Hockey Fans eh? I doubt it.

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Rioting and mayhem. It’s a shame that these two seem to shadow so many major sporting events but from the fan violence around soccer to the rioting last night in Vancouver, this sad testament to human stupidity is becoming more commonplace and is actually expected by those who’ve seen it before. People are not mobs – people can be exceptionally kind, honourable, and gentle… Mobs are just rioting and mayhem.

I will hazard a guess that the ringleaders at this latest disgusting show had every intention of causing mayhem when they started.  It’s a familiar pattern and I’m shocked that the police weren’t expecting it and keeping closer watch for it, but I wasn’t there so I can’t comment on how efficiently or inefficiently it was handled by the authorities. Watching news clips doesn’t give you the whole story. But the fact that no one seems particularly shocked this morning (disgusted yes, but not shocked) would suggest that it wasn’t a big surprise.

People who incite others to riot are not doing it because they’re sports enthusiasts or environmentalists or peace activists or any other type of ‘ist’ they are doing because they are destructive criminals who like to see rioting and mayhem – they are sick, twisted individuals who get off on the power trip of whipping a crowd into a mob. And it doesn’t excuse the mob. The sensible ones walked away. The rest should be charged.

I’m not a sports person, never really have been. I don’t get the excitment around just watching, and the million dollar star syndrome and merchandising is a bit disgusting in itself. I can’t help thinking that it’s all a long way from kids playing hockey on a frozen lake.  

 

“Your Eyes Meet Mine” A Poem That Photographers Might Appreciate

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Not the photo from the poem but one that 'meets my eyes'
Not the photo from the poem but one that 'meets my eyes'

I’m not a photographer-I just take pictures. But I have a real appreciation for the creative energy that real photographers invest in their art. The energy that means the difference between a snapshot and a work of art. It’s usually easy to spot the difference – the work of art will take your breath away. That happened to me one time at an exhibit of old photographs in our local art gallery. The young girl, on a bike beside the parade, looking straight at the photographer and me. I don’t have a copy of that photograph, but the one featured here, of my father, feels similar to me in that it “Meets my Eyes”. To all my photographer friends I offer this poem.

Your Eyes Meet Mine
Your eyes meet mine.
You ride your bicycle beside the black and white parade.
Did they have colour back then or did
everyone live in black and white?
Was life really simpler, or does distance lend a mellow myopia?
Shades of grey more vivid than any rainbow.

Your eyes meet mine.
“Why are you taking a picture of me?” they say.
“The parade’s over there.”
But what’s one more picture of a parade compared to this
moment of suspended bemusement; human connection.

Your eyes meet mine.
You’re not looking at a camera; you’re looking at a person.
Surrounded by frame after frame of majorettes and marching bands
Face after face of flat eyes looking at the machine.
They are still looking at the machine.
Your eyes are still looking at a person.
They are looking at me.
I look back.
I see you, the person.

Your eyes meet mine.
Was it still a novelty to have your picture taken?
Before swiveling surveillance cameras
documented our daily desperation,
and amateur videographers captured our lapses in sanity
for the consumption of the jaded masses
Does the camera really capture part of our soul?

Your eyes meet mine.
You understand.
It’s not the camera that takes the photograph
but the person behind the camera.
and even if we can’t deny the camera access to our image;
We can still allow or deny the photographer, and the viewer,
access to our soul.

Your eyes meet mine
I am honoured.

