Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Weekword: Present

John is the host of this week's WeekWord, which is present.

May I be fully present in my life.
May I be fully present in the lives of my loved ones and in those of people I encounter.
May I be fully present in conversations, to listen well, to hear with love and to respond appropriately.

Leaf Necklace for Leaf Lady
by me

I like to make presents.  I would prefer to make something the recipient will like. Knowing what that is and being able to make it can be a challenge. I made this necklace for my friend, Leaf Lady. She loves leaves.  I did not make the beads. I simply chose them, purchased them, and strung them. (That was challenging enough for me--my hands aren't all that steady!!!)
I hope she likes it.

and here is my poem for the present:

The Present:  Unbounded Boundaries

The words you speak touch me with whispers,
whispers of beauty. Oh such delight. like sunshine,
sunshine on winter cheeks. To feel such bliss we must open,
open an inner eye to truly hear, to smell with synesthesia,
synesthesia of the soul, the way the words you speak
speak melodies inside my ears, like symphonies,
symphonies of singing birds, cacophony. Oh clatter of joy,
joy knows no bounds when we are bound,
bound to the moment, to attention, to truly
truly being here and now, now and here, fully present.
Present, the present, what a gift to touch,
to touch the blossoming present as it unfolds
unfolds into our hands and hearts if we but open
and see. Oh taste the music, oh smell the touch
touch these words, touch this love
love this life. Open.

This poem is dedicated to Pat Shekhar. The beginning of each line repeats the end word or words from the previous lines.

And here is Pat's story about the present.

Friday, December 07, 2012



frol·ic  (frlk)
1. Gaiety; merriment: fun and frolic.
2. A gay, carefree time.
3. A playful antic.
intr.v. frol·ickedfrol·ick·ingfrol·ics
1. To behave playfully and uninhibitedly; romp.
2. To engage in merrymaking, joking, or teasing.
adj. Archaic

SOD:  joyous, A prank, to gambol, caper about.

The similar German word fröhlich means joyful, happy, merry.

In Bonnie Despain's story, Rocky Frolicking, she says: "Frolicking seems to be a physical demonstration of an inner upwelling of joy!" and I couldn't agree more.

Audrey B says:  Frolic = Bliss, and again, perfect!!!

Sally tells a fun story about a frolic-ful time that made her ready to beaver on at work.

Two of my children's novel manuscripts mention frolicking:

Sissy and Garryd lay on their bellies on the top of the mossy rock and watched as the otters reappeared, trailed by their babies and ran, in that peculiar sinuous gait of theirs, with their backs humped up, to the top of the bank.  They slid down the mud slide, one after another in quick succession and then rolled and frolicked in the water with such abandon Sissy had to press her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.  They seemed filled with such joy and exuberance.  She wished she could play with them.  from Frog Haven

Sarin sat on the cliff where they coyote had disappeared the night before.  While the mares grazed peacefully along spring creek, taking a mouthful, taking a step and then another mouthful, the foals gamboled and frolicked.  They kicked up their heels and almost seemed to dance with glee.  Sarin forgot all about her pout.  She wanted to run and skip and spin and whirl and laugh.  She crawled backwards off the rock, out of sight of the horses, looked around to see if anyone was watching, then leaped into the air, laughing with delight.  from Raven Girl to the Rescue

I often think of frolicking as being a little silly, and dancing seems to come into my mind.

"Frolic 2"

My name is Mary, but one of my nicknames is Merry--a synonym for frolic.

Let me know your take on frolic and I will post the link here.

Tuesday, December 04, 2012

Discovery at Little Hog Island (plus) --vi. hands

i, ii, iii, iv, v

 Chapter 1, part vi of my serial novel hopeful, Discovery at Little Hog Island (plus)

 --vi. hands

 Dana cringed and looked away. She looked at Buck's hands, and then at Buck. Buck looked calmly serene and strangely handsome in a rough sort of way. He sat looking at Glenn with a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth. Everyone waited without moving or speaking. They all looked toward Glenn. Dana looked back at Glenn. He was still staring at her with utter malice. Then, in an exaggerated motion, he slowly lifted his arms from his lap and placed his hands on the table. His face darkened.




 -- My husband and I honeymooned in Slovenia. We took a side trip to Austria and another to Italy. In a church in Italy, we found this sculpture. It is, "Raising Hands to God." (click image to view larger)


 -- Hands are the organ of touch. Touch is so essential to well-being, to love.

Monday, December 03, 2012

Haiku chosen for Poster

Geese with decoys
click to view larger

One of my Haikus was chosen to be made into a poster by the Syracuse Poster project in Syracuse, NY. Fifteen Poster will be made from 626 submitted haiku, so I am pleased to have been chosen.
When I have access to the name and artwork of the student artist from Syracuse University who has illustrated my haiku, I will post that.
Here is the haiku that was chosen:
On storm-black waves, geese

bob and dive with a hunter's

abandoned decoys.


Sunday, December 02, 2012

WeekWord invitation: frolic

I am hosting the Weekword this week and it is FROLIC. I wanted an active verb with a positive connotation. 

If you would like to play along, take a photo, write a poem, do some creative nonfiction or journalling, make a painting or drawing and post it on your blog and then post the link here, in comments, or on my folic post by Friday, Saturday, Sunday December 7, 8, or 9 or whenever.

Otters frolic
quick sketch by me
click to view larger

Otters are one of the few animals that spend time playing.  Research shows they only play when all their other needs are met.  Zoo otters frolic more than wild otters.  

Saturday, December 01, 2012


I love this word--would like to do more with it, but if I wait until I have time, it will be gone. So here is a brand new first draft poem:


A graveyard of scrap surrounds the museum,
ferruginous boilers, crusted and rough with scale,
dome-shaped, cylindrical, spherical, knobby
with nuts and frozen bolts, thick plates of iron.
Grass, dandelions and daisies sprout between
rusty behemoths, little islands of green.
I peer into the shadows, into portholes
that smell of blood, ashes and brimstone,
then crawl through a long tunnel into the belly
of one of the monsters, curl to sleep
like Jonah resting in the whale.  It is peaceful
here, where the visitors can’t see me,
Muffled coos of sleeping pigeons
soften the sounds of children shouting, the hoots
of trains and traffic, everything dulls
but the magnified echo of my breath.

Mary Stebbins Taitt