The Turn of Time

Given a day to muddle in, 

white cupboards faced me

closed against the world. 

How much history, 

secrets and plans hid 

behind the white doors?

the slender glass flute

used only on New Years Eve 

filled with bubbly ginger beer;  

the ancient baby plate 

with a large crack that 

belonged to my infant father; 

the gift of a clear glass vase 

waiting patiently for Christmas 

ornaments of last year

Surrounded by spices and butter,

cutlery, coffee mugs, plates and bowls ~ 

remnants of family history that 

disappear in the turn of time. 

“You can’t turn back the clock. But you can wind it up again.”

~ Bonnie Prudden, (1914 - 2011)

Physical Fitness pioneer and rock climber

No Sympathy!

Taken last week: this was just a breeze!

into every wind tunnel

around concrete and glass

wind whipped my hair

across my face,

into my eyes ~

a new coiffure by

a very ancient hairstylist.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

~ Clark Gable from

Gone with the Wind

Re-Imagined

 

Poking his head 

from his ancient shell, 

tortoise lumbered 

over earthen humps ~ 

long grasses tickled his nose.

“If you fall in love with the imagination, you understand 

that it is a free spirit. It will go anywhere, and it can do anything.”

~ Alice Walker

Cloud Wanderings

Nubivagant - a strange word 

unknown in my world of words.

awkward to spell ~

tying my tongue in knots

yet only for the fanciful

this ancient obsolete adjective

‘moving through the clouds’ of 

time and space to be lost in the azure blue.

“Let’s go away

Where the Nubivagant

Passes by and witness the breezes in the sky”

~ pandawrites14 (Twitter)

Unearthed

Coming together, in personal archaeology, bits and pieces of my heart and soul unearthed from ancient boxes and dusty corners are bound together by journaled writings, music and voice on old cassette tapes, 

early attempts in watercolour,

crocheted toques and scarfs, 

costume jewelry from gifts and previous homes, novels and non-fiction, story books and books about story, beautiful wall calendars with hopeful phrases, paper photographs glossy and shining ~ generations past and present.

Welcomed to my time travel is a precious new generation 

smiling and peeking at me from electronic desktops.

Bringing it all together, I see myself with new eyes

greeting retirement at Christmas with joy.

“Shh! Listen! Someone’s coming! I think - I think it might be us!”

~ J.K.Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

While I Am Waiting

While I am waiting

for minutes to tick by

I drink sweet creamy coffee 

read and gather morning to me

a daytime story

to carry in my pocket

throughout my day

While I am waiting

for my bus to arrive I enjoy

songbirds and blue, cloudless sky

morning sun still waking

empty streets except for

early morning cars and wondering

who will ride with me today

While I am waiting 

for time to pass

I write this poem

about trees, fences and houses

passing silently by

until we stop to allow

passengers to step into morning still air.

“We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.”

~ Voltaire

Snowfall and Lace

Snowfall and Lace

It was time for a walk. I needed to clear my head after a rather busy day. Too many thoughts raced through my mind with no place to go. Shrugging on my coat, I slipped outside, leaving my family to clear up the supper dishes. The village was quiet. Soft gentle snow fell. As soon as I felt the first snowflake on the tip of my nose, my heart and mind softened. Ancient trees, still waiting for spring warmth, patterned dark lace against the slate blue evening sky. My mind balanced as easily as the gentle snowfall. A silent sigh escaped me and with it the tension of the day. A short walk outside, in the cold, had stayed my thoughts. 

“Well, I know now. I know a little more how much 

a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person.”

~ Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journal of Sylvia Plath

Author's Note: Title added to blog page February 05, 2024

No Borders

He stood tall and ancient,

bronze on a marble pedestal

fighting for ideas of freedom

Women and men ~

warriors who fought and died

brought home and honoured

yet for each life still lived

shattered memories trail behind 

faces carved from painful experience.

Remembering the spirit and sacrifice of uncles, aunts, grandparents, sisters, brothers and friends

swells a pride that has no borders.

“In the aftermath, we are because they were.”

~ RJ Heller, Holding Grace: Prose & Poetry

Author's note: Edited January 30, 2024

Hang On!

Learning curves hug the earth 

high rides over walls &

waves of ancient energy

“Learning now to learn is life’s most important skill.”

~ Tony Buzan

The Legend of the Ancient and the Faeries

The Legend of the Ancient and the Faeries

Faeries, like flickering fireflies, visited the Ancient until he could stand. The Ancient, now awake during the day, helped these beautiful, delicate faeries in return for help that had been given so freely. The Ancient still had some nights that were very long and heavy. Dust still lay heavy in many of the cracks and crevices of the his heart and mind, so faeries continued to arrive each night, unbidden, with their magic winking wands, and like tiny archaeologists, brushed away newly settled dust from all these deeply filled cracks and crevices.  

                     ********

This long and uncertain excavation had started in the distant misty past with one lone faery. The faery had been off flying a solo trip away into the dark that she loved so very much. It was quiet and peaceful in the dark. Deciding to land and rest her wings and her energy, she chose a high mountain. Her tiny wand lit only a tiny pinpoint of light, but as she rested it glowed more strongly, spreading bright light in the forested glade.  Looking for a comfortable notch in an old gnarled tree or in a bed of spongey moss to rest, she came upon the fabled Ancient she had heard about from the elders of her faery clan. Sleeping for so long, trees with mossy branches had thickly grown around the giant. Dust of many ages thickly disguised the ancient’s features and life itself. Blowing gently from the palm of her tiny hand, the faery scattered a tiny sparkling puff of faery dust that misted across a heavily bearded face.

As the dust settled, the light from the sparkles lit up a kind, but worried, face. Breath came thin and slow from between barely parted lips. Tiny clouds of dust puffed up around the ancient’s cavernous nostrils with each exhalation.

The giant seemed to have a kind face, so the faery began dusting gently, trying to clear the Ancient's eyes in hopes that they would open. It was too big a job for just one small, and very tired, faery.  Knowing that she was too tiny to awaken anyone so very large, she stepped back until her light was strong again and in the early dawn, flew back to her faery glen, spreading word to other faeries of the ancient gentle giant that lay asleep at the edge of the mountains and near the end of the great river that flowed past the fern filled faery glen.

*******

It is said that since that time long ago, there have always been faeries with this gentle giant, just as there are for all the people in the land.

“I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, 
but I can do something. And I will not let what 
I cannot do interfere with what I can do."        

~ Edward Everett Hale 

A Serpentine Question

Black ridges of algae coated rock rise above shiny gray waves

Is it the ancient gnarled back of a diving sea serpent?

Or but a tiny shard of the massive earth’s crust

If the serpent rolls over

What will become of us?

"Set the foot down with distrust on the crust of the world--it is thin."

-  Edna St. Vincent Millay