Category Archives: Life

Oktoberfest Weekend

Arkansas Authors

Poet doll selling poemsI put my mother to work again, meaning the doll that my niece Valerie made for me. Once again, she manned a small poems-for-sale booth (designed to resemble Lucy’s in the Peanuts cartoon strip). This time the booth related to an Arkansas Authors event at the Springdale Public Library.

For several hours Saturday afternoon, I promoted my writing and my poetry group, Poets Northwest. About 40 authors participated, each with table display space. It was my pleasure to share “fortune cookie” poems with visitors and fellow authors. A poem overture is a good icebreaker to further conversation.

Continue reading

Dreaming: Monolith Man

Illustration of tapered monolithYou know dreams. Maybe I was observing this person or maybe I was this person—a young, fit man who kept leaping from side to side over a monolith while facing forward. The dark granite-like stone column tapered slightly toward the top and the man’s chest passed very near the top at the apex of his leaps. His sideways leaps were slow and graceful, as if launched from a trampoline, and they were accomplished in slow motion. Continue reading

A Beautiful Time

 

Basket of flowers

Mother’s cemetery bouquet

Today, September 20, is my mother’s birthday. My Dad and most of his children gathered at Mother’s gravesite tonight, and it was a beautiful time. We siblings put out a big basket of silk flowers and—since we had a notion it might be carried off, as sometimes happens—we put a weatherproofed note deep within the bouquet. It said:

Continue reading

Lost in Love

Love, Writing and Love of Writing

Foxglove flower detail

Some poems come instantly.

Others come as a spark that has to be instantly kindled. Still others are like sand-castles-in-the-making on a shore; the vision must be held and refined intensely all the while the tide recedes.

Artists (and others) who love their work understand the meditative suspension of time and distraction that occurs in “the zone.” Whole days can be absorbed in that state. Of the two poems that follow, the first came quickly (though not instantly) and the second took a good bit of post-construction. Continue reading

Speaking of Poetry

Buzzards and Poems

Turkey Vulture Can you believe it? I was just asked to make a presentation on these joint topics to the Arkansas Audubon Society. Their upcoming convention. will be September 27-28 in Harrison AR.

I am beside myself with wonder. Which causes me to wonder if Lynn Sciumbato, the local vulture expert will be there. I also hope I’ll be able to locate the extensive vulture research I once did. Otherwise, I’ll start from scratch. 

The correct term for what most Americans call “buzzard” is actually “vulture.” So I’m counting on the Audubon audience to be indulgent with my use of the incorrect common name. The word “buzzard” actually refers to a type of hawk. Scientists and Europeans are sticklers for this distinction.

This invitation to speak didn’t come completely out of the blue …  sky … like a buzzard. One morning I saw a glimpse of a bird that I couldn’t quite identify; it was large and dark with white wing-tips. So I looked up the Arkansas Audubon Society on Facebook and asked questions. A long discussion followed. In it, I mentioned my love of buzzards and the related poetry. And now … voila! A chance to share.

Let’s see. I’ll dredge up a buzzard poem for you …

HAIL, FELLOW

Every day, a buzzard
comes into my view—
flying solo overhead
or swooping down, quite low,
or stationed in some untoward place.
It seems to say, “Hey, you!”

There’s nothing that I dread
or worry I should know.
I simply view it as a grace
and I reply, “Hey!” too.

Turkey Vulture

My affinity for buzzards grew out of several moving and meaningful encounters.  Maybe you know of a group that’s hot to hear these stories in a presentation on “Buzzards and Poetry”? Not likely, I know, but I’m ready when the group is.  ♥ ~Jo

* * *

Photo Credits: Images cropped from a couple of my recent snapshots.

What’s So Scary?

Fear Itself

Every topic I started to write about tonight led to a dead end. That’s good. They were about scary things or self-recriminations. Really, though, how can I say they were about scary things? I don’t believe that.

“Scary” is a reaction applied in reverse as a defense. Lots of things are “scary” before we’re willing to face them and experience them. Almost always, the encounter ends up being positive instead. Because life is good. Regardless. As the latest popular saying goes, “The universe doesn’t do things to us, it does them for us.”

The unknown is a challenge. Once, when I was young and applied for temp work, I told the agency I was willing to do anything clerical or administrative. “But please don’t put me on a switchboard,” I emphasized. That must have made an impression; my next assignment was as a receptionist and switchboard operator for a large retail distribution warehouse. Since the agency apparently had confidence in me, I decided to have confidence in myself. I spent every spare minute of my first morning memorizing faces, names, and numbers … and practicing which buttons to push when. Not surprisingly, this turned out to be my favorite and most successful assignment till then and I was asked back repeatedly by the company. 

Cricket in hand“Scary” could be bugs for some people.
(This is a photo of a cricket.)

