WORDY FRIDAY WITH WILD WOMAN: STAYING STRONG IN A WORLD OF CLIMATE CRISIS

For my last prompt at Toads, I wanted to share some positive words from Joanna Macy, deep ecologist and activist, who has devoted her life to working for climate justice, and to awakening us to what is happening to the world around us. My distress over collapsing ecosystems has led me to seek out sources of strength and positivity, to help shore us up for the challenges ahead.

Joanna Macy

Joanna states, "Yes, it looks bleak. But you are still alive now....with all the others, in this present moment. And because the truth is speaking in the work, it unlocks the heart...It's like a trumpet call to a great adventure. In all great adventures there comes a time when the little band of heroes feels totally outnumbered and bleak, like Frodo in Lord of the Rings or Pilgrim in Pilgrim's Progress. You learn to say 'It looks bleak. Big deal, it looks bleak.'"

While I feel too anxious about the state of things to view this as an adventure, exactly, I admire that she is trying to prepare us for what comes next, much as a mother zebra finch sings to her unborn chick inside its egg.

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Scientists have observed that this song, unlike the bird's other songs, is preparing her chick for the world she will encounter outside the egg. Chicks sung to in this way emerge smaller than usual, thus are better able to withstand a warming environment.

It is amazing to me that animals are adapting their behaviour to climate change, insofar as they are able, yet we humans remain stubbornly resistant and in denial.

For my last challenge in this Imaginary Garden, let us contemplate these topics.

You might write about staying strong in a distressing world, how you dig deep for hope in the face of collapsing ecosystems and accelerating extinctions. You might write about raising our inner Kali, the Dark Mother, with strength to oppose the forces of greed, patriarchy, oppression and destruction.

You could write about preparing ourselves for “what comes next”. Or you might be that small bird mother, singing a song of hope and resiliency to her chick.

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I read that we were chosen to be on the planet at this time, that we have the stamina to rise to the challenge (though what I feel these days is bone-deep battle fatigue). I see great hope in the young rainbow warriors arising across the world to fight for their future.

It is hard to be aware, in a world of climate change deniers. But once we know, we can’t un-know. Maybe our words can help shift the collective consciousness. We can only try.

As usual, I am not strict. Whatever arises in you from reading these words will be perfect.

I have loved writing in this Garden with you, friends. You have helped my poetry – and my person – grow, and I will be forever grateful.

Let us keep on writing, whatever comes next. I pray it is widespread change of political will, wherein lies our best hope for a viable future.

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Sources: https://www.filmsforaction.org/articles/joanna-macy-on-how-to-prepare-internally-for-whatever-comes-next/

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/birds-talk-their-eggsand-song-might-help-their-babies-deal-climate-change-180960168/

Wordy Monday with Wild Woman: The Wolf Mother

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"The loss of the wolf is like the loss of the mother. Somewhere she roams in memory, in darkness. Our bond with her is inexplicable, before the beginning of time. She is fierce love; she is sorrow. She is a howling in the wilderness we can never see, calling us home. She is what we fear – and what we long to return to – the heat of the cave and animal closeness, before all civilization and reason.…The wolf is the dark heart of winter. She is the hot breath of life, red eyes searching for her child at twilight in the snow.”

-from The Memory Palace, by Mira Bartók

The Memory Palace  is one of the best memoirs I have ever read. It is the story of the author and her sister growing up with a paranoid schizophrenic mother, and the lives they managed to forge after, of necessity, they disappeared and changed their names as adults.

The passage above really spoke to me, needless to say. Where does it take you? To a wolf den in a Siberian winter? To wolf families vanishing across the North American landscape, falling to loss of habitat, to starvation, to the hunter's gun? Maybe it takes you to a fireside, and a mother fierce with love? Or to the mothers we have lost, whose pull is still strongly felt in our hearts.

Answer the wolf’s call with your poems about wildness and wolves, domesticity and mothers, daughters and sons, or your own fierce love for your child. Allow the passage quoted to take you where it pleases. Bring us back whatever you find.

