A poem about my name!

It’s a real treat to get anything by snail mail these days. When that envelope in the mail contains a poem, that’s a double treat. When that poem is from our own Tabatha Yeatts and it celebrates one’s own name, that’s a treat in multiples!

Tabatha sent me this poem about violets for round one of the summer poem swap. I learned history about my name that I never knew (and was inspired to be a better violet.)

Violets (Image: Pixabay)

Thank you, Tabatha, for organizing this summer poem swap, and for composing and sending this treasure!

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This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link.

Next week the round-up is hosted by Tabatha Yeatts. In honour of National Macaroni and Cheese Day on July 14th, next week’s roundup will have an optional Mac-N-Cheese theme (I’m drooling already)!

 

Dominion Dreams

Tomorrow (July 1st) is a very special day in Canada. For not only is it our nation’s national holiday—Canada Day—(like the U.S’s 4th of July), but this year we celebrate Canada’s 150th birthday on this day.

I have been well aware of the specialness of this year for quite some time. Eighteen months ago our Fraser Valley Poets Society began working on an anthology focusing on Canada and timed to release just before July 1st. As associate editor some of the weight of that 208-page, 18-contributing poets book fell on my shoulders and so it was with great joy and relief that I saw the book launched just last Monday.

O Canada: Celebrating 150 Years – back, spine, front cover.

At the launch, the editor and I explained some of the processes of putting it together, and several of us read selections from it. At the the break all contributors present assembled around a specially designed cake for a group photograph. Then we celebrated with cake and other goodies before an open mic time.

 

O Canada Cake

Editor Alvin Ens speaks of the book

Associate Editor (moi) explaining my contribution

Group shot of contributors. All but two are present.

I wrote several Canada-themed poems for the book. The one I share, below, was based on an article I came across on the website of the gold rush town Barkerville (a very interesting place to visit if you love history).

The article, written from the British perspective, attempts to dispel the gloom of naysayers and convince Brits of the wisdom of colonizing this newly discovered land—which had monetary value too (and that should convince them, if nothing else did!).

Of course the fact that this wasn’t really their land to claim is a matter to explore another day. You could say that, to some degree, their confident assumptions still haunt us.

This mural on the side of the Fort Langley Historic Site depicts the Hudson’s Bay Trading Post built on the Fraser River near the current site in 1827. Local First Nations Stò:lō people traded salmon, and furs for metals, ropes, and Hudson Bay Blankets, with guns being a relatively unimportant item.  (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly, Information from Wikipedia Langley National Historic Site and Fort Langley.)

Based on an article published in the British newspaper The Cosmopolitan – June 10, 1867

The amount of earth’s crust to be ruled by our queen
defies European analogies!
No matter that more than half this vast land
is in a perpetual perma-freeze.

That all that grows there is pale reindeer moss
roam the musk-ox and wild caribou.
There’s still much land left not in barrenness’ grip
to claim on this land mass so new.

The climate and earth are not what you’ve heard
why, the song-sparrow sings first of April.
While the melons and grapes and peaches so plump
are ripe long before the first snowfall.

Now speaking of snow, you likely don’t know
it covers the land—a warm mantle.
So the Red River farmer welcomes early flakes
to blanket fall’s spring wheat so gentle.

And Isle of Orleans just below Quebec
navigators have dubbed Isle of Bacchus.
While cows overwinter to Fort Edmonton
—very bearable, that’s what the fact is.

A Governor General under our queen
will rule this vast new Dominion.
We’ve tallied the value of stocks, goods, and land
it comes to over $1 billion!

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All Rights Reserved)

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Happy Canada Day to all Canadians reading here. And to those in the U.S., Happy 4th of July (in a few days)!

This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Diane at Random Noodling.

 

 

“Glider crash lands on store”

BC-CTV: Glider plane crashes in Langley (Photo from CTV news story)

The kid set his glider
down on the roof.
No, I’m not kidding
it isn’t a spoof.
He’s a registered pilot
not prankster or goof.

