PIBLOKTO
(Artic Madness) A hysterical outburst
seen among Eskimos
mainly affecting females

She is a woman
from the far North
from a tribe known as Eskimos
her mental state is called Piblokto
otherwise known as “Artic Madness”.

When it first comes on
she dashes about her igloo
dressed in furs
screaming and destroying furnishings,
then she runs outside
into the blinding whiteness
feeling freedom
draw its cold strings across her face.

In order to experience it more deeply
she rips off her clothing,
throws chunks of ice to warn off her pursuers,
and plunges into icy, artic, water.

Feeling some sensation, at last, a tingling
against her dead winter skin.
she swims a few feet,
then crawls out staying
on hands and knees
numb and exhilarated.

She sprints back triumphantly
black hair streaming
like a battle flag in the wind,
naked across cracking flows
calling out a greeting to the reindeer
who observe silently nearby.

Safely once again in her igloo
she falls into a deep and innocent sleep,
to awaken completely recovered.

She is a woman
who wears my face
from the far north

Poets for Human Rights announces the Annual Anita McAndrews Award Poetry Contest

I am happy to report that I won this contest with the poem below:

RIPE SUMMER APPRICOT

Sirhan does your  honor

lie between a woman’s legs?

 

When you raised your magnum

to your sister’s temples

and watched

the bullet enter the soft white skin,

below the dark hairline of her forehead,

saw its damage spread like a purple bruise

across her face,

disintegrating her features into

a mass of shattered bone fragments

and crimson rose petals

did you rejoice?  Lift your fist

heavenward towards Allah, as her body

slumped sideways away from you

across the faded blue couch of your childhood,

gently lying in its innocence,

doubly betrayed.

 

Are you the same brother who played with her

when you were children?

Exchanged sticky kisses,

fought over toys and hid under the house

whispering secrets in the dark,

smiling at each other as you heard your mother’s shrill bird call

while she searched for you,

your breath brushing your sister’s forehead,

blowing the tendrils of her hair

as you inhaled the milky sweetness

of her skin, glistening like a pearl

in the light that fingered its

way down towards you,

threatening to give you away.

 

Did you forget, as you pulled the trigger

how tender and precious she was?

Like a ripe summer apricot

to be pressed delicately

against your heart.

My New Book written by JoAnn Deck …agent

My New Book written by JoAnn Deck …agent extraordinaire
 
Part Celestine Prophecy and part Proof of Heaven, the new visionary novel A Celestial Guide to Immortality by writer and professional communicator Felicity Harley is the rich read the “speculative” community has long desired. Ancient wisdom and secret truths unfold as we follow the life of Mehr (Persian for “love”) through her African, Caribbean and English upbringing to the stargates of the Middle East, from her time as a journalist contemplating the human condition to her deep explorations of healing, loss, love and future realities.

As a spiritual James Bond, the heroine Mehr shares exotic locations, schooling in England and her work as a British agent for M16 in Iran. Later as an investigate reporter, she confronts the senseless pain and savage cruelty that lead her to spread the precious wisdom of the Grail. Her role to uncover and explain the hidden knowledge of existence occurs through a new understanding of quantum mechanics that allow for parallel and holographic universes, a timely conversation for today, all spun into a compelling narrative and romantic story.

Steeped in both feminism and a lush sensuality, A Celestial Guide to Immortality is like a kaleidoscope opening up in unexpected combinations and exposing the heart of the human experience. With a flavor as alluring as The Night Circus and as shocking as The Age of Miracles, Harley’s work will excite book clubs looking for an exotic read grounded in the new language of quantum physics and the many possibilities that await us all.

 

I am wondering why I am liking Vikings more than Game of Thrones.   When it started I really loved Game of Thrones – it was intriguing.  Now I am beginning to think that there are far too many characters and it is the same old, same old.  It all seems to be becoming too medieval and too mixed up.  Rather like eating mushy porridge.   Quite frankly I am beginning not to care about who gets to sit on the Iron Throne.

On the other hand I am becoming more intrigued with Vikings and Ragnar Lothbrook (aka actor Travis Fimmel) and his wife.  For one thing it is a simpler plot to follow.  Additionally it is historically accurate so these guys and gals really existed.  I am interested in aspects of the Viking culture which allowed women to fight with men and gave them equal property rights.

On a more superficial level both the men and the women are all really good looking.  Take off  your shirts more often guys, us ladies can tell you’ve been working out!  (Unfortunately not any fabulously sculpted pectoral muscles like these to be seen on Game of Thrones)! 

