For the past 4 weeks I have been rereading the Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and redoing the exercises. The main one is journalling 3 pages each morning the moment I wake up. That is a bit of a challenge on the days I work since I am not a morning person and I have to set the alarm 30 minutes earlier. But I do set up my coffee maker on my vanity in my bedroom the night before so I can at least have my java fix as I write in a stream of consciousness.
Today is Day 2 of Week 4 and I managed to be inspired to write one poem/haiku…but you would not believe how I got my inspiration!
I noticed a new icon named Co-Pilot, on the task bar of my laptop and out of curiosity, I clicked on it. It popped up on my right side and it is an AI offering to answer questions, create background images …basically everything and anything. So, I typed in “poetry prompts” and it listed a bunch of types of poems…then I typed in “Haiku prompt” and it gave the definition of a haiku and gave me a bunch of prompts that were mediocre but the one that struck me was “sound”. I was hearing a sound in my office that stimulated emotions in me…and so here is the haiku that turned into a troiku.
Sleeping Sounds of Innocents (troiku)
Gentle whimpering
soothes the ears as she writes
sleeping feline moans
gentle whimpering
subtle sounds of innocence
moments of pure joy
soothes the ears as she writes
recalling sleeping infants
tugging at the heart
sleeping feline moans
dreaming chase in open fields
feasting on its prey.
How I miss her nudging me...those sporadic visits. Going for a walk, I would feel the hints of a verse, a word...a perfect moment whispering to me. My mind always wanders...so hard to be mindful because my eyes see one thing for a moment and then she takes over with an interesting narrative. A bike missing a wheel thrown carelessly beneath a balcony. What if it was a kidnapping and the bike was thrown here from another town? What if it was an accident and the biker had no ID, police still looking for John Doe? What if...indeed!!
I miss holding an image in my heart f then allowing it to simmer for a day or two and turning it into a watercolour of words, three brief lines that take your imagination on to a lovely journey. Other times it can be philosophical or spiritual but definitely, with a tasteful metaphor.
Since the pandemic, rather than benefit from time during those moments if isolation... inspiration changed to a very scattered mind. Words were mixed with fear but this morning there was a slight shift ...
Softly whispers
Welcoming lilt
Brief rendezvous
Softly whispers
Moment in time
wades in my soul
Welcoming lilt
Holding my breath
Listening to her voice
Brief rendezvous
Still
breathtaking
(c) Tournesol 2023-03-05 Daily Moments
Valentine’s is supposed to be about love and couples but since I had my children 4 decades ago, it was more about LOVE for anyone who is very special to you, especially my immediate family.
I remember cutting out Valentine cards to share at school to those “special people” …if it was someone, we had a little crush on, we did not sign it. I also helped my children cut theirs out as well and in this generation, they seem to include more people. I am hoping that is indicative of the world we now live in…to be kind to one another…to show support and caring.
The media shows us the opposite because unfortunately “tragedy sells.” Yet, with all that has been going on in the world in the past two years, I am sick of giving attention to sadness, cruelty, and hardships. I am not saying I want to live in a bubble, but I/we DO need balance…knowing about kindness and how wonderful many people have come forward to help one another warms my heart and that too should be in the media…not just an addendum at the end of the news.
One thing I have loved doing in the past few years is writing my own greeting cards and sending them out to some friends far and near…mostly friends who live alone like me.
I do not know about you but when I get something in the mail, I get so excited…I run upstairs and put the envelope on the dining room table and make myself a cuppa tea and then I sit down and savour it. Sometimes it is one line and other times it is a bit longer but the fact that someone cared enough to write something on paper, put it in an envelope, sealed it with love, addressed it with care and attention, put a stamp and walked or drove to drop it off in a mailbox means so much!
I had another selfish reason to do this as well. It inspires me to write a poem and talk in writing to a friend, and forcing me to walk to the nearest mailbox which is 1 km away…so it is also beneficial to my physical and mental health to walk which is something I have not done much this winter especially since my fall early in January. It made me wary of walking on icy sidewalks.