 

You May Live a Long Time: Are You Ready – book review

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I recently read an exceptionally good book by Lyndsay Green, titled “You May Live a Long Time: Are You Ready?” In it she tackles the concept of a ‘successful old age’ (not just financial success either!) and let’s face it, many of us are not only guilty of not planning for our retirement (waiting to win the lottery doesn’t count) we’re in absolute denial about it! Lyndsay talked to many seniors who are, under her terms ‘successful’, in that they are living happy, fulfilled lives.  The kicker is that my mum is one of the seniors she interviewed and I didn’t realize it, while I was reading it, something that one of her interviewees (they all have ficticious names) made me jump and say out loud “That’s my Mum!”
But aside from the fact that my mother’s successful seniorhood is enshrined between the covers (along with many others) this is a very intelligent assessment of what kind of behaviours and attitudes we need to cultivate to ensure the golden years are as happy and fulfilled as we’d like. Lyndsay has a real knack for seeing the patterns that emerged as she interviewed these lovely seniors and translating them into simple, actionable guides for those of us creeping up on those golden years, many of us with trepidation, some of us with abject horror (There are days…).
I would definitely recommend this book no matter what age you are because many of the behaviours and attitudes espoused are excellent ways to enjoy life here and now, not just when you get older.

Check out Lyndsay’s blog and you can find her book at amazon.ca

Rapture Today – Figures!

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Bill and I just purchased a brand new 25 foot trailer (with a slide out). We are already in raptures over our lovely new home away from home. Haven’t really been paying much attention to the foo-forah about the latest ‘end of the world’ foolishness so when I realized that it is supposed to happen at 6pm (apparently it’s scheduled for 6pm everywhere, convenient, that) I sighed deeply and said “It figures! We finally seem to have gotten all the ducks in a row and the darned old Rapture’s going to happen.” Oh well, I guess I might have felt more cheated if it happened right after I’d paid off the trailer.  Kind of like when our house burned down years ago – somehow deep inside there was an appreciation that I hadn’t bothered to wash the dishes before leaving that morning. I suppose that if I was a more cautious person I’d be covering my bases and praying my ass off, but what with 1984, Nostradamus, Y2K, Killer meteor scares, and the ever-present (and real) threat of nuclear annihilation, I just don’t care anymore. If the end’s coming it’s going to find me completely unprepared because I’ll be busy living my life just as if I was in my right mind.

Why Do We Watch?

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Yesterday Wildcat Video and the Dawson Creek Diner were consumed by a fire. Today the photos and videos are rampant. I could easily put a link to any one of several youtube videos showing the fire. I’ve looked at a couple but the only question that keeps prodding me is ‘Why do we watch?’
Many years ago I watched my home burn to the ground as I stood and watched. The second time I lost my home to fire I wasn’t there, couldn’t watch, and sometimes I think it was better that way.
Why do we watch? Is it the awe at the terrifying power of the flames, is it some strange form of thrill seeking? Obviously those in charge of putting the fire out or keeping their nearby homes or businesses safe have a bona fide reason to keep an eye on a fire. But why do people with no vested interest watch? What do we expect to see? I guess we’ve been watching fires for millennia and the fascination may be a part of our psyche, our human make up.
Why do we watch? I just don’t know. I only know that after you lose a home or your business to fire nothing is ever the same again. You may rebuild, you may even stop thinking of it as it recedes into ancient history in your life, but just catch a glimpse of that black smoke on the horizon and you feel that twist in your gut. You know that smoke. You know that someone will feel the way you felt that day. I am so sorry for the loss to our local business owners and I hope they can put this behind them and start anew. I will be there as soon as the door opens, returning my rented videos.

Between Forever and Long Ago

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Between Forever and Long Ago

Between forever and long ago
There’s a song I used to know.
I sang it loud to calm my fears
Or soft to cushion tears.

Between forever and long ago
There’s a word I used to know.
Forcing me to make a choice
To stand and raise my voice

Between forever and long ago
There’s a path I used to know.
Clear and smooth or full of stones
It always led me home. 

Between forever and long ago
There’s love I used know.
From life to life I followed him
To meet and love again. 

And the song I sing is the beating of my wings
And the word I cry is freedom.
And the path I choose is the one less used
And the man I love’s the reason.

Between forever and long ago again.