It sounded like lumber
that fell off a truck.
The plane made a hole
and the pilot was stuck
near traffic lights, wires—
incredible luck!

So what brought this glider
out of the sky?
Was the pilot a thrill-seeking
daredevil guy?
We guess and conjecture
and postulate. Why?

I think it’s his mom’s fault
again and again:
she’d say “Passing by Meadows Mart?
Please drop in
for a bag of this
and of that a tin…”
So this once he actually
gave it a spin.

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt – Inspiration
This poem was inspired by the November 27, 2013 prompt on the Poetic Asides blog:

For today’s prompt, write a local poem. By local, I’m thinking of something that happens or has happened in your neck of the woods, but you know, I’m never against poets bending and/or breaking my rules. So feel free to play with the concept of local however you wish.

The local news story I chose was about a glider landing on the roof of a little corner store, just down the block from us. The news story as it appeared on the BC CTV website is HERE.

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This April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some not-as-yet published poems from my files, along with what inspired them. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to share it in comments. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

Save

 

Machine

Image: Pixabay

Assembly begins the day Lucifer
is fired from the Father’s project.
Since then everything on earth has been sacrificed
to construct this apparatus.

Millennia of patient assembly
leads to today’s precise Pharisaic gears
meshing Roman justice with Judas cog
to draw Son into Evil’s engine.

He is denied even a simple wheel
to drag the cross, while Roman soldiers work
elbow fulcrums and hammer-wielding arms,
pulleys and ropes to hoist Him high.

See how His naive followers
keep glancing up as if even now
some heavenly windlass will appear
to free Him from the cross?

Until His final “It is finished!”
screamed into the dark
means the switch can be flicked,
for this device’s work is done.

But wait—what is the meaning
of this gaping earth, unearthly praises
of wraiths walking Jerusalem streets
the temple veil, ripping from top to bottom?

Hell’s alarm bells ring as the belt
flings from the still-spinning flywheel
and careens crazy, powerful
out of all control toward heaven.

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt – Inspiration
This poem was based on Robert Brewer’s Poetic Asides prompt for April 3, 2015: “Write a machine poem.”

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This April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some not-as-yet published poems from my files, along with what inspired them. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to share it in comments. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

Save

 

Lucifer at Calvary

Image: Pixabay

From the opening
whistle in the garden
it’s been an even match
though He boastfully predicted I’d be left
with a crushed head.

I’ve played my hand well
countered Abraham with Lot
Isaac with Ishmael
the Israelites with the Egyptians
David with Absalom.
My several setbacks?
Blame them on bad luck.

The last 33 years
have been a demonic joystick
of chess moves
the last three a dervish spinner
that landed Him today on Calvary.
The contest has been so even,
the outcome so unsure
His confusing words just now:
“It is finished.”
have me considering
my next move
long and hard.

Is this a loaded dice?
He tempting me to skip my turn?
Or He announcing a new level
or even giving up?

But see how dark this portal is
and how the game board shakes?
I think my luck has turned
my ascendancy begun.
I believe this game is over
and I have won!

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt – Inspiration
Inspired by the Poetic Asides blog on November 1, 2014, where the prompt was: “Write a game-over poem.” (Note to myself, filed with this poem: “This poem needs an Easter Sunday answer.”)

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This April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some not-as-yet published poems from my files, along with what inspired them. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to share it in comments. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

Save

 

Warbler’s Confession

Warbler (Image from Pixabay.com)

(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)

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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.

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

 

Leah

“Rachel and Leah” by James Tissot

“…bury me with my fathers…. There they buried Abraham and Sarah…Isaac and Rebekah…and there I buried Leah” – Jacob in Genesis 49:29-31

The morning after Jacob lay with me
even my weak eyes saw his anger.
When I give him a son
he will love me.

Even my weak eyes saw his joy
at the births of Reuben and Simeon
will he finally love me
after Levi, Judah?

At the births of Reuben and Simeon.
Rachel brooded.
After Levi, Judah
she fumed and schemed.