Wordy Monday with Wild Woman: Castle Ruins, Lowering Skies........Tell us a Story!

The Moors, North Yorkshire

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The Moors, the lowering skies, the ruins of a castle, 

the ghosts of times long past, the phantom tinkling of a piano, 

and ............. Go!

This prompt seems ideal for taking a page out of
Magaly's book. 
Tell us a story - in either poetry or prose - 
in 313 words or less.

Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman: the Art of Emily Carr

Today, my Toadly friends, we are immersing ourselves in the art of Canadian artist Emily Carr, a visionary artist ahead of her time, whose paintings celebrate the wild beauty of Vancouver Island.

Ms Carr, born in Victoria, B.C., in 1871, is a national treasure. Her work was inspired by the spectacular landscapes surrounding her, as well as by her interest in the Northwest Coast First Nations.  A single woman who struggled to get by, she was outspoken and considered eccentric, as all the best poets and artists are, in my humble opinion.

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Orphaned in her early teens, she persuaded her guardians to send her to the California School of Design when she turned eighteen. After a long illness, in 1910, she went to France to break free of conventional painting and to explore the new modernist art. There, she developed her own colourful post-impressionist style and brought it back to Victoria in 1912.

At a time when aboriginal culture was thought to be dying,  Carr had a strong interest in documenting the culture, their houses, totems and masks. She made a trip to what is now Haida Gwaii in 1912. The material she gathered there was source material for one of the two great themes of her painting career: the material presence of Aboriginal culture, and the wild landscape of the west coast of Canada.

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Her life as a single woman, and an artist, was difficult. She could not support herself with her painting, so she ran a boarding house for financial survival, and did little painting during the next fifteen years.

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But at 57, her work was finally recognized, and she returned to her art with renewed vigor. With deepening vision, she began to focus on nature themes.

She was one of the only recognized female painters of that era, and is one of the Group of Seven, the famous group of artists whose work is still revered today. 

A heart attack in 1937 began a decline in the artist's health. She died in Victoria in 1945.

Her Victorian house in James Bay, Victoria, has been restored and  is now a national and provincial historic site.

Emily Carr House

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Her work is in the B.C. Archives and the B.C. Museum. The Art Gallery of Greater Victoria  has some of her work on display, as does the Vancouver Art Gallery.  In her lifetime, she produced one hundred paintings, one thousand sketches, a book of short stories and four autobiographical works, two published posthumously. The book of stories, about her experiences with First Nations, was titled Klee Wyck; it won a Governor General’s award.

Emily Carr is now appreciated as an important twentieth century artist and a Canadian icon. In 2001-2002, she was included alongside Georgia O’Keeffe and Frida Kalo in a critically acclaimed touring exhibition titled Places of Their Own, organized by the McMichael Canadian Art Collection.

Here are some of her major painted works:

Totem Forest

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Totem and Forest

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Vanquished

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Mountain Forest

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Blue Sky

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Red Cedar

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Cedar

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For your prompt, choose whichever of her paintings appeals to you and write your poem (or choose your own at Emily Carr Artworks, including the painting and its source with your poem)

Or

Imagine yourself as an artist in the late 1800’s,  with a passion for art but struggling to make a living, and speak to us with that voice. Have fun! 

Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman : Being a Woman in Times Like These

The noted Canadian writer of poetry and prose, Margaret Atwood, is the award-winning author of forty works, including fiction, poetry and critical essays.

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Perhaps  her most famous work is  The Handmaid’s Tale,  written in 1985 and now considered prophetic, which was made into a popular television series. This work is a dystopian view of a regime that is extremely oppressive to women. A famous quote from the film speaks of “making things better,” tellingly explaining, “Better doesn’t mean better for everyone.” I’ll say.

The setting is near Boston in the U.S., with Canada portrayed as the only hope of escape. Not so far from today’s reality, in my opinion, though Canada has its problems, too. Recent U.S. legislation affecting women’s reproductive rights makes this projected vision of a dystopian future seem dangerously close.