And to boot, here is the legendary Ragnar Lodbrook’s (Hairy Breeches for his bearskin britches) famous death song : “It gladdens me to know that Baldr‘s father [Odin] makes ready the benches for a banquet. Soon we shall be drinking ale from the curved horns. The champion who comes into Odin’s dwelling [Valhalla] does not lament his death. I shall not enter his hall with words of fear upon my lips. The Æsirwill welcome me. Death comes without lamenting… Eager am I to depart. The Dísir summon me home, those whom Odin sends for me Valkyries from the halls of the Lord of Hosts. Gladly shall I drink ale in the high-seat with the Æsir. The days of my life are ended. I laugh as I die.” 

Oh boy and he was a hell of a poet too!

 

Spring Blog

So glad Spring is finally on its way.   Enjoying the crocuses that are pushing up through the tough ground and also the heads of the daffodils and almost blooming hyacinths.   It is a pleasant respite from all the goings on in North Korea, North Dakota and the Anti Gun Control lobby.

I am wondering if these events and key people are all tapping into some kind of Jungian subconcious river, and if you could perhaps draw a comprehensible line from Kim Jong to Bette Grande (with her smiling baby panda brooch) and Senator Mike Lee and his opinion piece on his opposition to background checks for gunowners.

Being a Republican Senator from Utah he is probably also very much in favor of the North Dakota  law.  He would probably be unable to see any kind of dichotomy between his anti-life editorial and his pro-life stance on abortion.  I’ve found that often those who belong to the Republican Party, are part of the ruling Junta in North Korea, and the Moslem Brotherhood for that matter, don’t often see the hypocracies and inconsistancies in their points of view.

Anyway happily back to spring and the bullfrogs!

March Walk

A warm day in March

sets the bullfrogs off like

a symphony with an invisible conductor

that fills the evening with spring sounds,

coming through the transparent blackness

that is just closing its shutters.

Folding us into its dark center.

 

We walk by the pond  

and the frogs stop slowly.

One by one, the horn section

dies, leaving the flutes of

the peepers to carry the melody.

 

We stand on the other side

holding our fingers to our lips

And wait…………………………..

after a few minutes, a reward

as the slow deep harmony resumes.

We creep on quiet feet

towards our driveway,

and smile at each other  

as we hear a single bullfrog

down in the stream by the culvert,

begin once again to blow

his welcome to the spring.

Mary Oliver’s Poem that I love..for the First Day of Passover and my Jewish Friends

In Blackwater Woods
 
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
 
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
 
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
 
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
 
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
 
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
 
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
 
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
 
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
 
~ Mary Oliver ~
 
(American Primative)
 

 

Mary Oliver’s Poem that I love..for the First Day of Passover and my Jewish Friends

In Blackwater Woods
 
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
 
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
 
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
 
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
 
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
 
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
 
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
 
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
 
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
 
~ Mary Oliver ~
 
(American Primative)
 

 

Gathered Light

http://threeoclockpress.com/

Gathered Light: The Poetry of Joni Mitchell’s Songs

edited by Lisa and John Sornberger, lyrics edited for this publication by Joni Mitchell

Featuring over fifty contributors (I am one in such venerable company as Wally Lamb smile don’t know how but magic is magic), this landmark publication on the work of a legendary artist is the collection that fans have been waiting for.

release: April 23rd, 2013
ISBN: 978-1-927513-12-5
price: $29.95

Rose – one of the poems in my book A Celestial Guide to Immortality

A rose is a rose

is a riveter

            Rosie the riveter

                        big girl arms

                                    that are strong

                                                            petals of glowing

                                                                        gold that run

into steel white

                                                                                                light, shooting stars

                                                                                                            smell tart, sweet

                                                                                                                        blowsy, loud, crass

                                                                                                            smokey, purple-eyed

                                                                                                lady of the shop floor.

                                                                                    Hips of brown

                                                                        stem, thorns prick

                                                            as they touch thighs

                                                blossoming into pink

                                    and white navel.

                        Petal-shaped breasts

            glow peach from

furnace fires, yellow

eyes reflect blaze

            of welder’s torch        

                         crimson tipped, red

                                    lips part to

                                                show egg-yolk stamens.

                                                            Thunder roll breaks

                                                                        breath of dragon heat,

                                                                                    as water drips

                                                                                                off downy cheek

into full-petalled bloom.