Category Archives: Uncategorized

Dear Genie (A Note Affixed to a Bottle)

Dear Genie  (A note Affixed to a Bottle)

Get back into the bottle. You’re doing nothing right.
The Adonis I requested just the other night
turned out to be the plumber. He got here around nine,
but the pipes he chose to work on were not any pipes of mine.
A problem with your hearing is a possibility,
so for now there’s only one more wish that I would ask of thee.
A doctor of ear, nose and throat you need to visit, please,
for when I requested money, you brought me hives of bees.
Now I’ve sufficient honey and beeswax it appears—
almost as much as I imagine you have in your ears.
As it is, each thing I wish for occasions my new fears.
So you’re confined to quarters ’til your hearing reappears!


The prompt today is genie.

Zeroing in: Hibiscus, Flower of the Day, Apr 18, 2018

IMG_9486 copyIMG_9486My backyard had become a bit of a jungle.  The men came and trimmed the palms and cut the pistachio tree in the background of this photo way back.  Sort of sad right now, but really opened up the view of the lake. In this photo taken a couple of weeks ago, the tree furnishes a lush backdrop to the profiles of these twin hibiscuses.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt.

Matins: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 18

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 Matins

We lie in each other’s shelter,
hiding what is necessary,
shedding guilt,
holding one another in the soft reverence
of those who seek to be loved.
We can hardly believe
how our pieces are coming together—
the hard world retreating,
falling like pages from our hands,
making us want that loss of everything
except the two of us.

Flattery is unnecessary, as is reassurance.
We hold one another as protection,
quieting each other,
gathering our petty problems
like brood hens put inside for the night,
safe and barely yearning 
for the freedom of low branches,
flight to further fence posts and away.
How could we have ever wished escape?
Caught up in our private morning,
we find it hard to remember

what the rest of the world rails against.

 


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt: find a poem in a book or magazine (ideally one you are not familiar with). Use a piece of paper to cover over everything but the last line. Now write a line of your own that completes the thought of that single line you can see, or otherwise responds to it. Now move your piece of paper up to uncover the second-to-last line of your source poem, and write the second line of your new poem to complete/respond to this second-to-last line. Keep going, uncovering and writing, until you get to the first line of your source poem, which you will complete/respond to as the last line of your new poem. It might not be a finished draft, but hopefully it at least contains the seeds of one.

This is a link to the poem “Hail Mary,” by Megan Blankenship that I chose from “Blackbird” Magazine to use to inspire my poem.

 

 

 

Back View: Flower of the day, Apr 17, 2018

IMG_9504Copa de Oro. So glad I took so many photos before this vine was destroyed.

Legacy: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 17

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Legacy

The thoughts and looks and talents of others of my kind
are written on my body and written on my mind.
My genetic family, departed from this earth,
exists in my coloring, expression, voice and girth.

I’m glad I got mom’s optimism and her rhyming wit,
but her success with pastry? I have none of it.
I cannot bake a cherry pie. Light pastry is a riddle.
The few cakes that I  ever baked were soggy in the middle.

Why couldn’t I inherit my mother’s slender legs
instead of my Dutch aunties’ solid ample pegs?
For women on my dad’s side were noted for their girth
as well as for the many years they spent upon this earth.

Thin skin that picks up bruises from each ungentle touch?
I’ve inherited it all–thank you very much!
My mother’s taste for chocolate, my uncle’s taste for gin––
both sides of my family I carry safe within.

My grandmother’s hands that always needed to be busy,
my Aunt Stella’s tendency to wind up in a tizzy.
“Blahsy blah!” she would exclaim, and flop her arms and walk
in tight little circles. I couldn’t help but gawk.

But sometimes I find myself getting flustered, too,
my mind stomping in circles as I figure what to do.
My upper arms look more like hers, my stomach like my mother’s,
although I’d rather have Aunt Betty’s if I had my druthers.

I could go on for stanzas, listing each thing that I’d rather,
but my recital has already turned into mere blather.
So I’ll just say a thank you to those who came before.
For in spite of all your ills, I have you at my core.

Somehow the parts you left in me, although they aren’t all pretty,
are very rarely mean or dumb or dense or dull or petty.
You left me curiosity that fills out all my days––
as well as that  Dutch work ethic that doesn’t let me laze.

