 16 years old & not still a puppy sometimes. I'm still enjoying my time with HDT - about 90 pages to go.

Chase bounding
over fresh snow
and scary tracks  



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Arctic Vortex Aftermath

There are no gods in the wilderness
only wolves remain scavenging
in the four corners of the savage winds,
angels are made of black iron
refrain from kissing their frozen feet,
in the tangle of crushed trees
a flurry of fur and tails,
monkeys are returning.

Katherine L. Gordon
frozen January, 2014.


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Saturday, January 18, 2014: Changes

Hi Katherine,
Many thanks for your poem"Arctic Vortex Aftermath". I've done something a little different with it - I've been adding daily haibun to a posting I initially started about the ice storm, but then I have continued adding posts, including my last one about the arctic vortex. So what I've done is add your poem as another link to this 'renku' (linked) sequence. I think it works???
peace & poetry power!

Chris & Chase Wrffffffffffffffzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!  - both very full after a big dinner - today's hike was a major one way back to the 'shaman ponds' on the old quarry properties behind ZenRiver. We encountered a lot of wildlife for a change. Perhaps nature is also restless after the recent overwhelming wintery intrusions. At the start of the hike a young doe, perhaps 3 years old, bounded across the trail within 50 feet of us. Later, another startled adventurer:


ghost rabbit
boots over the trail
ears still brown


When we started the hilly & dangerous return journey from the distant ponds, a pair of crows noisily flew overhead (Milt & Al?). Close to where we saw the first deer 2 yearlings slipped into the woods. By the main quarry a woodpecker was busy tap-tapping for hidden snacks in low lying scrub thorn trees.

both trees I signed
by the shaman ponds
gone this wild winter 




  

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Sunday, January 19, 2014:  Sewage Bay Swamp


Today I took Chase for an hour hike on the Sewage Plant trails. It was snowing quite heavily, & we enjoyed our first annual visit thru the frozen swamp to 'sewage bay'. It's a haunting place - only accessible in the height of winter freeze-up, & even more haunting in the midst of an increasingly heavy & windy snow storm. There was a very ramshackle lone ice hut on the little bay - it would have made an interesting picture (by the marge/of Lac Labarge).


camo canoe
resting against
winter cut stumps

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Thursday, 27 June 2013

QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology






 

I found this mini-anthology stuffed in my mailbox last nite 
courtesy of Stan White (thanks, Stan!).

Today I took it to my ZenRiver Gardens retreat, & gave it the shaman
shack deck test - would the poetry be powerful enough to hold my focus, or
would the dakinis singing in the river and the songbirds flustering about
hold sway? A couple of cans of Stella Artois added to the challenge -
the truth test of beerzen.

This isn't a review in any formal sense, just an appreciation of sorts. Perhaps
more an I Ching throwdown of casualness and causality.  My lefthandedness
dictates that I start poetry collections at the back & work forward. I dog-eared
those poems which spoke to me, sipped the Stellas, & took a few breaks to
water the transplanted pines.

The poems which spoke to me were all surprises. I didn't pay attention to the
poets, I just read & re-read those poems which appealed on first go-through.
Here are excerpts from the poems which spoke more passionately than the luring
river nymphs whispering in ZenRiver.



from Yellow Bird
(Stan White)

It struck the windshield,
fluttered, then was gone;
I watched it dwindle
in the rear-view glass
to fall a yellow asterisk
upon the road.


from Fish Fry
(Wendy Visser)

I think of my father
during shock treatments
and how he flip-flopped
like fish before gutting. 


from Early Winter Rain
(Katherine L. Gordon)

The rains have melted the sun
wrapped all the trees and grasses
in a mist of mystery.


from The Magic Show
(Lenny Everson)

The magic show is over
The circus, deep in rust
And questions asked when I was born
Are answered now, with dust


from The Corn People
(Becky Alexander)

And at the sail of harvest moon,
a full awakening,
amber eyes reflect the stars,
and the Corn People march
in midnight maze -
row, by row, by row. 


There is an easy sense of community reflected in the work of
the eight poets presenting here. The beautifully casual introduction
to Wendy Visser's section conveys this feeling of friendship
well.

If you were to drop by Wendy's place for a cup of tea and a
chat, she'd tell you about growing up in what was then a small
town with a big history for it was the home of both a famous
inventor and a Six-Nations' Mohawk poetess. Her eyes would
take on that far away look and her voice the timbre of
reminiscence as she recalls family picnics at the Bell Homestead.

This afternoon I felt a part of this poetic community.

Quern, 2013, 68 pages, np given
ISBN 978-0-9810318-7-3
Serengeti Press
Box 146, RR #3
Puslinch, Ontario
N0B 2J0


 note: The poets live in south-west Ontario. I couldn't help but
think of Sheila Martindale & her many poetic activities in this
area years ago with South West Ontario Poetry: SWOP  

Chris Faiers
June 27, 2013
(on the eve of my 65th birfday - who'd a thunk!)

