There was time when Death was quiet. People forgot to listen.
My grandparents were old and white haired. They did not hear death.
Do you glide along a tightrope ignoring demise?
There is a time when the thermometer spells daffodils.
When January is too warm and you wonder how the earth rotates
with global warming, with climate change.
Death rubs her hands and chuckles.
Wasn’t Death a man? Dude with a scythe.
My friend swung a long, sharp scythe in the late spring
to cut hay, rake it into piles, haul it to the barn
where all the handles were latches
of handmade wood and metal.
Cutting down, cutting out, cutting off.
Let’s cut out of here.
There was a time my mind was clear
as a dew drop on a cedar bow. When I saw
life as simple as a bluebell.
Out of this world. What does it mean?
Up to the pock-marked ozone layer?
Perhaps stretching my fingers to Mars?
Out on a limb and I fall up?
Out of this world: a sign on the door
proclaiming “I am not available.
I’m out of this world.”
Out like a light.
Outside the world, in her own world.
Out–the disconnect from this world.
World as a globe or just the third planet.
The World of Venus.
The implication of gender.
Out of this world like icing on a cake.
Out of this world and into another.
In this world. Inside.
A tunnel to the inner world.
A trip to the center of the earth.
First you must endure Antarctica,
find that passage that Byrd wrote about,
the passage to the inner planet.
Is anyone exploring that?
NASA is out of this world.
Maybe the NSA will find the hidden, inner secret.
Oh, did I make a resolution? Nope. Gave them up decades ago. Thought about solutions, revolutions, absolutions and all that malarky.
Even this list of considerations looked like a road to guilt.
Oh, I’ll just make intentions. I intend to be more attentive to my blog. Right?
Then I remember my mother’s saying: The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
So, my computer is being obstinate and this blog keeps disappearing like the Cheshire Cat which might be an indication of what will really happen in 2015.
In the meantime, it’s one day at a time. Or hour or minute. Join me. It will be fun.
Can’t seem to erase that “p” below. So pick a word.
laughter wells up, uninhibited.
I couldn’t giggle in kindergarten
where shyness blocked spontaneity.
But somewhere in the decades to follow
I learned the difference between giggles,
guffaws and belly laughs.
Giggles reduce me to tears sometimes,
rarely shed tears.
Dry tears, wet laughter.
Friends who laugh for the joy of being,
together at last.
How have I lived without you?
Maybe I never did.
A blank in the mosaic of my life fills.
Giggles tickle my nose, fill my ears,
expand into my aura with goodwill.
My soul smiles.
Originally posted on To Create...:
You are Light in the Depth of Me;
you make me whole.
I rest under your verdant breath;
you give life to my being.
In mirrored pond I see your face.
You enfold me as your beloved.
In balance with you
I journey into this world.
The path may be perilous,
but I am not alone,
You are with me,
bracing me with strength
and guiding me in compassion.
You nourish me with abundance
not accorded to those
who have yet to realize your tenderness.
I am your bride prepared for her wedding,
radiant beyond the blazing sun.
You walk beside me, together as One in Promise.
We dance for Eternity.
This evening at our bible study class of the Gospel of Mark, our pastor, Fr. Scott Jenkins, led us down an interesting path. At least for a writer, I found it quite curious. We were talking about Psalm 23…
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Sue C. Boynton Poetry Contest November Workshops
Mark your calendars. YOU are invited!!!
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1st 7:00 p.m.
$10 recommended donation.
Will be held in the Mt. Baker Theatre Encore Room.
Proceeds will benefit the Whatcom Juvenile Justice Creative Writing Project which leads writing workshops with kids in the juvenile justice system. JJCWP affirms that all youth have a unique voice that deserves to be shared with the community and that helping teens to connect with the vitality of their imaginations can be a powerful means for self expression and personal growth.
The 2013 Mayor’s Arts Award recipient, poet, author and community radio personality, Shannon P. Laws, is a regular at open mics, sharing poems and excerpts from her work of literary fiction. She is a founding member of World Peace Poets, who encourage harmony through words for international writers at various public readings. In her spare time she hosts the Village Books Poetry Group, and is a volunteer producer at a non-profit community radio station. shannonplawswriter.com/about/
Kevin Murphy has been performing his poetry for over 30 years. He is the author of A Beautiful Chaos Demands Energy and also has a poetry CD, Between Onions and Oxygen. He regularly performs on the Chuckanut Radio Hour, has toured the Pacific Northwest and beyond as a member of the New Old Time Chautauqua, and teaches poetry through the Whatcom Juvenile Justice Creative Writing Project. Kevin’s poetry tends toward the comic and the surreal, and he often accompanies himself on guitar or drum.He lives in Bellingham with his wife Jeannie.
Joe Nolting grew up in Vermont and lived in Alaska for 35 years, where he taught middle school language arts and math. He and his wife Annie moved to Bellingham just over two years ago and thoroughly embrace the local scene with its rich literary culture. Joe enjoys writing, photography, biking, cross-country skiing, and gazing out at the ocean. His poetry and essays have been featured in Cirque, Understory, Voices Between Mountains, and Sue C. Boynton Poetry (2013). He volunteers with Whatcom Young Writers, the Bellingham Chore Program, Sterling Bike Works, and in local schools.
C.J. Prince found the Muse on the tar-spattered shores of Summerland, California, in fourth grade where she gouged words into sand. She’s been writing ever since. Her credits include stage, screen and TV scripts. She wrote for Colorado newspapers for eighteen years. Her first novel, Canvas Angels, is published in Catching My Breath. Her work appears in several anthologies including Leaning into the Wind: Women Write from the Heart of the West. Prince lives in the Pacific Northwest with husband Michael E. Berg, two Papillons, and one rescued orange marmalade tabby. She teaches Tai Chi and studies the dress code of cedars, the vocal symphony of ravens and the length of a moonbeam at midnight.
Matthew Brouwer’s work bridges the worlds of spoken word and literary poetry to create a style that can be both evocative and subtle, enlivening and profound. He has performed in cities throughout the west and been featured in regional literary, performance, and visual arts showcases such as Cirque, Phrasings, and Strands. He has taught creative writing in the Bellingham Public Schools and led a writing circle for people suffering chronic medical conditions. He is the author of five chapbooks including The Gospel According to Matthew and Men Who Walk with Canes. For more on Matthew’s poetry and work visit: www.matthewbrouwerpoet.com