Once I lived in a small, very old downtown apartment where roaches were hard to control. But that is just what I was trying to do one night when a friend stopped by to visit. He asked if he could help … because, he said, that was the exact fear he was working on at the time. Being of the hippie type and generation, he one-at-a-time lovingly scooped up the half-dozen erstwhile residents and took each one to an outside garden. Because he was afraid to.

Hazy city sceneIt’s all a matter of perspective. Back when AIDS was a quick death sentence, I went to a literary event of some kind in a Little Rock bookstore. Poets read their work aloud. One’s was about the day he was diagnosed with AIDS. When he learned he had it and was told how it operated, he left the clinic and wandered the streets, marveling in an almost ecstasy of wonder: “Not immune. Not immune. I’m not immune to anything!

Approach and Avoidance

With fear, as with pain, there are two main techniques that can be effective—[this is my own experience speaking]—either complete focus on that thing or complete focus on something else. I’m lucky. I can usually do either with poetry. Today, Ethan and I had to face something intimidating and we both fell into behaviors we didn’t like. So we called a halt, reviewed things, and worked them out. During my halt, I delved:

MORTALITY COMBAT
 
Why am I such a drain?
     Why do I find fault
     then clam up like a vault?
 
Why do I complain?
     Why do I stew,
     then blow my top at you?
 
I feel threatened and powerless.
It’s some kind of cowardice.

Conclusion? Being afraid is about feeling vulnerable and deficient. And self-protection plays out as attack. Or it can. It helps to be in a partnership that calls a timely halt. Coincidentally, that is the very thing this blog is calling for, so I will end. May all your scares lead to positive outcomes.

♥ ~Jo

* * *
Photo Credits: All photos are by morguefile.com artists.
No Outlet by jdurham – Hazy Street by krosseel – Cricket by rocker123 

Lingering Lushness

Landscape Views

Woods and road

Arkansas Woods and Road in August

Amazingly, thankfully, the verdure brought by early August rains still graces the scenery of my daily walks. The woods remain extra-green and neighbors’ flower plantings are full and lush.

Landscape plants

Landscape plantings

Mushroom

Pom-pom Mushroom

Mushrooms continue to appear, puff up, brown, and die away. Some varieties are especially beautiful; this globe-shaped one is reminiscent of an anemone on a sea-floor.

The sudden appearance of seedlings and mushrooms can be explained. But the alligator intrusion is still a mystery …

Unexpected Arrival

Toy alligator

Mysterious Gator

The only known fact about the gator’s arrival is that it materialized on the asphalt by our mailbox one morning. I had no idea what to do with it. Eventually, I decided to move it to the top of the mailbox, partly to witness Ethan’s reaction when he gathered in the noon mail. His reaction, if any, was imperceptible—probably because so many strange events occur in our lives anyway.

Strange or not, I addressed the alligator in a poem.

NON-RESPONSIVE

I found a gator in the road
lounging smugger than a toad.
When I looked into his eyes,
I saw that he was rubberized.

“Gator, are you someone’s toy?
Are you best friends with a boy?”
(Might as well talk to a tree;
Gator only grinned at me.)

Verdant Vines

One of the prettiest sights recently is this view of vines at a retaining wall railing.

Vines on Railing

Vines on Wrought Iron Railing

Opposite the railing and slanting down the hill slope is the view that appears at the top of today’s blog post. I feel very fortunate to live near such beauty and to be fit enough for daily excursions.

Every place has its own beauty … how is it where you live?

♥ ~Jo

* * *

Sprites, Spirits, and Sprouts

Pert as Pixies

Mushrooms on mulch

Mushrooms on mulch

Brown ones, tan ones, white, gray, orange … mushrooms sprouted all over the landscape after early August rains. Some were seen playing “king of the mountain” on a neighbor’s mulch pile. 

One particular mushroom displayed exuberance at simply being alive by breaking into a dance, although a fairly static one. 

* * *

Mushroom gills

Mushroom displaying gills

GILL’S NIGHT OUT

mushroom
lifts her
can-can skirt:
evening
entertainment

Jaunts and Haunts

This August, walking was pleasant at almost any time of day. Near one of my routes and tucked away beneath overhanging tree branches is an abandoned cul de sac that affords some wonderful shade and privacy. (Truth be told, it is not abandoned at all; the privacy is shared.)

Abandoned road

Abandoned cul de sac

WOODLAND WAYSIDE

Blocked entrance

Blocked entrance to street

I went today
where dead children play
and grownups seldom venture.

There,
trees decay, 
vines ascend,
shadows shift and blend,
and a forsaken roadbed crumbles.

Still,
it’s quite a pleasant
 place
where wild weeds jumble …
and where bees, birds, light,
dark, bugs, toads, mice,
and other beloveds
of nature and children 
interplay.

Old concrete stairs

Stairs at sidewalk

The street curves and is about half a block long, including the turnaround. A stairway leads from the sidewalk to nowhere in particular, but a mimosa tree on the higher ground indicates that a house was once nearby—inhabited of course, as the place still seems to be.  ~ ♥Jo

* * *