Culture/History, Essay, General Interest, Liz Rice-Sosne, poem, Writing

A Culture of Blame

Posted on June 3, 2014June 2, 2014 by Liz RS

Memorial Day in the USA has come and gone. I have been thinking a great deal about veterans of war recently. This is probably due to the really awful press about the U.S. Department of Veterans’ Affairs (Veterans’ Administration or VA) and Ray Shinseki. As many know he holds the the post that oversees the VA The proverbial “they want his head on a platter” underscores the culture of blame in this country – and perhaps worldwide. I know nothing about Mr. Shinseki, but I do know that there is enough blame to go around. The change of one man at the top will not right wrongs.

Thinking about this tragic situation with the VA made me think about the fact that we live in a “culture of blame” in this country. Watching the news makes it appear that it comes naturally to wish to affix blame immediately for any problem that is discovered among us. I know it well not just because I have seen it over and over but because I have lived it. I was raised in a culture of blame. I know what it feels like to be blamed at a young age for mistakes or problems that may or may not have been caused by me. I ask myself, why do we do that? When a problem is discovered anywhere, that problem should be carefully reviewed. Facts should be gathered. Then they should be weighed to determine how and where the problem originates. Pros and cons ought be carefully determined and then decisions made that fix the problem with a solution that makes the entire situation better. Instead of affixing blame we should fix the problem sooner and faster. We would then waste less time and make needed changes more quickly.

When I ask myself, “why do we live in a culture of blame?” I do not have the answer. Is it a result of the need to be the best and the brightest? For surely we can be none of those things while we make mistakes. Is that why we need to make those mistakes belong to another? That question makes me think back to the time when both my mother and my father stated to me that there are two places in life: “first and last,” with nothing in between. This was an especially difficult view as they entered their children into competitions during all months of the year. It is of course a farcical view of life and one that is not true. This view of life does not allow for mistakes to be made while one is growing up. And what are the mistakes made along life’s pathway? They are merely moments of growth. Without the mistakes that we make, we would not grow, we would not mature and we would not be able to reach our dreams. Personal mistakes when carefully reviewed and nurtured help us to develop empathy for others. Empathy is one of the most important of emotions to develop for empathy is the place of caring (for others).

I spent two to three years at the VA as a volunteer in 2007 and 8. At that time I was developing my masters project while there. I was creating a booklet on creative writing for veterans. Oddly, due to the bad behavior of the one under whom I served (at the VA) this booklet did not come about. Instead I was to be responsible for bringing in and overseeing an event. Upon retrospect, this change was a very good thing. This event brought to the VA an expert author on creative writing with veterans. He had spent time in both Iraq and Afghanistan leading writing workshops for veterans I learned a great deal from him. My initial desire had been to work with young veterans returning from our most recent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Andrew Carroll edited Operation Homecoming. This book supported by the National Endowment for the Arts is a collection of writings by service men and women at war. I recommend it to all. In my opinion we live in these modern times too far removed from our wars. And they are our wars. Those who serve are doing so in the name of freedom whether or not we agree with the current war. The old adage “war is hell” is very true. If we (the citizens ) are far removed from war, we will confuse the war with the warrior. We blame the warrior for the war, then we forget that warrior upon their return home.

While at the VA I worked primarily with those who had been to Vietnam or those who had served during that time. Not all had seen combat. As a result of war many were not able to engage life fully. Writing gave them a way to do that. Writing about your war experiences allows some of the pressure that you experience to dissipate. By sharing your feelings on paper and then sharing them with a class of like minded people, some of the pressure is released. That is a healing moment. It is something that works for any situation, not just war. I was able to see much of the good that the VA does. And although my thesis was changed, I had the opportunity to work with someone who truly loved and cared for her patients. While at the VA I wrote the following poem.

An Observation

at this table
this quiet place
where they write
this flat surface
where poetry
spills
for the hungry ones
those
who wish to leave
their wars
behind
where recidivism
is high
where
eyes are glazed
stares penetrating
where
nothing is
given away
not even longing
empty bodies
hollowed
angered
in a
fog
they write

– Liz Rice-Sosne

© 2014, essay, poem, and portrait below, Liz Rice-Sosne, All rights reserved; illustration “Man Pointing” courtesy of George Hodan, Public Domain Photographs.net; bookcover art, University of Chicago Press, All rights reserved

LIZ RICE-SOSNE a.k.a. Raven Spirit (noh where), perhaps the oldest friend to Bardo, is the newest member of The Bardo Group Core Team. She is also our new Voices for Peace project outreach coordinator and our go-to person for all things related to haiku. She says she “writes for no reason at all. It is simply a pleasure.” Blogging, mostly poetry, has produced many friends for whom she has a great appreciation. Liz is an experienced blogger, photographer and a trained shaman. We think her middle name should be “adventure.”

