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Summer pickings

As we made plans for the summer, I knew our back-and-forths would make it hard for me to do much writing. So I decided to keep it simple and combine poetry-writing with my love of photography… a sort of haiga.

Here are three gardens I snapped in last little while (sadly none of them are mine).

calendula

Garden galaxy
Milky Way turned molten
June Calendula

~*~*~

hollyhock

Hollyhock—so cute
in flouncy summer sundress
of rose seersucker

~*~*~

IMG_1329

Summer sky blossoms
celebration petals spark
a garden party

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PF-2This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Books 4 Learning.

 

 
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Posted by on July 22, 2016 in Haiga, Nature, Poetry Friday

 

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Vancouver Island

Today (July 1st) is Canada Day! A Happy 149th Birthday to Canada, the country I love. As you can imagine, the birthday celebrations this year will be eclipsed by celebrations next year when Canada turns 150. (Our poetry society is planning to publish a book of poetry to commemorate the event. Our members are busy writing about Canada. That bit of writing is also on my to-do list.)

Today, a poem about one of my favorite places in Canada to visit. Though it’s just a 90-minute ferry ride away, Vancouver Island is a special place full of memories of the wonderful times we’ve spent there. The accompanying slide show lets you see just a few of its features. Of course the best part of any place we visit is the friends we have there.

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Vancouver Island

Ninety-minute crossing meanders between Gulf Islands
from Tsawwassen to Swartz Bay
slows us down to island speed

Drive roadways lined with rocky outcrops and arbutus trees
that shed their trunks in curling rusty flakes

Shiver in bone-cold Port Hardy fog
Breathe air that feels thick as a milkshake.

Watch whales breach, sea lions sunbathe
on a brilliant Telegraph Cove morning

Spend a day wandering Chemainus
camera in hand gathering murals

Gawk at Buddha statues and goats
on the roof of the Coombs market

Stroll past Victoria’s Parliament Buildings outlined in lights
to the skirl of the bagpipes of buskers

Talk with my friend till late
Wood fire embers snap a sleepy goodnight
as I head to the guest room

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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PF-2This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference.

 
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Posted by on June 30, 2016 in Poetry Friday

 

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Reading a poem

Are you part of a local poetry group that meets for readings and open mics? I’ve been attending our local Fraser Valley Poets Society open mics and other functions for upwards of ten years now! It’s been a great place to share work, get practice in reading, even sell books.

For some of those years I’ve been the group’s webmaster. I still am. That means I try to put up a post on our site’s blog after each reading. This involves taking photos of our events and figuring out what to say about them.

Our most recent open mic was last Monday. I snapped away during the reading and came home with a camera full — images of our readers with a variety of facial expressions and in various poses. All those shots reminded me  of how doing a public reading involves so much more than just parroting the words on the page (or phone).

microphone-1068289_640

Image courtesy Pixabay.com

Reading a poem

Reading a poem’s
more than reading just words
about showers or summer
or hockey or birds.

It’s grimaces, eye flicks
a grin or a frown.
It’s where you are looking
upward or down.

It’s words clearly spoken
precisely intoned
to embellish the writing
you’ve carefully honed.

It’s mystery rhythms
that beat soft to loud
you’re part of the story
enchanting the crowd.

It’s significant pause
of emotional choke,
the punchline delivery
of a well-told joke.

Then hand over the mic
to the next girl or guy
while audience claps,
sighs a satisfied sigh.

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

To see the poem, above, together with some of our poets in action, check out the original post on our society blog HERE.

(By the way, if you slip on over, you won’t see me. I did read, but you’ll have to take my word for it as there are no pixels to prove it.)

PF-2This poem is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by the Haiku Stickies Queen herself, Diane Mayr at Random Noodling.

 
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Posted by on June 23, 2016 in Poetry Friday, Writing

 

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A little screed against progress

hacker

A little screed against progress

New car plays no CDs
camera has no download cord
it’s all Bluetooth and Wi-fi
and I’m feeling pushed toward

a world controlled by passwords
where music’s streamed, not owned
photos float on virtual clouds
and my attention’s honed:

delete the fake-bill email
ignore the mystery link
report the phishing trial
and with suspicion think

of all my cookie fragments
drifting through the air
as a trail of bread crumbs
for the thugs of ransom-ware,

increasingly uneasy
that someday I’ll be hacked…
The internet-less past
was safer—that’s a fact!