Dad and Mom, I thank you both for your good sense of humor
and for your facility at blending fact and rumor
into stories that you then simply had to tell.
And thank you for instilling the need to tell them well.

Slight exaggerations are expected, I have learned––
one vital ingredient of stories finely turned.
And though each story must be told starting at its top,
the secret lies in simply––knowing when to stop.

 

The NaPoWriMo prompt: write a poem re-telling a family anecdote that has stuck with you over time. This one from a few years ago fits the prompt, I think. Tomorrow have early appointments so will get this posted tonight. Perhaps I’ll do another tomorrow.

Old Crank

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Old Crank

He’s sort of wonky, sort of cranky.
Spits his chew into his hanky.
Plays his guitar sharp or flat.
Rarely knows where he is at.
Makes off with neighbors’ garbage lids,
yells at all the little kids.
His vision’s getting sort of dim,
so when the kids throw rocks at him,
he thinks that it is just a gale
pelting him with balls of hail.
Once he was a little kid,
doing as his parents bid,
but now it seems to be his fate
to be his home town’s reprobate!

The prompt today was crank.

Flash Mob: Daily Post, Apr 15, 2018

 

Flash Mob

I know that it is corny—sorta sentimental
and probably some cruel folks might even call me mental,
but something about people gathering together
in protected malls or out there in the weather
to dance or sing or orchestrate, coming one-by-one
has the effect of making me come totally undone.
First a knot forms in my throat. Then I start to sigh.
And then (I must admit to you) flash mobs make me cry!

To that first person dancing or with a violin
there soon comes another, anxious to join in.
Another and another, in singles or a pair
send chills right up my spine to exit through my hair.
They dance and sing, play music and entertain us all.
We stop what we are doing as we are held in thrall.
Babes on daddy’s shoulders or holding grandpa’s hand
cease at once their walking to sit or lean or stand
to watch this little miracle that folks have orchestrated
only for the wonder of it—rare and understated.

No flyers advertise them. They seem to be spontaneous,
though months of planning go into what seems like instantaneous
gathering together to have a spot of fun
creating such a spectacle. Then suddenly, it’s done.
One by one they leave us—go into their own lives
like swarms of busy honey bees retreating to their hives.
I don’t know why they do it, who starts them all or why.
I only know that flash mobs always make me cry!

 

The prompt today is song.

Haibun Reblog: Dianne Hicks Morrow

Love the haibun by my friend Dianne. She doesn’t have a blog so wanted to insure this poem got the attention it deserves:

At 2 a.m. this morning son Jacob delivered us from the airport to our dark yard. Grateful to see no snow gleaming in the gloom, we staggered inside, even more grateful for the heat of the kitchen wood stove. Our three day return trip from the sunny hot Pacific coast of Mexico, our 2nd home for seven years, featured a snowstorm hello as our plane broke through the cloud to land in Calgary. While we’re mostly glad to be home on PEI, the sounds of silence are deafening. No morning wake-up calls from chachalachas, lorikeets, and doves. But this afternoon a sound surprised our ears—the wind howling.

Bathing suits blow on
Bare forsythia branches
We await their bloom

Delta Flight 15

Go get a box of Kleenex NOW if you are going to read this story sent to me by my friend Gloria. She always sends outstanding photos and stories but this is the best so far:

A good story after all the bad ones we hear. I had never really thought of what happened to all the other flights headed for the States on 9/11. It is past 16 years since 9/11 and here is a wonderful story about that terrible day.

Jerry Brown, Delta Flight 15…(true story)
Written following 9-11:

On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, we were about 5 hours out of Frankfurt, flying over the North Atlantic. All of a sudden the curtains parted and I was told to go to the cockpit, immediately, to see the captain. As soon as I got there I noticed that the crew had that “All Business” look on their faces. The captain handed me a printed message. It was from Delta’s main office in Atlanta and simply read, “All airways over the Continental United States are closed to commercial air traffic. Land ASAP at the nearest airport. Advise your destination.”

No one said a word about what this could mean. We knew it was a serious situation and we needed to find terra firma quickly. The captain determined that the nearest airport was 400 miles behind us in Gander, Newfoundland. He requested approval for a route change from the Canadian traffic controller and approval was granted immediately — no questions asked.