Charles W Martin, Photography/Photographer, poem

redirection…

Posted on May 31, 2014May 23, 2014 by slpmartin

the recipe
for change
is to release
the past
and follow
the line
of dreams
to the
future

CHARLES W. MARTIN (Reading Between the Minds) — earned his Ph.D. in Speech and Language Pathology with an emphasis in statistics. Throughout Charlie’s career, he maintained a devotion to the arts (literature/poetry, the theater, music and photography). Since his retirement in 2010, he has turned his full attention to poetry and photography. He publishes a poem and a photographic art piece each day at Read Between the Minds, Poetry, Photograph and Random Thoughts of Life. He is noted as a poet of social conscience. Charlie has been blogging since January 31, 2010. He has self-published a book of poetry entitled The Hawk Chronicles and will soon publish another book called A Bea in Your Bonnet: First Sting, featuring the renown Aunt Bea. In The Hawk Chronicles, Charlie provides a personification of his resident hawk with poems and photos taken over a two-year period. Charlie’s lastest book, When Spirits Touch, Dual Poetry, a collaboration with River Urke, is available through Amazon now.

Charlie’s long awaited Aunt Bea Collection is out. He says, “Bea In Your Bonnet: First Sting is a collection of germinal poems featuring Aunt Bea. Aunt Bea’s voice is one I’ve heard almost every day of my life. Family observations, lessons, and advice given to me and every other family member who had the good sense to listen. Her homespun philosophy most likely will not be found in any collegiate textbooks or for that matter in any local town crier newspaper catering to city dwellers. Indeed, she has a different way of viewing the world; a bit old fashion, sassy, and steely at times but a viewpoint which has engaged my imagination and heart. I sincerely hope you too will find some morsel of wisdom in her personal observations and interpretations of life’s events, but do watch out for her stingers.”

Joseph Hesch, Nature, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

Empty Nests

Posted on May 30, 2014May 23, 2014 by Joseph Hesch

Raking up winter’s debris next to the house
I found the tiny basket, a fallen relic of lives
born, nurtured and winged off to make their own ways.
I almost overlooked it among the twists of twigs
and dry grass, but for the intricacy of its weave,
the palm of a hand knit to hold expectations.

Miniscule aquamarine mosaics peppered its walls, like
photos of a neighbor’s children, forgotten.
I plucked bits of fluff from within and
slipped them into my wallet between my
cracked but held-tight memories of little ones
who once cried and grew and flew here, too.

– Joseph Hesch

JOSEPH HESCH (A Thing for Words) is a writer and poet from Albany, New York , an old friend of Bardo and a new core team member. Joe’s work is published in journals and anthologies coast-to-coast and worldwide. He posts poems and stories-in-progress on his blog, A Thing for Words. An original staff member at dVerse Poets Pub website, Joe was named one of Writers Digest Editor Robert Lee Brewer’s “2011 Best Tweeps for Writers to Follow.” He is also a member of the Grass Roots Poetry Group and featured in their 2013 poetry anthology Petrichor Rising.

Charles W Martin, Music, Photography/Photographer, poem, poetry

more than international…

Posted on May 26, 2014May 26, 2014 by slpmartin

pull apart
the fibers
of the soul
weave the strains
into strings
pull them
tight
against
a curved body
of wood
stroke them
with passion
now
that’s
jazz
or
you might
prefer
to create
a single sheet
of soul
the drum heads
that pound
like hearts
inside the breast
of mankind
now
that’s
jazz
but
maybe
you’d like to
compress them
into a reed
then
wet the reed
with life
making
the soul’s song
with fluttering fingers
now
that’s
jazz
oh
but some
of you
will want
to forge them
into metal
so you
can hear
gabriel’s horn
at your door
now
that’s
jazz
jazz
announcing
the presence
of god
playing bass
holding
the whole thing
together

Editorial Note: With this poem, The Bardo Group honores its own International Jazz Day. Jazz music began its evolution in the late nineteenth century the Southern United States with a combination of European harmony and African musical elements: improvisation, blue notes, syncopation, swing notes and polyrhythms. It has since developed in diverse directions and has been joyfully adopted by cultures the world over.

678ad505453d5a3ff2fcb744f13dedc7-1 CHARLES W. MARTIN (Reading Between the Minds) — earned his Ph.D. in Speech and Language Pathology with an emphasis in statistics. Throughout Charlie’s career, he maintained a devotion to the arts (literature/poetry, the theater, music and photography). Since his retirement in 2010, he has turned his full attention to poetry and photography. He publishes a poem and a photographic art piece each day at Read Between the Minds, Poetry, Photograph and Random Thoughts of Life. He is noted as a poet of social conscience. Charlie has been blogging since January 31, 2010. He has self-published a book of poetry entitled The Hawk Chronicles and will soon publish another book called A Bea in Your Bonnet: First Sting, featuring the renown Aunt Bea. In The Hawk Chronicles, Charlie provides a personification of his resident hawk with poems and photos taken over a two-year period. Charlie’s lastest book, When Spirits Touch, Dual Poetry, a collaboration with River Urke, is available through Amazon now.