The Handmaid’s Coalition was formed in 2017. Activists dressed in the signature red cloaks and white hats lobby and protest, serving as visual warnings that the rollback of womens’ hard-won rights and freedoms will send us back decades, creating unthinkably hard lives for women and girls. 

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Your challenge :

To write from the viewpoint of a man or woman living in the times depicted in The Handmaid’s Tale.  It feels freaky, how close we are to entering this reality. But we won’t go quietly. Hell, no!

If you aren’t familiar with The Handmaid’s Tale, write from the point of view of a woman living in – or escaping from – oppression or abuse. Perhaps a woman in your family history - or you yourself -  has an amazing story.

or

Write from the point of view of a man whose familiar world is falling apart as his wife joins the womens’ movement. (He may be sympathetic or opposed.)

We do not intend this to become a political argument. Let's reflect, rather,  on  women's hard-won rights, how long women fought to gain them, and how easy, apparently, it is for them to be lost. 

Atwood’s website: http://margaretatwood.ca/

WORDY THURSDAY WITH WILD WOMAN: CELEBRATING THE ORDINARY

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I am always moved by poems that celebrate the small, ordinary joys. 

Natalie Goldberg is a master at writing about the ordinary, in a way that allows us to see the hidden depths beneath the seemingly simple words.

“Writing is the willingness to see," she writes. “In writing with detail, you are turning to face the world. It is a deeply political act, because you are not just staying in the heat of your own emotions, you are offering up some good solid bread for the hungry.

“I write … because I am a woman trying to stand up in my life. I write out of hurt and trying to make that hurt okay, how to make myself strong, and come home." These quotes are taken from her book Let the Whole Thundering World Come Home, a memoir about her battle with cancer, a truly wonderful read.

"The deepest secret in our heart of hearts is that we are writing because we love the world,” she says. One feels this love, this gratitude, in the following poem by Ms Goldberg:

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COFFEE WITH MILK

It is very deep to have a cup of tea
Also coffee in a white cup
with milk
a hand to go around the cup
and a mouth to open and take it in
It is very deep and very good to have a heart
Do not take the heart for granted
it fills with blood and lets blood out

Good to have this chair to sit in
with these feet on the floor
while I drink this coffee
in a white cup
To have the air around us to be in
To fill our lungs and empty them like weeping
this roof to house us
the sky to house the roof in endless blue
To be in the Midwest
with the Atlantic over there
and the Pacific on our other side

It is good this cup of coffee
the milk in it
the cows who gave us this milk
this
simple as a long piece of grass

Natalie Goldberg
from Top of My Lungs, 2002

“Celebrate the ordinary: white coffee cups, sparrows, thin ham sandwiches,” says Natalie, whose best advice to a writer is to pick up the pen and write whatever comes, without censoring ourselves.

Let’s give this a try.

For your prompt, look around you. Select some small ordinary thing you rarely give much thought to and include it somehow in your poem 

Or 

Write about this present moment, just as it is. Let’s celebrate the ordinary, the small treasures, pleasures and comforts that surround us.

Wordy Wednesday With Wild Woman: Natural Wonders

A wax rubbing of tree rings and a human fingerprint.

This astounds me.

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Our respiratory system, the bronchial tree, 

looks like an upside down tree inside us. 

And trees are the lungs of the planet.

Whoa!

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Nature constantly astonishes me. Everything is interconnected in a grand  design that I believe cannot be random. These images show us we are part of a very large system, bigger than we realize, with patterns that are repeated in nature and in our bodies. 

Scientists have discovered a whole universe inside the cell. They tell us that the genetic structure inside our tiny cells - our DNA - stores information about all the species on earth equivalent to 12 sets of Encyclopedia Britannica!* This blows me away.

For today's prompt, the sky's the limit. Write a poem about one of nature's wonders, anything that especially amazes you, big or small. 

Or

Go bigger: tell us how all of its breathtaking design makes you catch your breath in awe. Amaze us with the wonders all around us. Help us see them with new eyes.