We found out later, of course, why there was no hesitation in approving our request.

While the flight crew prepared the airplane for landing, another message arrived from Atlanta telling us about some terrorist activity in the New York area. A few minutes later word came in about the hijackings.

We decided to lie to the passengers while we were still in the air. We told them the plane had a simple instrument problem and that we needed to land at the nearest airport in Gander, Newfoundland, to have it checked out. We promised to give more information after landing in Gander. There was much grumbling among the passengers, but that’s nothing new.

Forty minutes later, we landed in Gander … Local time at Gander was 12:30 PM … that’s 11:00 AM EST. There were already about 20 other airplanes on the ground from all over the world that had taken this detour on their way to the U.S. After we parked on the ramp, the captain made the following announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, you must be wondering if all these airplanes around us have the same instrument problem as we have. The reality is that we are here for another reason.” Then he went on to explain the little bit we knew about the situation in the U.S. There were loud gasps and stares of disbelief. The captain informed passengers that Ground Control in Gander told us to stay put.

The Canadian Government was in charge of our situation and no one was allowed to get off the aircraft. No one on the ground was allowed to come near any of the aircrafts. Only airport police would come around periodically, look us over and go on to the next airplane. In the next hour or so more planes landed and Gander ended up with 53 airplanes from all over the world, 27 of which were U.S. commercial jets.

Meanwhile, bits of news started to come in over the aircraft radio and for the first time we learned that airplanes were flown into the World Trade Center in New York and into the Pentagon in DC. People were trying to use their cell phones, but were unable to connect due to a different cell system in Canada. Some did get through, but were only able to get to the Canadian operator who would tell them that the lines to the U.S. were either blocked or jammed.

Sometime in the evening the news filtered to us that the twin towers buildings had collapsed and that a fourth hijacking had resulted in a crash. By now the passengers were emotionally and physically exhausted, not to mention frightened, but everyone stayed amazingly calm. We had only to look out the window at the 52 other stranded aircraft to realize that we were not the only ones in this predicament.

We had been told earlier that they would be allowing people off the planes one plane at a time.At 6 PM, Gander airport told us that our turn to deplane would be 11am the next morning. Passengers were not happy, but they simply resigned themselves to this news without much noise and started to prepare themselves to spend the night on the airplane.

Gander had promised us medical attention, if needed, water, and lavatory servicing. And they were true to their word. Fortunately we had no medical situations to worry about. We did have a young lady who was 33 weeks into her pregnancy. We took REALLY good care of her. The night passed without incident despite the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

About 10:30 on the morning of the 12th a convoy of school buses showed up. We got off the plane and were taken to the terminal where we went through Immigration and Customs and then had to register with the Red Cross.

After that we (the crew) were separated from the passengers and were taken in vans to a small hotel. We had no idea where our passengers were going.

We learned from the Red Cross that the town of Gander has a population of 10,400 people and they had about 10,500 passengers to take care of from all the airplanes that were forced into Gander! We were told to just relax at the hotel and we would be contacted when the U.S. airports opened again, but not to expect that call for a while.

We found out the total scope of the terror back home only after getting to our hotel and turning on the TV, 24 hours after it all started. Meanwhile, we had lots of time on our hands and found that the people of Gander were extremely friendly. They started calling us the “plane people”.

We enjoyed their hospitality, explored the town of Gander and ended up having a pretty good time. Two days later, we got that call and were taken back to the Gander airport. Back on the plane, we were reunited with the passengers and found out what they had been doing for the past two days. What we found out was incredible.

Gander and all the surrounding communities (within about a 75 Kilometer radius) had closed all high schools, meeting halls, lodges, and any other large gathering places. They converted all these facilities to mass lodging areas for all the stranded travelers. Some had cots set up, some had mats with sleeping bags and pillows set up.

ALL the high school students were required to volunteer their time to take care of the “guests”. Our 218 passengers ended up in a town called Lewisporte, about 45 kilometers from Gander where they were put up in a high school. If any women wanted to be in a women-only facility, that was arranged. Families were kept together. All the elderly passengers were taken to private homes.