Charles W Martin, Photography/Photographer, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

photoshopping my life…

Posted on May 23, 2014May 22, 2014 by slpmartin

honey
i wish i could convert
my life’s composite image
into one of those digital negatives
cause then
i could upload the whole thing into photoshop
and get busy fixing it
first thing i would do
is put you on the background layer of my life
so every layer of my life
would include you
that would clear up a hell of a lot
next i’d take that healing tool
and run it over my heart a couple times
maybe more
depending on which layer of my life i’m looking at
next i’d use that sharpening tool
on my head
just to clear up
some of life’s little mysteries
like how can kindness be used
as a weapon against you
and why do lies sound
better than the truth
and how can god not act
when soulless men kill his children
before they have even begun
to breathe in the beauty of life
then i’d bring into focus
all the lies that have been told
so folks would see them
for what they are
i’d add a little color to some folks
just to have them feel
what i have felt
oh and of course
i would definitely
use the eraser
well honey
you know how
i
would
use
that

– Charles W. Martin

Essay, General Interest, John Anstie, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

Looking South

Posted on May 13, 2014June 3, 2014 by PoetJanstie

(For some, the ultimate journey)

This poem was my response to a challenge; about the triumph of the human spirit over adversity. But most particularly, it is about not bearing life’s burden on your own, but rather learning how to ask for help, how to share concern or worry. For some things in life, you cannot just ‘tough it out’. However strong you think you may be, there are some challenges in life that you cannot, nay should not tackle alone, because everyone has their limits; there is always a barrier, either physical or emotional or both, that will inhibit the progress of any man or woman; will put a stop to their journeys.

Perhaps this is because, once you show your vulnerability, far from becoming prey to vultures and demons, you will also attract the support of true human beings, those who are true team players, those who care. And anybody who endeavours to achieve things that not everyone would attempt, has that spirit. It is often a spirit born of near death experience, but may also be a response to physical and emotional pain.

It is both these things that four men from the British armed forces set out to overcome in a seemingly impossible challenge. These four servicemen, who were all injured in combat in Afghanistan, set out to enter the record books as the first disabled team to walk unassisted to the North Pole. It involved a great deal of preparation and training for all of them.

The men are: Capt Martin Hewitt, 30, whose right arm is paralysed after being shot; Capt Guy Disney, 29, whose right leg was amputated below the knee after he was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG); Sgt Stephen Young, 28, who suffered a broken back in a roadside bombing; Pte Jaco Van Gass, 24, who had his left arm amputated and suffered significant tissue loss to his left leg after being hit by an RPG.

For the first few days of their trek, they were also accompanied by Prince Harry, who supported their campaign both before and after it was completed. The documentary, shown on BBC1 in the summer of 2011, was called “Harry’s Arctic Heroes“.

In this expedition, these four men represented every soldier, airman and sailor who is ever injured in conflicts, but particularly those who lose their faculties in some way, be it the loss of a limb or sight.

The poem also has a ‘dark’ side, as it shakes a metaphor at dealing with our mortality, not least by reference to ‘The Dream of Gerontius’. The journey ‘North’, in this sense, is figurative and is my way of demonstrating that metaphor to the ultimate journey that we and all animals make as an integral part of our lives. “Looking South” represents the looking back on our lives, which in the case of these four injured servicemen, was their life so far. And for a majority of those, who deal with life’s challenges, some significant moments also represent a looking back on our lives… so far.

If you stand in the wind
and allow it to bend you
so you flex and withstand it,
don’t let it uproot you,
then you’ll find it can’t hurt you
in spite of extraordinary pain.

If your instinct for flight
is taken away
your options for fighting
in an instant are gone,
like a parent removing
your permission to play…

…with the most bitter of tears.

If there’s anything surer
than the moment you hear
a deafening sound
of silence and the fear
rushes in like air
to a vacuum.

There’s nothing more certain,
never so clear,
as if a vision of your life
were etched in white light
closing your eyes
and blinding your sight…

…but opening them on the inside.

It seems you were born
for this moment;
that this is your time.
You appear to have arrived
at the moment when pain
can no longer touch you.

That stress and the anguish
of screaming self-doubt
have momentarily left you,
your inside looking out;
outside looking in;
thoughts perfectly scrambled…

…like the dream of Gerontius.

Circumventing your demons,
overcoming your fear
this vision of whiteness
tears at your heart and your soul;
bedazzling lightness
of mind; supernal disclosure;

a revelation that you’ll never
be left on your own.
You will never be able
to embark on this journey
without your assistants;
your brothers in arms…

…but they’re not the Invisible Choir

Your angels are next to you;
there at your shoulder if you look.
Maybe a Prince or a pauper,
but either will brook you;
all you need is to ask;
as long as you let them know.

Then, when you stand there,
sharing legs, shoulders, arms,
looking South when you know
that there’s no further North,
surveying a World,
that will sing your arrival…

…knowing now that you truly have life.