*https://www.ucg.org/the-good-news/dna-the-tiny-code-thats-toppling-evolution

Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman: Hannah's Boomerang Metaphor Form

Some time back, in 2014, our Toad-friend Hannah Gosselin created an interesting form that I like very much, called the Boomerang Metaphor Form. She began with the "This poem is - " format, and added some intriguing features, in which the first statements are expanded in separate stanzas, and then boomerang around to be repeated  at the end. Here is the premise, as described by Hannah:

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Boomerang Metaphors 

* Create three, “This poem is a ____,” statements.

* Support each statement in separate stanzas, (one can choose the length of the supporting stanzas and whether or not to rhyme or employ free verse).

* Restate the statement that’s being supported in the last line of these supporting stanzas, (as mini boomerang metaphor refrains).

* Then name the list of three, “This poem is a _____,” statements again as a boomerang metaphors closing refrain.

Note: One may choose to state the closing refrain slightly morphed but mostly the same. As it seems, words that go out into the world do tend to come back touched – slightly transformed.

* The title encapsulates the three listed elements, “This Poem is a ____, ____ and a _____”


Hannah's brilliant example of her first boomerang poem is sadly not available, as her blog is now private. (I miss her!) So here is my version, to give you a general idea:

THIS POEM IS DAWN, A SKYBIRD AND A GREY WHALE,
SPYHOPPING

This poem is the breath of dawn on a windswept
morning at the edge of the sea.
This poem is a murrelet on the wing.
This poem is a grey whale, spy-hopping.

This poem is misty with early morning fog.
It drapes shawls over the shoulders of
Grandmother Cedar so she won't be chilled.
This poem loves the morning.
It looks to the sky to see all the colours of the day.
This poem is the breath of dawn on a windswept
morning at the edge of the sea.

This poem is a tiny bird who makes her nest
deep in the forest.
This poem must fly great distances,
out to sea and back again,
in order to find sustenance.
This poem sometimes grows tired,
and in need of rest.
Its perch is precarious,
its nesting sites vanishing
along with the old growth.
This poem is sometimes in need of 
rescue and protection.
This poem is a murrelet on the wing.

This poem swooshes up in placid waters,
takes a look around with her wise old eye
and finds that life is good.
This poem is an ancient voice;
she speaks with an old soul.
Then this poem does a series of dives and breaches,
just for the joy of it.
This poem is a grey whale, spy-hopping.

This poem is the breath of dawn, on a windswept
morning at the edge of the sea.
This poem is a murrelet on the wing, heading for home.
This poem is a grey whale, spy-hopping
for the sheer love of living.

                  ***     ***     ***

deepseaimages.com  photo

Well, that is the general gist of it. Smiles. Take a run at it, and feel free to improvise and make it your own. As always, if you don't feel like tackling the whole form, feel free to try another angle. Some people like to simply begin "This poem is -" and proceed from there. 

The main thing is to enjoy the process, whatever you choose to do. Remember, I'm not strict!

Let's see what we come up with.

Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman: What We Save Saves Us

Jakelin Maquin, age seven

source: NBC News

Just as Talequah the whale  increased awareness of our environmental plight and how it impacts other living beings, this little girl, Jakelin Maquin's, death in the custody of the U.S. Custom and Border Protection in December put a human face on the suffering of those fleeing violence, poverty and death in their home country. For those arriving desperate and exhausted at closed Mexican-U.S. borders, there is no welcoming hand, just greater despair.

Felipe Alonzo-Gomez, age eight

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On Christmas Day, we learned a second child had died Christmas Eve, an eight year old boy from Guatemala. His name is Felipe Alonzo-Gomez. 

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On January 19, women will march again, as they did in 2017,  a Women's Wave organizers expect to sweep the globe. "We march for her," a spokeswoman said, of seven-year-old Jakelin. "We march for Felipe."  They will march for the thousands of children at the border. They will march with the Parkland activists, with grandmothers tired of our long history of patriarchy and social injustice, with the young,  frustrated by the environmental disaster they are inheriting, and for you and me.