I often try to spread out the cards so I have to go out more often.
This is a troiku (new form of haiku created by Chevrefeuille, at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai I wrote a few days ago, that made me think of my friends this valentine week.
greyness lingers lockdowns hold us prisoners when will winter leave?
greyness lingers looking for a bit of light shining in my heart
lockdowns hold us prisoners soon the days shall pass Oh, see the light shine
when will winter leave? thankful for a caring friend brightens every day
I listened with apprehension
to a man of the cloth
not! a man of God
because a man of God
does not judge
a man of God loves
unconditionally
and I listened
my mouth agape
this man filled
with self-righteousness
callous and vindictive
defending other men and women
of the cloth
and the more he professed
his twisted truths
I cried…
and the more I imagined
those who do not want to believe
and judge and blame the victims
I cried…
and the man of the cloth
spoke with a twisted tongue
filled with venom
like a snake…
and I cried…
for the first brothers and sisters
of their native land
who have nourished this land
and taught us how to survive
where grand-maman fed my mother
where my mother fed her children
and where I fed my children and their children
I struck my chest
with my fist
again and again and again
and I cried…
for the untruths
from this man
of the cloth
who is not a man of God
On the 2nd day of summer, a baby girl was born. I wonder why they did not call her Summer but of course it did not translate well in French. And so, Colombe (Dove in English) was born. She was planned, so I hear from stories from my GrandMaman, on one Sunday afternoon. How did they manage to have the house to themselves and what on earth was on their minds, coming from Sunday mass?
My grandparents had a flat on the 2nd floor of City Hall at the time, because my grandfather was Chief of Police.
My grandmother often said that out of all the children there was always one that was chosen to take care of their parents in their old age. My grandmother used to call Colombe, “Mon baton de veillesse’’ (old aged stick…which really means ‘old age crutch’.)
But you must remember in those days in 1925, good Catholic families prohibited from family planning…this baby was planned. GrandMaman used to say a baby planned on a Sunday was ‘’un bébé d’amour’’ …I am not sure love child means the same thing.
And so June 22, 1926, Colombe was born…the fourth child, the middle child of seven. Of course this was a small family compared to other good Catholic families back then. My grandmother was fortunate to have learned young, as a midwife, when a woman ovulated…and so she found her way to plan her family despite the sin she may have committed.
I wonder how they spoke about this plan coming home from Sunday mass.
Mother: I think it’s time to plan for a child that will take care of us in our old age.
Father: Okay [with a twinkle in his eye and skip in his step.]
Mother: Yes, this afternoon would be a good time while the children are at the cottage.
Father: I aim to please, my love.
I don’t know if she carried her to term of 40 weeks, so I imagine this discourse took place sometime in September or early October…oh my! I wonder if it was on my Grandmother’s birthday, October 13th….[rushing to check 1925 calendar…okay, so let’s add a bit of imagination to this story]
On October 11, 1925, GrandPapa asked his spouse what she wanted for her birthday October 13th. And that was her present! I bet GrandPapa wished he could gift her like that more often…[chuckles]
Colombe certainly became a special “baton”…when her little brother was only one, he had TB and she had to quit school having completed Grade 9 to take care of him for two years while he had a body cast.
From there she later went to Montreal at Hairdressing school at Morgan’s (The Bay). She stayed at her sister’s who had a baby and a toddler and became a live in Nanny when she was not in school because her sister like to wine and dine with the rich and famous and her husband.
She never really got to live life on her own freely…and when she met my father, who was auditing a company in her small town, they married six months later.
I’m glad she did because I wouldn’t be here today .There is a story to tell on that day forward but suffice to say the best part was having moi and my sister, right? [smiles]
She was an amazing daughter, friend, spouse, sister, mother and the most loving and fun Nanny as well. I am so glad my children have fond memories of her.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Even in heaven, I bet there is some heavenly celebration you so deserve.
Tournesol dans un Jardin 