Looking south
can’t say how I feel
Looking south
at the great, white sea
Looking south
just seems so unreal
Looking south
making known that I’m free.
Looking south
a muse at my heels
Looking south
nothing more to flee
Looking south
my brotherhood sealed
Looking south
fearless of what’s to be.
Looking south
my soul is healed
Looking south

JOHN ANSTIE (My Poetry Library and 42) ~ is a British writer and poet, a contributing editor here at Bardo, and multi-talented gentleman self-described as a “Family man, Grandfather, Occasional Musician, Singer, Amateur photographer and Film-maker, Apple-MAC user, Implementation Manager, and Engineer”. He has participated in d’Verse Poet’s Pub and is a player in New World Creative Union as well as a being a ‘spoken-voice’ participant in Roger Allen Baut’s excellent ‘Blue Sky Highway‘ radio broadcasts. John has been blogging since the beginning of 2011. He is also a member of The Poetry Society (UK).

*****

John has also been involved in the recent publication of two anthologies that are the result of online collaborations among two international groups of amateur and professional poets. One of these is The Grass Roots Poetry Group, for which he produced and edited their anthology, “Petrichor* Rising“. The other group is d’Verse Poet Pub, in which John’s poetry also appears The d’Verse Anthology: Voices of Contemporary World Poetry, produced and edited by Frank Watson.

* Petrichor – from the Greek pɛtrɨkər, the scent of rain on the dry earth.

Art, Corina L. Ravenscraft, Environment/Deep Ecology/Climate Change, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

~ Planet MoM ~

Posted on May 12, 2014May 11, 2014 by dragonkatet

M is for the multitudes She nurtures.
O is for the only world we have.
T is terrestrial preservation – Hers.
H is for the home we have to save!
E is ecosystems, all connected.
R is for respect that She is due.

E is for environments, protected.
A is for awakened points of view.
R is for the rescue of our parent.
T is teaching all to love Her, too.
H is the Heaven or Hell they will inherit.

For all She gives us, it’s the least that we can do.

~ © Corina L. Ravenscraft 2014 ~

About dragonkatet Regarding the blog name, Dragon’s Dreams ~ The name comes from my love-affairs with both Dragons and Dreams (capital Ds). It’s another extension of who I am, a facet for expression; a place and way to reach other like-minded, creative individuals. I post a lot of poetry and images that fascinate or move me, because that’s my favorite way to view the world. I post about things important to me and the world in which we live, try to champion extra important political, societal and environmental issues, etc. Sometimes I wax philosophical, because it’s also a place where I always seem to learn about myself, too, by interacting with some of the brightest minds, souls and hearts out there. It’s all about ‘connection(s)’ and I don’t mean “net-working” with people for personal gain, but rather, the expansion of the 4 L’s: Light, Love, Laughter, Learning.

Joseph Hesch, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

Touching Horizon

Posted on May 9, 2014May 8, 2014 by Joseph Hesch

I’ve always been one to stare
at the sunrise and sunset, the days
slipping out of and into their
respective bedsteads.
But true horizons are funny things.
They are 360-degree dreams
like Dorothy’s Kansas,
flat and unattainable except
in books or feel-good movies.

Perhaps I stand and scan
those horizons, those reclining
brushstrokes of something
always out of reach,
the encircling collection
of a great artist’s vanishing points,
of all our todays and tomorrows,
because I wish to grasp that
there is a beginning and
there is an end to everything.

And in my life there are things
I can never touch, ever,
until they reach out
to touch me first.

– Joseph Hesch

Jamie Dedes, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

The View From My Place

Posted on May 8, 2014May 8, 2014 by Jamie Dedes

The winds in May are still rusty from winter
and our crystal spring arrives stop-and-go,
not here in full force yet this year, not dense
enough to clear the rust or make the iris

dance, though the poppies are present and
there are star lilies and peonies to tempt my
eye and my wallet at the grocery. They stand
alongside the strawberries, buxom and red
and on sale this morning. A sprightly breeze

blew me home with promises of summer
tenderness, of willow branches sashaying
and of wild grasses amassed in tangles that
attract the artist’s vision and able brush.
My purple orchid is thriving and the bees are

as fat as baby mice, clever and cute. On the
mossy margins of the northern side there
are human infants with their midnight tears
waiting to be dried by serious fathers who walk
deep purple streets in slow comforing rhythms,

their newborns gently held, heads wobbling
like little drunks dripping saliva on their dads’
49er sweatshirts, while moms catch a rare nap.
Watching quietly from my place in life, I poem.

Note: A recording of John Anstie reading this poem can be heard on John’s SoundCloud site HERE. John’s other readings may be heard HERE.

JAMIE DEDES (The Poet by Day)~ I am a mother and a medically retired (disabled) elder. The graces of poetry, art, music, writing and study continue to evolve as a sources of wonder and solace, as a creative outlet, and as a part of my spiritual practice.

