Author: mannixk

PAD 2017 – Day 3

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Today’s Writer’s Digest prompt is to write a “______ of Love” poem. I have “not a lot of love” for this prompt, because I found it so difficult! All I could come up with was a micro of sorts, but many of the other creations I’ve read on the site are wonderful.

Parachute of Love

If I had one now
I wouldn’t be
falling for you
so hard.

It was much easier for me to pick an Alberta poet today, and fittingly there’s some lusty humour and masterful wordplay in her poem. Leslie Greentree is a Griffin Poetry Prize nominated writer from Red Deer. Please check out this excellent video of her reading “if I was a gate” from her book go-go dancing for Elvis.

 

 

PAD 2017 – Day 2

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Doing a bit of prompt mixing today with the the NaPoWriMo.net suggestion to write a poem inspired by a recipe, and the Writer’s Digest “not today” prompt. Today would’ve been my Mom’s 74th birthday, so this one’s still at the fresh-from-the-sentimental-oven stage.

 

How to Celebrate

 

To do it right

I’d make you a cherry pie,

the perfect crust, flaky and just brown,

sticky sweet filling bubbling at the edges

and a fork-print “M” in the centre

for Mom.

 

To do it right

I’d celebrate your birthday

with tulips and a tune,

Song Sung Blue, a hot cup of coffee,

a mucky walk along

the river.

 

To do it right

I’d gather photos of you,

before I was born,

before any of us were,

and your hair fell past

your shoulders.

 

To do it right

I’d read that soft smile

for the woman you were,

more on your lips

that I wish you could

tell me.

 

My Alberta poem share today is by Calgary poet Tyler B. Perry, titled “I don’t teach subjects; I teach students.” It’s one of my favourites from his first book, Lessons in Falling.

PAD 2017 – Day 1

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Hooray, hooray it’s the first of…April! That means the start of National Poetry Month, and NaPoWriMo. Like previous years, I am attempting to write and post for the poem-a-day challenge, using prompts from various places (there are lots of great ones out there!) and combining them if it works.

I am big on ambition, but short on time, so I don’t expect these poems to be particularly polished. But what I’ve learned from previous years of participating in this is that it’s more about the discipline it takes to write something every day, and also about finding ways to experiment or try out new forms.

I am also going to use the month to shine some light on the many, many wonderful poets who live in my own province, Alberta. I plan to post a link to an online work by an Alberta poet each day, and encourage you to not only read their work, but take the time to seek out and support the poets in your own region. They will thank you for it.

Today’s poem comes from a Writer’s Digest prompt to write a “reminiscing” poem, mixed with the NaPoWriMo prompt to emulate the style of poet Kay Ryan.

 

A Shady Path

 

Imagine a tree

so thick at its base

that even Billy’s

long arms couldn’t

embrace the space,

but how sharp

the sound, the snap

of one fallen branch

blocking our path,

just a trio of leaves

left on its skinny

fingers, the way

a whisper of breeze

slipped under

my dress like

a warning.

 

My Alberta poem today comes from one of my all-time favourite poets, Alice Major. Not only am I constantly amazed by Alice’s books (of which there are many), but I am also in admiration of her lifetime commitment to spreading the love of poetry. She is the first poet laureate of Edmonton and the founder of the fabulous Edmonton Poetry Festival. Please click here to read the wonderful poem  “Suncatcher” and learn more about Ms. Major.

Poem: No Mishaps

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I spend too much time on Twitter. Even on days — like most days, lately — when it seems to be an endless timeline of terrible news, there are bright spots. Every day I learn, laugh, connect and discover, but it still sucks my time. So today, I thought I’d try to make (good?) use of that time by chopping snippets of tweets from some of the people or organizations I follow*, tossing them around in a word blender, and attempting to write a new poem. Here’s what came of it. Though not all the tweets that inspired this were political in nature, the thoughts in my head are in political prison right now, so I suppose writing things like this is a way to break out.