Rachel brooded
bargained for my son’s mandrakes.*
She fumed and schemed
at Zebulun—my sixth!

The bargained-for mandrakes
have produced a son at last.
Zebulun, my sixth
followed by Joseph, Rachel’s first.

Have produced a second son—her last.
She died birthing Benjamin
who followed Joseph, Rachel’s first.
Still Jacob doesn’t love me.

Though she died birthing Benjamin
and I gave him six sons
still Jacob doesn’t love me
though forever now Jacob lies with me.

– Violet Nesdoly – January 2013

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This bittersweet love poem is from a new project I’ve begun: writing poems about the women in the Bible.

You may know the story of Leah. She was the oldest daughter of Laban and sister of Rachel. Rachel was beautiful and Jacob, son of Isaac and Rebekah, fell in love with her, then  worked seven years to earn the right to marry her. But on the wedding night, the girls’ father (Laban) switched Leah (who is described as having “weak eyes”) for Rachel, telling his disappointed son-in-law the next morning that it wasn’t customary to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one was married. A week later Laban gave Rachel to Jacob as a second wife on the condition Jacob would serve him another seven years. The jealousy and friction in that home are well documented in Genesis.

The voice in the poem is Leah’s from beyond the grave. And maybe she’s wrong. Maybe Jacob did come to love her, seeing that he chose to be buried near to her and not Rachel.

This poem is based loosely on Adele Kenny’s prompt about the old becoming new again. I chose the pantoum form because it literally circles back to the beginning.

(*Mandrakes were thought to be an aphrodisiac. In the story, Leah’s oldest son brought them to his mother, but Rachel persuaded Leah to give them to her in exchange for a night with Jacob.)

This poem is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by the wonderful Linda at Teacherdance.

 

Full Moon Almanac

Full Moon Almanac

Wolf Moon
lights snow-blue fields
embossed with paw print trails
to where January ghosts howl
Ice Moon

Snow Moon
February’s
bluster winds heap white dunes
We’ve stocked the cupboard full against
Storm Moon

Worm Moon
March’s wiggly
trails of melt, then Crust Moon
Spring so white and pure we call her
Chaste Moon

Pink Moon
wild flowers bloom
as April birds return
to build twig nest, lay a sky blue
Egg Moon

Flower
Moon of May
Bunnies hop in Hare Moon
Farmers dream Planting Corn Moon and
Milk Moon

Rose Moon
Strawberry Moon
of June when hard green fruits
soften, blush under sun’s rays, night’s
Hot Moon

Buck Moon
July’s the time
to hunt, replenish stores
then sleep secure through Thunder Moon
Hay Moon

Red Moon
August’s smoky
skies color Sturgeon Moon
while green Corn Moon sprouts, promises
Grain Moon

Harvest
Moon, September
lights nights of bringing in
oats and wheat under Barley Moon
Corn Moon

Hunter’s
Moon, roam under
October’s Travelers
Moon, stalk prey in frosty Dying
Grass Moon

Beaver
Moon, the busy
rodents mend their dams in
icy blue November’s grip of
Frost Moon

Cold Moon
lights Christmas paths
December’s carollers
so bright you could forget it’s Long
Night Moon

Blue Moon
rare-month moon
when full moons multiply
their charm, mystery, magnetism
My Moon

– Violet Nesdoly

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The November 2nd Poem-A-Day prompt was to write a full moon poem. I know there’s a lot of interesting lore about moons—full moons in particular. So I went hunting for some before I wrote my poem. My favorite find was a wonderful National Geographic article called “Full Moon: What’s in a Name?” It listed names the full moon has been called in lore and history through the months of the year, and gave the genesis of many of these names.

I wrote the poem in cinquain form (a 2-4-6-8-2 syllable cinquain) to keep myself reined in and the poem compact—seeing as how it would go on for 13 stanzas in any case.

This poem is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted today by kidlit maven Anastasia Suen at Book Talking.