General Interest, Guest Writer, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

Burnt Mustard

Posted on April 28, 2014April 27, 2014 by The Bardo Group Beguines

In micro pots I scattered chilly seeds a week ago
sunflower a couple of days back
yesterday mustard

trying to push away a gift of space
suffusing the air with its acrid smell of loss

A vacuum sucks thoughts till I have none left
to appraise
I am
water draining through loam
spring cleaning myself
though that feels like being robbed

Arrivals are better at sustaining life
I hug and hold myself from draining out
through the tiny holes in the pots

There is a creamy curry in a blackened dish
spoilt by attention wandering through
spicy sunflower fields

There too a smell of burnt seeds preceded me
Strange
The mustard hasn’t sprouted
yet it has claimed the breeze

– Reena Prasad

REENA PRASAD (Butterflies of Time, a canvas of poetry) ~ is a poet from India, now based in Sharjah. She has several poems published in English anthology collections (Change, Indus Valley, Love in Verses, Musings–a Mosaic, eight anthologies by Barry Mowles and Friends and ten of Brian Wrixon’s anthologies, also in online jounals: Carty’s Poetry Journal, Indian Ruminations, Indian Review and in online magazines such as Youth Ki Awaaz and Thanal Online. Her poems have found place among the winning entries in contests by Writer’s Cafe, Ekphrasis India and Poets Corner. She is a contributor to many international journals like

The Copperfield Review, First Literary Review-East, Angle Journal, Poetry Quarterly etc.

Joseph Hesch, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

Where Memory Becomes Forever

Posted on April 22, 2014April 21, 2014 by Joseph Hesch

Out the big basement window, the wind
slathers the snow like cake icing
up against the trees as if they were
birthday candles, and smooths it over
the roof of old Cliff’s gingerbread shed,
where the rabbits would hide.

But I don’t see the path we’d carve
in those drifts, from this place to our place.
I can imagine high-stepping through
the knee-high purity of it all, though,
smell that clear and evocative smell,
as chaste as the expanse ahead of me.

If I were to fall, splat face-first into
the stinging reality of it all, I think
I’d roll onto my back and watch those
long trails of flakes and let them
redden my face. They’d be like kisses
from that place where memory becomes
forever.

– Joseph Hesch

Charles W Martin, Photography/Photographer, poem, Poems/Poetry

my mother’s love…

Posted on April 11, 2014April 9, 2014 by slpmartin

sometimes
when a fever
runs high
and
i
am alone
in my bed
all my fears
swirling in my head
creating such
dread
i
would swear
i feel your gentle hands
wiping my brow
and
speaking softly
that all
will be well
and
that i
am
not
alone

Poem inspired by Soul Dipper (http://souldipper.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/love-embedded-a-mothers/)

Culture/History, General Interest, grief, Liz Rice-Sosne, memoir, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry, Poets/Writers

November 22, 1963, Lives in Memory

Posted on April 10, 2014April 9, 2014 by Liz RS

Haibun

I had been to lunch in Third House. It was a warm spring day, just the sort of day to leave lunch early and walk in the sunshine. I ambled over to Second House and plopped down in front of the TV. I had spent my sophomore year here and I had always loved it – it felt like home more than any other dorm. However, that day I was a senior, an upperclassman of 17 years of age. While at Dobbs’ I had lived in each of these Queen Anne houses. Today I lived in First House. They were rickety and old, painted a dull boarding school gray. None the less I was quite comfortable for they represented home for me for three of my four years at school. I comfortably seated myself on a couch in front of the television. It might no longer be my dorm, but it still felt cozy and I felt confident, that day so long ago. That confidence must have come from some of that upperclassman swagger that one acquires as they move though their grades (although, to be honest, I didn’t have much swagger). It felt strange as I did not have many confident days in my youth.

wild grey geese above

flew in perfect formation

chaos left behind

Haibun

I flipped on the black and white TV, there was no color in those days. “Oh My God. What was happening?” I was in an instant state of shock. President Kennedy had been shot right in from of my eyes – in his limo in Dallas, Texas. “Was this true?” There was growing chaos everywhere on the television, then this horrific event seemed to ebb out of the television and blanket me. It was thick and dark. I knew that I must get away. I had to get up, go back to the lunchroom and tell of the shooting. I thought of our beautiful first lady and what her sadness must be like. It was so hard to move. I made myself leave.

woodpecker knocking

high above in the maple

a chick all grown up

Haibun

I ran back to the lunchroom and shouted out the news. I do not remember another thing that afternoon. I do remember crying myself to sleep that night filled with such emptiness, dread and a sense of loneliness. Of late, I have been reading a good deal about the Kennedys. I will never believe that this assassination evolved out of the crazy thoughts of one lone Soviet sympathizer. I also suspect that the full truth of those moments in Dallas that November 22^nd of 1963 will not be known by the public within my lifetime.

shells upon a beach

dry cool windy autumn day

creation of sand

LIZ RICE-SOSNE a.k.a. Raven Spirit (noh where), perhaps the oldest friend to Bardo, is the newest member of The Bardo Group Core Team. She is also our new Voices for Peace project outreach coordinator and our go-to person for all things related to haiku. She says she “writes for no reason at all. It is simply a pleasure.” Blogging, mostly poetry, has produced numerous friends for whom she has a great appreciation. Liz is an experienced blogger, photographer and a trained shaman. We think her middle name should be “adventure.”