 

No Mishaps

 

Can’t tell if the song is brilliant or crap,

the machine gun percussion, big rig motor grind,

and Phil Collins as lead singer. But leaders,

I know leaders. Leaders win and smile when they say,

hey, it’s a-ok, c’mon and drink the water

with just an essence of lead. A danger? No danger,

it’s all in your head, listen to your heart, listen to us,

there is a war, but not that war  — a war on coal,

a war on country, a war on YOU, and how dare they say

it’s not a communist plot. They’re feeding you

this cosmic dread, but the answer is easy,

the answer is here, no, NO, there’s nothing under there,

Look ! OVER HERE! We make the sun shine, the sunshine is huge,

a huge dose of Vitamin D, very important for good health,

you take care of you, and we’ll take care of

us, but  really, you’ll thank us. It’ll be amazing, you’ll see.

Did you taste the water?  We have the best water,

come swim in the water, no one drowns in the water,

no one’s forced into water. YOU, you are the one

touched by migration, you are the one in need of

safe crossing to the future of your past,

to what came before, and what came after. Remember?

Do you remember, it was pure white gold,

that sweet family photo in the tall shiny tower,

you can be in that photo. You can be met with grace,

the resurrection of everything great.

Listen, do you hear it? That round of applause,

the loudest hand claps from the biggest, best hands,

That song we keep playing, are you singing it now?

Are you affected yet? Infected yet? They’ll try

to tell you that a vaccine exists, but the price

is too high. The price isn’t the sky, or the trees

or the birds. The price is your freedom and

we’ll stop you from paying.  No mishaps,

we’re golden. We’re good. And yes, you can

thank us. Your welcome is welcome.

 

*NOTE: The title “No Mishaps” came from a Tweet by Edmonton artist @JayIsPainting. Other parts of lines were borrowed from or inspired by  @thomaspluck: (cosmic dread), @MSF_canada: (vaccine exists, but the price is too high)  @anniegirl1138: (not a communist plot) @wickerkat: (Can’t tell if it’s brilliant or crap) @Don_Share: (touched by migration) @AusmaZehanat: (safe crossing ) @ChuckWendig: (and the resurrection) @HighwayTomson: (Your welcome is welcome. ) @TheAmericansFX: (be met with grace) @ThatEricAlper: (Phil Collins as lead singer & what came before, and what came after) @KimPigSquash: (Vit D very important for good health) @CBCAlerts: (war on coal).

 

 

Haiku Horizons Prompt – Search

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This week’s Haiku Horizons word prompt is “search.” It’s been awhile since I played along, but the first day of spring (on the calendar anyway…still wintry out my window) seems like a good reason to plant some words.

 

first day of spring

magpie searches the snow

for a sign

*******

her searchlight smile

beaming

from the red carpet

*******

insomnia

searching for answers

in moon shadows

The World Needs Us — Happy International Women’s Day

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Happy International Women’s Day to:

The mothers, grandmothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, cousins and friends, and every woman who has laughed, loved, cried, bled, raged, hoped and dreamed.

The poets, the novelists, the playwrights, the storytellers, the comedians, the journalists, and any woman who wields the power of words.

The singers, the musicians, the painters, the sculptors, the dancers, and any woman who knows creativity can and does inspire change.

The scientists, the farmers, the nurses, the doctors, the chefs, the entrepreneurs, the engineers, the teachers, the caregivers, the drivers, the business leaders, the billions of women who work every day to build their families, their communities and their world.

What a gift to know I could never begin to list all the women who’ve inspired me, moved me, entertained me, cared for me, and taught me. The list is too long. The list keeps growing. You are on this list. Today, and every day, I appreciate having you in my life.

Today is just a day, but this year — this time in our lives when all that women have done and built seems so fragile, so in danger of cracking — it is also a rallying cry. To stay strong, stay hopeful, stay compassionate, stay bold. Be brave, and weird, and beautiful, and open, and crazy, and hilarious, and kind, and supportive. Be everything you already are and everything you can be. We need each other. The world needs us.

Why I March

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womens-rights

In the last few months, I’ve started but never finished several posts and poems that try to somehow capture what’s going on in my head and heart since the American election. I think these false starts were probably just because I felt, and continued to feel, so overwhelmed with emotion and berated with information and misinformation. Some days I think “I will not read, listen to or watch anything political” and hope that will bring me peace of mind. But it doesn’t.  So then I try to engage fully, read widely, discuss with anyone willing, rant and rage , and hope that will bring some relief.  But it doesn’t.