I am heartened by the 100 women who were elected in the midterms in the U.S. Time for women's voices to rise, along with the men who support them.

source the Great Peace Organization

As we ponder the beginning of this new year, what is our best hope for 2019? Let's use our voices to dream a better world for the children. We need grandmother wisdom - and indigenous wisdom - as never before,  to begin to live respectfully on and with Mother Earth and all of her creatures. Including each other.

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For your writing prompt: Pen a poem of social commentary in free verse or form - whatever thoughts spark your muse, in contemplating  these issues, whether an elegy of sorrow for the children, or a paean of tattered hope for all that needs saving. For what we save, saves us.

Whether we march or don't march, we can join our voices to those working hard to birth a better world. I look forward to reading your poems.

Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman: Homecoming

At this time of year, our thoughts turn to those we love. It is a time of coming home, of sharing the holidays with those closest to us, of celebrating love and connection. This song by the Beatles really pings my heart. I do my gift-wrapping to the Beatles, especially John Lennon, sometimes pausing to do a little step-and-hobble across the room. Smiles.

It seems we spend a lot of time looking back, as the decades roll by. We do our remembering, sometimes with chagrin, at times with regret, but most often with nostalgia, for the worst of times back then have, hanging over them, the golden shine of youth: all that hope and promise, all those dreams, before our hearts got too broken, years when we still believed they could be healed if just the right love came along.

Take us back to the people you remember, the places of homecoming at Christmas: places of the heart, places of arrival, the places that grew you up, blew you apart,  then mended you again. If you don't celebrate Christmas, it can be a homecoming for whatever celebration brings you and your dear ones together.

Maybe there was a person back there of whom you can say, in reverie: “I loved you more.”

I am really looking forward to reading your poems!

Wordy Saturday With Wild Woman : the Places That Heal Us

A POEM ON HOPE 

It is hard to have hope. It is harder as you grow old, 
for hope must not depend on feeling good 
and there’s the dream of loneliness at absolute midnight. 
You also have withdrawn belief in the present reality 
of the future, which surely will surprise us, 
and hope is harder when it cannot come by prediction 
anymore than by wishing. But stop dithering. 
The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them? 
Tell them at least what you say to yourself.

Because we have not made our lives to fit 
our places, the forests are ruined, the fields, eroded, 
the streams polluted, the mountains, overturned. Hope 
then to belong to your place by your own knowledge 
of what it is that no other place is, and by 
your caring for it, as you care for no other place, this 
knowledge cannot be taken from you by power or by wealth. 
It will stop your ears to the powerful when they ask 
for your faith, and to the wealthy when they ask for your land
and your work.  Be still and listen to the voices that belong 
to the stream banks and the trees and the open fields.

Find your hope, then, on the ground under your feet. 
Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground underfoot. 
The world is no better than its places. Its places at last 
are no better than their people while their people 
continue in them. When the people make 
dark the light within them, the world darkens.

–Wendell Berry

In these gloomy times, when it is difficult to hold onto hope, this poem speaks to us about what is solid beneath our feet: the world, our place in it, where we put our roots down, where our hearts belong.

For your challenge, write a poem about the place or places you love, the places that heal you, the ones that call to you and wrap their arms around you. Where do you go to replenish your stores of hope? What does it sing to you?

Use specifics to make the place come alive for us. It can be a garden, a forest glen, a tree, a porch swing, the shore, or a special room or home that is refuge and sanctuary, where all is safety and warmth - a place where you go to soothe your spirit. Through your words, let us see what you see, feel what you feel while you are there. Show us how you care for this place, and how this caring expands to caring about the survival of all places, all people.

Tell us what you take away with you when you leave, and how your special place on the planet allows you to keep hope alive, for the world and its many creatures. Honour the earth through the celebration of this place.

No rules: use any form you wish. Then link up. And please do visit the offerings of your fellow poets. I look forward to reading some poems of love for this beautiful planet, and the places on it that you love most.