Art, Niamh Clune, poem, Poems/Poetry, Writing

The Artist

Posted on April 8, 2014April 7, 2014 by Dr Niamh

The Artist

You are the poem and the rhyme,
The reason for created time;
The song, the sung, the singer too;
The truth that is the deepest you.
So ask not why you paint the rose,
Or write of love’s heart-wrenching prose ~
And steal the light from Heaven’s hand,
To write a poem in the sand.

© Niamh Clune 2013

DR. NIAMH CLUNE (Plum Tree Books Blog) ~ is the author of the Skyla McFee series: Orange Petals in a Storm, and Exaltation of a Rose. She is also the author of The Coming of the Feminine Christ: a ground-breaking spiritual psychology. Niamh received her Ph.D. from Surrey University on Acquiring Wisdom Through The Imagination and specialises in The Imaginal Mind and how the inborn, innate wisdom hidden in the soul informs our daily lives and stories. Niamh’s books are available in paperback (children’s books) and Kindle version (The Coming of the Feminine Christ). Dr. Clune is the CEO of Plum Tree Books and Art. Its online store is HERE. Niamh’s Amazon page is HERE.

Liliana Negoi, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

lost

Posted on April 7, 2014April 8, 2014 by Author

– for a crippled angel –

green grows the light
through the old church’s
stained glass windows –
and red and golden and a weird shade of blue,
but mostly green,
trying to decompose into
rudimentary terms of human perception
the flawless logic of the sun

from beneath kisses of dust,
the icons stare at the bronze chandelier
hanging unlit
with an air of wise boredom
right in the middle of the ceiling –
people have forgotten
the names of those
who once alchemically turned their hearts
into each of the objects here…
people always forget,
everything

he looks around,
weighing with patience
the grains of silence filling the space,
aware of how,
should a single one of them be dislocated,
meanings would be gained
and meanings would be lost.
he then takes each of the bones of memories
and gently wipes it with his thoughts,
treasuring them
as if in those mystique relics
flew the very marrow of time.
he did that yesterday,
and the day before…
ever since he first came here

the wood is slowly rotting,
hosting tribes of insects
and wormholes,
and there’s no memory in its aura
of the first hands that joined on it
in prayer,
and even the prayers’ ghosts
have been exorcised by sand

nobody sees him.
people come and go,
failing with brilliance the test of faith –
but once in a while
some baby fixes his round eyes on him
and smiles,
acknowledging his existence.
that makes the infirmity easier to bear…

and light continues to flow
through the old glass,
like a fluid limb of the original word,
willingly fracturing itself
inside the blunt gaze,
just like his wings broke eons ago…

LILIANA NEGOI (Endless Journey and in Romanian curcubee în alb şi negru) ~ is a member of our core team on Into the Bardo. She is the author of three published volumes of poetry in English, which is not her mother tongue but one that she came to love especially because of writing: Sands and Shadows , Footsteps on the San – tanka collection and The Hidden Well. The last one can also be heard in audio version, read by the author herself on her SoundCloud site HERE. Many of her creations, both poetry and prose, have been published in various literary magazines.

General Interest, Jamie Dedes, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry, Poets/Writers

because a poem is everything you can be …

Posted on April 2, 2014April 2, 2014 by Jamie Dedes

Chirlane McCray by Kelly Weill, NYU Local.com — **Chirlane McCray** by Kelly Weill, NYU Local.com

CHIRLANE McCRAY is a writer and poet, a speechwriter and wife of New York City’s new (as of January 2014) mayor, Bill de Blasio. She is also the mother of two children, Chiara and Dante.

According to her bio on de Blasio’s website, “Chirlane began writing at a young age. In high school she discovered ways to use writing as a tool for activism. While studying at Wellesley College and the famed Radcliffe Publishing Course, Chirlane became a member of the Combahee River Collective, a pioneering black feminist collective, which inspired her to write groundbreaking prose and poetry.”

I’ve triend to find poems by Chirlane other than the one below, which is being featured by just about everyone in the New York blogosphere. No luck. The poems are probably out in the world somewhere, but try to bring one up in a search and you get bombarded by the overriding political effluvia and razzmatazz. Nonetheless, this is extraordinatry poem and the one – according to the man himself – that made de Blasio fall in love with her. It is from Home Girls: A Black Feminist Anthology. I happen to have a copy of Home Girls, so I know it’s the only poem of hers in that collection. I was unable to find Chirlane McCray’s poems in the other anthologies I own.