This morning I read an extraordinary essay by Rebecca Solnit.  If I could write even a tenth as good as Solnit, or if I had her insight as an actual American, I think this is what I would want to say. I shared the article with my Dad, and other family members and friends, because as intelligent and empathetic as the people in my circle are, I sometimes get the sense that they don’t understand why I’m taking the election results, and all the insanity that’s followed, so personally. Honestly, I don’t exactly know either, but I do know I cried several times the day after the election and a few times since, simply because it was the only emotional reaction that seemed to fit the combination of anger, and disappointment I felt inside. And I’m not normally a “crier”.  But then again, nothing about the world feels quite normal.

After watching the Trump press conference yesterday, I was an angry, aghast mess. My Dad got an earful on the phone just for simply calling to say hi. I told him I planned to go to the Women’s Solidarity March in my city, and planned to bring my daughters. When he asked “why?” I went off a little. Not at him personally, for I know my wonderful father is no misogynist, and was more just asking about the logistics of taking kids and myself out to a politically charged place in the winter cold. But the question “why?”, combined with the reading of this article, did spark some need to express, or at least try to express, why the anger, the sadness, and the resistance matter.

I am going to that march on January 21 because these issues certainly don’t stop at the American-Canadian border. Because there is a new wave of misogyny surging in my province. Because I have daughters, and hoped (still do hope) that the cards will be a little less stacked against them as they grow up. Because it’s 2017. Because as angry and ranty as I’ve been about all of this since well before Trump was “elected”, my overwhelming feeling is still sadness. Because I have always been an optimist at heart, and I have to do something to restore the belief in my heart that the world is good.

I know my personal world is good. I know I am surrounded by beautiful, smart, loving people. The very fact that I feel safe enough to express these thoughts speaks volumes about how good my personal world is. And sure, if we choose to view the world through the lens of how women and minorities are treated in other countries, or how women and minorities were treated in the past, then we might be left with this feeling of “I really shouldn’t complain.” But to see privilege as a reason not to speak out, rather than the very reason you should speak out, is wrong. And to think that ground once gained cannot be ripped out from under you is foolish. And because wanting  the world to be fair and safe for everyone — not because of who or what they are or aren’t, or what they do or don’t believe, but because they are people — is something worth fighting (and marching) for.

Poem: Demeter in the Kitchen

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Sometimes my dreams are almost like found poems. I’m not sure why I stumbled upon this one in my sleep last night, but perhaps words — like good bread — are best when shared.

 

Demeter in the Kitchen

 

The still house at dawn

and she’s kneading dough, a rye bread

she gently places in a red ceramic loaf pan.

Demeter, of flesh except for her marble eyes,

blank and smooth. She wears a blue floral house dress

pinched neat at the waist, and a thick braid falls

to the middle of her back. I ask if she’ll have me

in the kitchen, to watch her work some more.

A warning wrapped in her silent nod,

there’s a cost to learning

how to conjure life from dust.

 

 

My Breakup With The Walking Dead

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My Breakup With The Walking Dead

CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD

Ya, I know this is normally my spot for poetic stuff, and the occasional dark story, but forgive me today for using it to talk (rant) a little TV. I used to work for a TV magazine and I miss the days when 10 raised-on-80s-sitcoms nerds would stand around every morning rehashing, trashing or praising whatever happened to be on the night before. It was a long time ago. Netflix wasn’t even a thing. But  I still miss the TV babble. My hubby indulges me a little with the incessant post-watch analysis, and I love him for it. But last night he wanted to sleep, while I kept spinning my feelings — or lack of feelings — about this show around in my brain.

Then, this morning, my dear friend texted me that the episode gave her mild PTSD. An understandable reaction shared by many fans. When I admitted my boredom (yes, boredom) with an especially graphic, gore-filled episode that killed off two very beloved characters, she was  a little stunned. And then she made me laugh, heartily, by saying, “Maybe this is how Donald Trump’s friends felt when they realized he was a psychopath?”.