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Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology":

Thanks, bro
It was a privilege to be published in"Quern" by Serengeti, one of Ontario's very best 'people's poetry' presses.

And, oh, Happy B-Day, Chris!

Discarded beer bottle in the rain--
my 65th!

Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 28 June 2013 05:09

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Many thanks for the kudos, Chris. I have directed the submitters to your blog.

Good luck with Purdyfest. Would like to go but getting too old not to sleep in my own bed.

Much appreciated,

Stan.

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It's a tight & unified little anthology. Guess I already said most things in my posting ...
Thanks again for sending it to me, Stan  :  )
 
Blogging is a great way to give an immediate response, unlike the bad old
days of pondering over writing a review, making sure it's 'academically' sound,
with just enough criticism to pass muster, & theeennnnnnnn ... waiting months or
years for your opinion to reach other lit lovers so they can share.

peace & poetry power!
Chris & Chase Wrffffffffffffff!

p.s. I'm the same way re my own bed - people assume I camp at ZRG, but I like
to spend the aft there, & then return home for a shower & freshly chilled beer  :  )
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Andreas Gripp has left a new comment on your post "QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology":

glad you liked the anthology, Chris. thanks for the plug. cheers.

Posted by Andreas Gripp to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 28 June 2013 14:47
     
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Ellen S.Jaffe has left a new comment on your post "QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology":

Lovely blog/review/meditation,Chris.

I wrote the back-cover blurb and share your feelings about entering this community of poets and poetry.

Ellen S.Jaffe

Posted by Ellen S.Jaffe to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 28 June 2013 15:04
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Thanks Ellen  :  ) As I enjoyed the antho back to front, your backcover blurb set the
tone for my appreciation.
- Chris
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Thursday, 21 February 2013

Muzzling of Canadian Scientists (poem): Katherine L. Gordon


The New Heretics
 



In the myth of golden past
a cloaked church protected us
from learning that the earth
was really round, and took
her daily course around the sun.
They had to burn a few disputers
or a whole order would collapse:
god, church, king then nobles,
the rest of us compliantly flat.
We learned in tortuous ways
that we were all equal and vulnerable
in the round sway of a savage universe.
Now a new Harper plucks the old chords,
proscribes anathema to all our scientists,
pronounces stern sentence
on all our brave researchers,
exiled to arctic silence.
We must not see the melting glaciers
flood, drought or super-storm.
Oil must be touted as saviour,
jobs and wealth for a barren land,
corporations cannot see an end to profit
or the joy of jobs that find a way
to a greener healthier land.
We are all heretics or eco-terrorists
if we tell the truth in Harperland.
 

Katherine L. Gordon
February muzzling of Canadian scientists.


                              XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "Muzzling of Canadian Scientists (poem): Katherine ...":

As the recent price increase at the pumps to $1.30 has shown, increased oil (tarsands or shale or natural gas)production will give producers more incentive to raise prices. Though aggregate demand remains constant prices continue to spike. We're being gouged unmercifully. Katherine is right: it's the ruse of the aristocracies and religious despots of old in a contemporary guise, with the king still holding court and dictating self-serving, self-aggrandizing gov't policy.

The difference between Syrian-type dictatorship and parliamentary democracy in its present form is only one of degree.



Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 21 February 2013 11:08

                           XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "Muzzling of Canadian Scientists (poem): Katherine ...":

See the David Suzuki Foundation campaign to write Obama in order to urge him to nix the Keystone pipeline project.

http://action2.davidsuzuki.org/clean-energy-not-pipelines



Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 21 February 2013 16:45

                         XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thank you for reminding the U.S. government that Canadians support strong
action on climate change and a clean energy future.

The more letters sent, the stronger our message will be. Please share this
with your friends and colleagues.

http://action2.davidsuzuki.org/clean-energy-not-pipelines

                       XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


The false gods that are Alberta’s oilsands: Walkom

A new study uses an old theory to show that Alberta’s iconic oilsands have clay feet.
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An oilsands facility is seen from a helicopter near Fort McMurray, Alta., on July 10, 2012. Albertans, writes Toronto Star columnist Thomas Walkom, are discovering, the iconic oilsands "staple" has feet of clay. Even a brief hiccup in the oilsands boom has sent Alberta's finances into a downward spiral.
Jeff McIntosh / THE CANADIAN PRESS
An oilsands facility is seen from a helicopter near Fort McMurray, Alta., on July 10, 2012. Albertans, writes Toronto Star columnist Thomas Walkom, are discovering, the iconic oilsands "staple" has feet of clay. Even a brief hiccup in the oilsands boom has sent Alberta's finances into a downward spiral.
Alberta’s oilsands have iconic status in Canada. They are magnets for foreign capital and sources of great wealth.
They are credited with keeping this country’s economy alive in the midst of a global slump.
Politically, they symbolize the new Canada — one governed by a prime minister determined to encourage resource extraction at the expense of virtually everything else.