NEW YORK, NY - SEPTEMBER 10: Public Advocate and mayoral candidate Bill de Blasio kisses his wife Chirlane McCray after voting in the New York City mayoral primary on September 10, 2013 (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images) — **NEW YORK CITY:** Public Advocate and then mayoral candidate Bill de Blasio kisses his wife, Chirlane, after voting in the mayoral primary on September 10, 2013 (photograph by Spencer Platt via Getty Images)

I Used To Think

I used to think
I can’t be a poet
because a poem is being everything you can be
in one moment,
speaking with lightning protest
unveiling a fiery intellect
or letting the words drift feather-soft
into the ears of strangers
who will suddenly understand
my beautiful and tortured soul.
But, I’ve spent my life as a Black girl
a nappy-headed, no-haired,
fat-lipped,
big-bottomed Black girl
and the poem will surely come out wrong
like me.

And, I don’t want everyone looking at me.

If I could be a cream-colored lovely
with gypsy curls,
someone’s pecan dream and sweet sensation,
I’d be

poetry in motion
without saying a word
and wouldn’t have to make sense if I did.
If I were beautiful, I could be angry and cute
instead of an evil, pouting mammy bitch
a nigger woman, passed over
conquested and passed over,
a nigger woman
to do it to in the bushes.

My mother tells me
I used to run home crying
that I wanted to be light like my sisters.
She shook her head and told me
there was nothing wrong with my color.
She didn’t tell me I was pretty
(so my head wouldn’t swell up).

Black girls cannot afford to
have illusions of grandeur,
not ass-kicking, too-loud-laughing,
mean and loose Black girls.

And even though in Afrika
I was mistaken for someone’s fine sister or cousin
or neighbor down the way,
even though I swore
never again to walk with my head down,
ashamed,
never to care
that those people who celebrate
the popular brand of beauty
don’t see me,
it still matters.

Looking for a job, it matters.
Standing next to my lover
when someone light gets that
“she ain’t nothin come home with me” expression
it matters.

But it’s not so bad now.
I can laugh about it,
trade stories and write poems
about all those put-downs,
my rage and hiding.
I’m through waiting for minds to change,
the 60’s didn’t put me on a throne
and as many years as I’ve been
Black like ebony
Black like the night
I have seen in the mirror
and the eyes of my sisters
that pretty is the woman in darkness
who flowers with loving

– Chirlane McCray

JAMIE DEDES (The Poet by Day)~ I am a medically retired (disabled) elder and the mother of a married son. The graces of poetry, art, music, writing and reading continue to evolve as a sources of wonder and solace, as creative outlets, and as a part of my spiritual practice. My Facebook pages are: Jamie Dedes (Arts and Humanities) and Simply Living, Living Simply.

Corina L. Ravenscraft, Essay, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry, Poets/Writers, Writing

April is Poetry Month!

Posted on April 1, 2014March 31, 2014 by dragonkatet

Since 1996 in the United States and 1998 in Canada, April has been deemed by poets, librarians, booksellers and teachers as the best month to celebrate poetry, as it has been recorded as the time of year when it can garner the most participation. Although the celebration of poetry in April started as national events in US and Canada, the Bardo Group is celebrating the month as International Poetry Month, since we are a multi-country, multicultural collaborative. Here is some history on how and why poetry month started and some ideas for ways in which you might celebrate with your friends and family.

image borrowed from http://thelivepoetsociety.wordpress.com

It was started by the Academy of American Poets as “an ultimate effort to encourage poetry readership year-round.” – Source HERE is a great page and resource for what it’s all about. You can even receive daily poems by e-mail, if you like! THIS page has a list of thirty ways to celebrate. My three favorites among these suggestions are: * Put poetry in an unexpected place. I love this idea because the surprise element adds something extra – the very fact of it being unexpected may make more of an impact upon the person who sees/reads the poem, and perhaps will leave more of a lasting impression. 🙂 I’m already scouting out unexpected places to leave a poem or two! * Play the Exquisite Corpse game. (Rules can be found here) Simply put, it’s a game where the participants agree beforehand on what sentence structure to use, then provide one word and pass it along to the next person who has no idea what the word before is…and then that person passes along their word, and so on. It could be just a simple line of poetry or an entire poem, depending on how many people participate and/or how many times each person submits a word. What a fantastic idea to get people to have fun and collaborate, creating a unique poem in the process. I need to find some people willing to play, and if it turns out to be a success, I’ll post the results. 😀

Image borrowed from http://diaryofasmartchick.com

* Take a poem out to lunch. My “lunch-time” normally falls between 9:30 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. because I work the night shift, so I don’t often have company with me. However, this is the perfect excuse to take someone to lunch with me on one of my days off and bring a poem! Maybe the person I take can bring one, too, for twice the enjoyment and twice the discussion. 🙂

Image borrowed from http://blogs.thenews.com.pk

However you decide to celebrate, I hope you DO decide to at least read or write one new poem and help spread the appreciation to others. One of my favorite ways to enjoy poetry is by searching and finding the perfect picture for a poetic verse or quote. It can be a lot more challenging than you might think, and the image/poetry combination is often times far more striking and memorable to the reader/viewer than a simple line of type. Of course, always be sure to give proper credit for both picture and poem.