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

***********

It’s not that I don’t like progress. The internet has brought many positive changes to my life which  would be very different if I suddenly found myself wi-fi-less.  However, in our rush to do everything online I sometimes get the uneasy feeling, especially on days when news of another mass hack circulates, that we’re all rushing toward a cliff.

PF-2This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Carol at Carol’s Corner.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2016 in Light, Personal, Poetry Friday

 

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Warm-up

Warm-up

The robins lilt
the blackbirds trill
from little sparrow’s
open bill

an aria
so sweet and round.
(how can that wee bird
make such sound?)

From somewhere high
the flicker drums
with rat-tat-tat
the forest thrums

The ducks afraid
of our bold pets
alarm their alto
clarinets

Steller’s jays rasp
the Kelp Gulls shriek
Blue Heron fishing
in the creek

mute audience
to warm-up glee
of spring’s sweet avian
symphony.

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

*******
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of morning birdsong. Even on the dullest days their calls brighten our walk. They’re especially melodic on the section of path that follows the creek. Listening to them every morning is the perfect way to get tuned up for the day!

PF-2This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Carol in her Poetry Garden at Beyond Literacy blog.

 

 
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Posted by on June 9, 2016 in Nature, Poetry Friday

 

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pulse

Music-Mural

You’ll find this lively musical mural in downtown Langley, B.C. (Photo © 2013 by V. Nesdoly)

pulse

“Music to me is like breathing—
I don’t get tired of breathing,
I don’t get tired of music” – Ray Charles

music is the moon-pull of the blood
it snares the heartbeat
in hypnotic rhythms
of smoky blue jazz

it snares the heartbeat
with swaying taproots
of smokin’ hot jazz
while husky voices croon

swaying taproots
of sashaying saxophones
those husky voices croon
a pan flute of echoes

and sashaying saxophones
fingers snap, feet tap
a spoon band of echoes
and triple-tonguing trumpets

hands clap, toes tap
voice hums, whistle parrots
those triple-tonguing trumpets
circulating in the bell tower of my head

voice hums, whistle parrots
the hypnotic rhythms
circulating in the bell tower of my head
for music is the moon-pull of the blood

© 2012 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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June is African-American Music Appreciation Month in the U.S. I discovered that fact on the Brownilocks website (my go-to place when I want to find out what’s being celebrated when).

When I read that, I thought immediately of the poem, above, that I wrote in 2012. I was part of Tabatha Yeatts’ poem swap that summer and she gave the quote above the poem as a prompt for us.

I sent the poem to my swap partner, and later entered it in a contest, where it garnered an “Editor’s Pick”  and was published in the Summer 2014 issue of Time of Singing.

Music of all kinds has opened up for me in the last few weeks. That’s because the car we recently bought has no CD player. In my search for what to do for music especially on long trips (can’t travel without lots of music!), my son suggested we subscribe to Spotify. I did and find I can download tunes to play offline and the Bluetooth receiver in the car cordlessly picks up what’s on my iPad. Woot! We’re groovin again.

Poetry Friday LogoThis post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by MsMac at Check It Out.

 
 

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Warbler’s Confession

warbler-1232429_640

Warbler (Image from Pixabay.com)

Warbler’s Confession

(After witnessing a strange sight in the French Alps, March 24, 2015)

Today one of those giant fowl
passed with the grandest roar
I watched with admiration
how this mighty bird could soar.

But then it did the oddest thing
a most peculiar sight
changed attitude from up to down
descended like a kite.

I chirped and called and warbled
to warn it of disaster
but that great monstrous creature
only descended faster.

It plowed into a mountain
crashed into the cliffs
split into a million tiny
shards and broken bits.

I admit my jealousy
of giant’s perfect beak
its angle eyes, symmetric wings
its feathers smooth and sleek

it’s eagle speed, its beeline flight
its course above the cloud
its noble bold intelligence
its call, steady and loud.

But that’s all in the past now
I’ll never more complain
that I’m a simple warbler
and not a fancy plane.

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

****************
I wrote this poem on April 1, 2015, the first day of 2015’s National Poetry Month. As you can tell, it was inspired by a tragic air event that had happened about a week before, on March 24, 2015.

I planned already earlier this week  to publish it for Poetry Friday as my persona poem contribution to Michelle’s (and Laura Shovan’s) May challenge at Today’s Little Ditty. Then another eerily similar plane disappearance occurred just this morning, May 19th, Paris time.  Oh my! My poem is by no means meant to make light of these very serious events.

Warbler reminds us, too, that it’s good to be just who we are.

Poetry Friday LogoThis poem is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by the lovely Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche.

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2016 in History, Nature, Poetry Friday

 

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