But as Albertans are discovering, the icon has feet of clay. Even a brief hiccup in the oilsands boom has sent the province’s finances into a downward spiral.
And the future remains uncertain. Suddenly, the politics of climate change have made Alberta’s carbon-emitting bitumen less welcome in the United States.

More to the point, technological changes that favour the production of cheaper shale oil and gas, are transforming the U.S. from an energy pauper into one of the world’s big petroleum players.
To put it another way, Canada’s biggest export market no longer needs the tarsands quite as much as it did.

Into this mix comes a new study that tries to make sense of the oilsands phenomenon.
Actually, The Bitumen Cliff is an oldish new study in that it uses the classic work of political economist Harold Innis, one of the first to undertake a systematic analysis of what makes the Canadian economy tick.

To Innis, Canada’s history was dominated by natural resource exports, which he called staples. That Canada has exported raw materials is hardly novel. What Innis grasped, however, was that these staple exports created a pattern of development, both political and economic, that over time was hard to escape.

To use the language of one of his students, the Canada that Innis described kept enmeshing itself in a “staple trap.”
Vast quantities of money would be spent (usually by government) on infrastructure needed to extract whatever resource was in demand. And then, suddenly, things would change.
Maybe the commodity would fall out of fashion — as did felt hats made from Canadian beaver pelts. Or maybe technology would make the staple irrelevant, as the steamship did to masts made from Canadian white pine.

In all instances, Canadians would be left paying the costs.

The Bitumen Cliff applies this analysis to the tarsands. Again, vast quantities of money are required, not just to extract the heavy oil but to transport it by rail, pipeline or ship.
Again, other economic activities are given short shrift. In this case, the high dollar created by Canada’s soaring oil exports has eaten into the ability of manufacturers to compete abroad.

And again, the political system wraps itself around the staple, with Ottawa’s Conservative government gutting environmental laws for fear that they might interfere with pipelines and resource extraction.

Can this last? Unless tarsands oil is a very unusual staple it cannot. Prices rise; prices fall. Tastes change; things happen. We are beginning to see some of that now.

The authors suggest that what they call the carbon trap will be the contradiction that finally sinks the tarsands — that the world will turn away from forms of energy that emit high levels of greenhouse gases.

When this does happen, they say, we will once again be left holding the bag — dependent on natural resources that are no longer in demand — having failed again to develop the kind of integrated and balanced economy that can keep this country on an even keel.

The Bitumen Cliff, published by the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives, is written by Canadian Autoworkers economist Jim Stanford, Polaris Institute director Tony Clarke, consultant Diana Gibson and — the Innisian in the crowd — Carleton graduate student Brendan Haley.

Thomas Walkom’s column appears Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday.

Sunday, 14 October 2012

Poems for Malala: Katherine Gordon and Honey Novick


          Into The Light

Malala, Malala, your lullaby name
comforts earth’s children
who cringe at the shame
of tearing out flowers, bloodying beauty,
ravaging courage with gun-shots of pain.
Tyrants fear Truth that wears power down
like the wind and the rain on dark mountains,
patiently surviving grim ages
to shine in the faces of girls
who know what reverence will bring:
less anger, less war, more sharing, more plenty
the powerful gift of love -
Education for mothers to lift up children
help men through the burdens
of problems to come.
Malala is the beacon that shepherds
each struggling gender
into the light.

Katherine L. Gordon
© October, 2012.



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WOMEN LIVE WITH DIGNITY AND COURAGE   


   Honey Novick

 

Dignity and courage that’s my middle name
It’s called living with honour
I’ll treat you with respect and ask you do the same

I am not an object to be bought or sold.
Thinking I’m a possession, obsession,
is a lie that is tired and old

Some people want to kill me because I won’t conform
but my standing up and speaking out
is the start of my brand new norm

Some people seem to think women are under siege
but that is just not so
the roar of my voice will get louder, louder
listen to it grow and grow

When I fall, we will stand up
Our struggle has no shame
I won’t let my fears be stronger than my faith
I am reclaiming my own name

I am like a candle, burning warm and bright
When I light the way for you
we both walk in the light.

A girl expressing herself
a women’s right to dignity
these are normal, natural, honourable ways to
living life with integrity

Dignity and courage that’s my middle name
It’s called living with honour
I’ll treat you with respect
and insist you do the same

www.honeynovick.com

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Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "Poems for Malala: Katherine Gordon and Honey Novic...":

Awesome poems, Honey and Katherine!

Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 14 October 2012 08:35

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Hi Chris,
     Thanks for copying me.   Please forward to Honey Novick   my heartfelt wishes for a Shana Tova,   and of course  a Zei Gezunt.   I have enjoyed watching her videos on YouTube.  If my memory serves me correctly, I saw her at the Centaur evening for Irving Layton several years ago..
     Peace and poetry power.
     Shalom ve'koakh shel shira.
     Yer Pal,
      Marvin.
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