Remember that young pregnant lady? She was put up in a private home right across the street from a 24-hour Urgent Care facility. There was a dentist on call and both male and female nurses remained with the crowd for the duration.

Phone calls and e-mails to the U.S. and around the world were available to everyone once a day. During the day, passengers were offered “Excursion” trips. Some people went on boat cruises of the lakes and harbors. Some went for hikes in the local forests. Local bakeries stayed open to make fresh bread.

As for the guests, food was prepared by all the residents and brought to the schools. People were driven to restaurants of their choice and offered wonderful meals.

Everyone was given tokens for local Laundromats to wash their clothes, since luggage was still on the aircraft. In other words, every single need was met for those stranded travelers.

Passengers were crying while telling us these stories. Finally, when they were told that U.S. airports had reopened, they were delivered to the airport right on time and without a single passenger missing or late. The local Red Cross had all the information about the whereabouts of each and every passenger and knew which plane they needed to be on and when all the planes were leaving. They coordinated everything beautifully. It was absolutely incredible.

When passengers came on board, it was like they had been on a cruise. Everyone knew each other by name. They were swapping stories of their stay, impressing each other with who had the better time. Our flight back to Atlanta looked like a chartered party flight. The crew just stayed out of their way. It was. mind-boggling. Passengers had totally bonded and were calling each other by their first names, exchanging phone numbers, addresses, and email addresses.

And then a very unusual thing happened. One of our passengers approached me and asked if he could make an announcement over the PA system. We never, ever, allow that. But this time was different. I said “of course” and handed him the mike. He picked up the PA and reminded everyone about what they had just gone through in the last few days. He reminded them of the hospitality they had received at the hands of total strangers. He continued by saying that he would like to do something in return for the good folks of Lewisporte.

He said he was going to set up a Trust Fund under the name of DELTA 15 (our flight number). The purpose of the trust fund is to provide college scholarships for the high school students of Lewisporte. He asked for donations of any amount from his fellow travelers. When the paper with donations got back to us with the amounts, names, phone numbers, and addresses, the total was for more than $14,000!

The gentleman, a MD from Virginia, promised to match the donations and to start the administrative work on the scholarship. He also said that he would forward this proposal to Delta Corporate and ask them to donate as well.

As I write this account, the trust fund is at more than $1.5 million and has assisted 134 students in college education. “I just wanted to share this story because we need good stories right now. It gives me a little bit of hope to know that some people in a faraway place were kind to some strangers who literally dropped in on them.

It reminds me how much good there is in the world. “In spite of all the rotten things we see going on in today’s world this story confirms that there are still a lot of good people in the world and when things get bad, they will come forward.”

This is one of those stories that need to be shared. Please do so.

A Dreaming Vocabulary: NaPoWriMo, Apr 14, 2018

A Dreaming Vocabulary

When you’re sleeping soundly in your nightie or pajammers
and you happen to be dreaming of teacups, sharks and hammers,
if the hammer pounds the teacup, spilling tea and cream
to soak the wobbly table that is also in your dream,
you might think good fortune has cruelly run out,
but that still does not explain what the shark’s about.

A dentist in a rowboat comes rowing quickly by.
He fixes that circling shark securely with his eye,
grabs him in a deadlock and pulls him o’er the side,
doses him with novocaine, then just drifts with the tide
as he extracts the teeth that he might use to chew
on anything that he encounters: fish or squid or you!

And just as he is finishing this grisly operation,
the shark begins a session of intense regurgitation.
First a full-grown seagull, then a pink silk ballet slipper
with the ballet dancer still attached, alive but not too chipper.
The shark is still recovering so toothless and so numb it
knows not that if it wants a meal, hereafter, it must gum it.

The whole group now returns to shore. The dancer dances off.
The seagull sits in shock and the shark begins to cough.
A mariachi hits the sand, complete with his guitar.
All of them a bit in shock, wondering where they are.
And to you, caught there  in dreamland, what message does this send?
Perhaps, my dear,  that everything comes out right in the end!

 

The Day 14 prompt is: Pick one (or more) of the following words, and write about what it means to dream of these things: Teacup, Hammer, Seagull, Ballet slipper, Shark, Wobbly table, Dentist, Rowboat.