It does feel a little crazy to give up on a show that I’ve invested six years in. I am usually quite loyal to my shows. I’m one of those seven people who actually liked the Lost finale. There was once a deep love in my heart for The Walking Dead, too — even as I could admit that every season had its share of silly writing and plot holes you could drive a semi-full-o’-walkers through. EVEN AFTER the “Them” episode in Season 5 when the miraculous tornado kills off a horde of zombies but, of course, spares our plucky gang of survivors. EVEN AFTER Rick’s supposedly impassioned speech to rally the troops included the ridiculous line: “We are the walking dead.” I mean, c’mon! But, still I stayed, because of the characters. I loved those characters. Well, most of them — I cheered inside when Lori and Andrea died. But I still miss Hershel. And I think the performances on this show are, for the most part, stellar. If anyone could ALMOST pull of the cheesiest line ever written for cable television, it’s Andrew Lincoln.

But last night, the super anticipated episode….who will the big boogeyman Negan kill? What will be SO SHOCKING in this episode that made that ridiculous Season 6 cliff hanger worth all this wait? For weeks leading up to the premiere there was chatter about who was and was not safe, contrived remembrances of what all our heroes have gone through so far, articles every fricking week in EW promising us that Season 7 is SO RIVETING and OOO….NEGAN IS THE WORST. VILLAIN. EVER. And I tried to go along with it because “Ya! This is The Walking Dead! I love this show!” But instead I started ignoring all the hype. Instead, I sighed in annoyance at how long it took to delete all the TWD marathon episodes that showed up on my PVR. Instead, I woke up yesterday and saw all the anticipatory chat about the season premiere on Twitter and was like, “Oh yeah. That’s on tonight.”

But still, I sat down with my snacks, about to hit play after the kiddos had fallen asleep. I told my hubby that I thought it was Abraham who’d be the goner, or maybe Glenn or Maggie, because the show never likes to let people be happy for too long, and then I realized that I didn’t care. At all. I didn’t care if it WAS Glenn, or Maggie, or even Michonne, who has always been my favourite character. I found myself hoping it would be Daryl or Rick (even though I knew that would never happen), just to shake some stuff up. And as it played on I thought to myself, “Hmm, this is interesting…I am completely ambivalent about this show now.”  I am totally repulsed, but not all emotionally stirred, by this villain brutally bashing the skulls of two characters I used to be so fond of. I know he’s supposed to be terrifying, so why do I find him sort of folksy? I see Glenn’s disgusting, bulging eye, and his heartfelt last words to Maggie, and I think, “OK, then. Maybe this means Steven Yuen can be in some other cool roles now!”  I watch the snot dangle from Rick’s nose as he pleads with Negan not to make him chop off his son’s arm, and I think “Get on with it.” I actually laughed a little when Carl said “Just do it, Dad” because yeah, just do it. Just do it, Rick. Just do it, show. Just do it, AMC.  Just end it so I can go to bed. Maybe this is sorta how people feel when they roll over one  morning, look at their long time partner and think numbly, “I just don’t love you anymore.”

Raising the stakes is essential in any good story. When you can do it more than once, and keep the viewers moving right along with you, that’s awesome television. Breaking Bad did this. My current favourite show, The Americans, does this. In this age of super-amazing-creative-tense-superbly acted television, many shows do it. Who has time for the ones that don’t? The Walking Dead doesn’t do it for me anymore. It hasn’t in quite some time, but the loyalty outlasted the emotion. Maybe it was just one cheap plot device or death-tease too many. Or maybe it’s because the “real world” we’re all witnessing right now is a million times more tense and terrifying, and I want to invest my hope for redemption in real world heroes. There are many reasons why this affair should end.

But honestly, I will probably let it drag on for at least a few more episodes, just so I can read the hilarious love-to-hate-it TWD recaps every Monday on FunnyOrDie.com.  It’s like going to couples therapy,  falling in love with the therapist, and keeping the relationship going just so you can get some thrill out of those weekly appointments. A terrible reason to stay in a loveless union. But after six years, it’s something.