Curry etc…

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Bill and I at 'Curry Et Cetera'
Bill and I at 'Curry Et Cetera'

Bill and I decided to treat ourselves to dinner out at the curry restaurant in Pouce Coupe, ‘Curry et cetera’. Not being familiar with Indian cuisine, the information about the food and how to enjoy the hot foods comfortably (using the rice or the bread to mitigate the heat – or adding sour cream or yoghurt) was very welcome. The service was excellent and very friendly and the food!!!! Delicious! Big thumbs up for Curry Et Cetera in Pouce Coupe!

Angels Bowling in Fort St John

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Tina Tompkins and Peter Fehr reading "Angels Bowling"
Tina Tompkins and Peter Fehr reading "Angels Bowling"

My partner, Bill, and I were recently asked to perform at the first “Everyone Belongs” Coffee House at ‘Patch Java’ in Fort St John (BC Canada) and while we always enjoy getting out and performing our music, I was also very happy to have some talented young people recite one of my poems, “Angels Bowling”. Apparently they had heard of it through one of my friends and this blog, liked it and asked if they could recite it at the coffee-house. It was a very special moment – hearing someone else recite my poetry – knowing that something about it touched them. Thank you Tina Tompkins and Peter Fehr, for your lovely reading of my poem!

“Angels Bowling” is about how my father explained thunder and lightning to me when I was a child. The Back Story to Angels Bowling was discussed in a previous blog post.
There are many different styles that can be used to write a poem. I believe that the style you choose can and should complement the message. “Angels Bowling” is a rhymed poem with a very regular meter and rhythm and I feel that style projects the childlike innocence that the message requires. That is not to say that all rhymed, rhythmic poetry is childlike – certainly not – but in this instance, I think it worked that way.

Cyberspacial Limbo – a haiku lament

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I showed up at the usual meeting place for my Saturday morning writers’ group only to find that I’d gotten the dates wrong. As I sat drinking my Market Spice Tea and nibbling on my fresh baked tea biscuit (Faking Sanity yummies) I connected to the internet with my netbook and tried to track down my writing buddies. I tried Facebook and email etc… no one was online! Finally I just phoned someone and confirmed my suspicions that I’d managed to be a week early!
Because I had another appointment later that day, I decided to get another tea and just do some writing – any kind of writing. What I ended up with is a six verse haiku lament about not being able to locate someone online.

Cyberspacial Limbo

Where are you now, friend?
Does my email languish in
your full spam inbox?

My friend request lost
In cyberspacial limbo?
Twitter me this, dear.

Why stumble upon
My space? I hear your word press
Against my ear, dear.

Well, Skype my I M !
Your broken link can’t find the
Internet Highway.

I spell your name – search,
But the way back machine lies,
As though you’re still there.

I Google you now.
Your SEO has fallen
From grace, you diggit?

The February Coffee House DADA Poem

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February dada poem
February dada poem

Here it is! this poem was a group creation. Rebekah and I cut out words and phrases and put them into a bag . Then the audience at the February Peace Region Songwriters, Coffee House at Faking Sanity Cafe (Dawson Creek, BC) selected snippets randomly. We then put the snippets together into this poem. (a little ‘poetic license’ was used by using the ‘you’re’ as ‘your’. Yes we are aware it’s the wrong form of the word for this context, but hey, it’s a ransom note poem!)

DaDa Poem
You’re period of mourning uncovered death in the fifth position.
Illuminate yourself.
Morning. slipped into her robe
and heard a masculine voice say: “What can we do?…especially if he’s innocent,
Stronger than a season
Between home and night that never slips away
moment by moment, slowly, looking,
do you look inside the flowers blooming last.

It is either very profound or very bizarre, or perhaps a bit of both but it was fun to do and it brought up some interesting images. Images like ‘morning slipping into a robe’ and ‘a season between home and night.’ I like these images and perhaps they, or modified versions of them, will eventually find their way into my poems. You’ll never know until you look inside the flowers blooming last…