Though on The Bardo Group blog we won’t exclusively post poems everyday this month, we’ll certainly celebrate with many poems and poets from different times and many places. Along with the Academy of American Poets, we’ll celebrate A Poem in Your Pocket on Thursday, April 24, when everyone is invited to share a poem here and/or a piece about a favorite poet no matter the poet’s time or place. Mister Linky will go up and you can link in your own work or share a URL to work you admire. Or, if you prefer, you can share a poem or comment on a poet in the comment section of that day’s post. Mister Linky will open at 12:01 a.m. on the 24th. We look forward to seeing what you have to share then.

Image borrowed from http://rationallyspeaking.blogspot.com

In closing, here are a few of my favorite quotes about poetry from some of my favorite poets. How about you? Any celebration ideas? Favorite poems or poets to share?

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” ~ Khalil Gibran

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.” ~ Robert Frost

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” ~ Carl Sandburg

“Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” ~ T.S. Eliot

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

Khalil Gibran

About dragonkatet Regarding the blog name, Dragon’s Dreams ~ The name comes from my love-affairs with both Dragons and Dreams (capital Ds). It’s another extension of who I am, a facet for expression; a place and way to reach other like-minded, creative individuals. I post a lot of poetry and images that fascinate or move me, because that’s my favorite way to view the world. I post about things important to me and the world in which we live, try to champion extra important political, societal and environmental issues, etc. Sometimes I wax philosophical, because it’s also a place where I always seem to learn about myself, too, by interacting with some of the brightest minds, souls and hearts out there. It’s all about ‘connection(s)’ and I don’t mean “net-working” with people for personal gain, but rather, the expansion of the 4 L’s: Light, Love, Laughter, Learning.

Niamh Clune, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

For My Mother

Posted on March 31, 2014March 30, 2014 by Dr Niamh

For My Mother

I want to reach across the sky
to mists beyond the blue
to where you are imagined still
and I remember you

Your face was soft, your lilting tongue
a brogue of Burren’s air,
a flute that danced upon the wind
from Erin’s County Clare.

You danced a Hornpipe, kicked your heels,
smiled with not a care ~
With rocking ankle, turn of calf,
And ribbons in your hair.

Wild and exiled, mother mine
you beat the flaggy ground
with rhythm of the rebel coast
battering the sound.

I do miss your bluest eyes
and long for when you were
an orchid in a field of tare ~
the girl from County Clare.

Editor’s Note: Yesterday, May 30, was Mothering Sunday in the UK and Niamh’s lovely poem is posted in honor of the day. Best wishes and gratitude to moms in the UK and everywhere from The Bardo Group and thanks to Niamh for sharing this lovely homage to her own mom with us in celebration of this special day.

DR. NIAMH CLUNE (Plum Tree Books Blog) ~ is the author of the Skyla McFee series: Orange Petals in a Storm, and Exaltation of a Rose. She is also the author of The Coming of the Feminine Christ: a ground-breaking spiritual psychology. Niamh received her Ph.D. from Surrey University on Acquiring Wisdom Through The Imagination and specialises in The Imaginal Mind and how the inborn, innate wisdom hidden in the soul informs our daily lives and stories. Niamh’s books are available in paperback (children’s books) and Kindle version (The Coming of the Feminine Christ). Dr. Clune is the CEO of Plum Tree Books and Art. Its online store is HERE. Niamh’s Amazon page is HERE.

An Observation

– Liz Rice-Sosne

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

M is for the multitudes She nurtures. O is for the only world we have. T is terrestrial preservation – Hers. H is for the home we have to save! E is ecosystems, all connected. R is for respect that She is due.

E is for environments, protected. A is for awakened points of view. R is for the rescue of our parent. T is teaching all to love Her, too. H is the Heaven or Hell they will inherit.

For all She gives us, it’s the least that we can do.

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

JAMIE DEDES (The Poet by Day)~ I am a mother and a medically retired (disabled) elder. The graces of poetry, art, music, writing and study continue to evolve as a sources of wonder and solace, as a creative outlet, and as a part of my spiritual practice.

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

– for a crippled angel –

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

Thank you for sharing the beauty and inspiration:

M is for the multitudes She nurtures.
O is for the only world we have.
T is terrestrial preservation – Hers.
H is for the home we have to save!
E is ecosystems, all connected.
R is for respect that She is due.

E is for environments, protected.
A is for awakened points of view.
R is for the rescue of our parent.
T is teaching all to love Her, too.
H is the Heaven or Hell they will inherit.