listen to birdsong
walk to barn
feed Rosie
photograph flowers
horses
Barbie Doll
This poem praises my mother. It is page 17 of my memoir in poems, “On the Rim of Wonder”. It seems appropriate to republish it here for Mother’s Day.
Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed, and blond, my mother,
one fearless, controlling woman. Long after Mom’s death, Dad said,
“Barbara was afraid of absolutely no one and nothing.” They married
late: 34 and 38. He adored her unconditionally. She filled my life
with horses, music, love, cornfields, hay rides, books, ambition. Whatever
she felt she had missed, I was going to possess: books, piano lessons, a
college education. Her father, who died long before I was born, loved fancy,
fast horses. So did she. During my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my
hysterical night coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her
in a wagon. With less than 100 pounds and lots of determination, she
stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri River Bottom,
strong, willful, free.
April 18 – Star
I wrote this poem several years ago. It was republished today on One Woman’s Day by the Story Circle Network.
Rosie and Mink
Six years ago my first exchange student, Kornpanod (Mink), from Thailand, joined my life. Recently, she came to visit me for a month.
Six years ago she graced my life
joy filled beauty.
Now back with me briefly with love
exploring, riding Rosie, laughing.
Sunday Haiku–Not (Rosie)
I know I promised a haiku every Sunday. However, while I was outside with my horse, Rosie, this kept running through my mind:
Leading Rosie by her mane
no halter, no lead rope, nothing
clicking my tongue, encouraging
Rosie’s such a good girl!
Haiku Adventure–Part Three
What I learned from these poems: what is usually considered good writing for other types of poems may or may not apply to haiku. Alliteration provides an example. Generally, in poetry alliteration merits a plus. Not in haiku. Regardless, I decided to leave the alliteration in this poem. When I eliminated the alliteration, the effect I wanted disappeared.
red roan horse runs
rain roars
deep depression in mud
Generally, I teach senior English–British literature. However, one short class twice a week contains all freshmen. My assignment: teach them what they need to know to pass the state STAAR for ELA. This poem illustrates what occurred during the class this past week.
teaching freshmen English class
What is a pronoun?
they stare; no one knows.
Ethiopia–2
Constantly surprised here. So incredibly green. Photos of yesterday’s travels from Lalibela to Gondar, including common baboons.
Book Signing and Rescue Horses
Tomorrow is a big day!! First, I will get up and bake my second set of brownies. It may be totally ridiculous, but on She Writes, taking food to your book signing was recommended so I made one pan of brownies tonight. The other pan will bake in the morning. Although this is not my first book, it is my first signing event. Tomorrow at three at Hastings on Georgia I will be by the front door greeting and selling. Because people actually get books signed and then do not buy them, just leave them somewhere in the store, Hastings will require buyers to pay first, then get the book signed. I keep wondering just what sort of person does such a thing as get a book signed and then leave it randomly anywhere.
Since Cool died, I think Rosie is lonely. Tomorrow morning Dove Creek Ranch Horse Rescue opens their doors for an annual event to show off their rescue horses, trained and ready for adoption. At least I want to look and see who ( I see a horse as a who, not a which) is available. Some of the horses have been so badly treated that it takes months and sometimes never to regain their trust and decent behavior. Others just needed a home after their owners could no longer care for them. The least I can do is look. I will post photos of the ranch and horses tomorrow and report on the book signing. Sleep currently seems a good idea.
Getting rid of junk mail
The amount of junk mail seems to endlessly increase. Once recycling ceased here for all practical purposes, I became a bit distressed and somewhat obsessed about what to do with all this useless paper. It took me more time than I planned to discover where and how (hopefully) to at least get rid of some of this useless mail. Now that I have done all this opting out, they claim I may have to wait several months before the junk mail quits showing up. I will let you know what happens.
In the meantime if you want to try this for yourself and you live in the US here are some options:
-To remove your name from all catalog mailing lists, email optout@abacus-us.com and give them your name and mailing information. You will receive a return email explaining that this will opt you out of all catalogs.
-To remove your name from only certain catalogs you do not want to receive, go to catalogchoice.org. You will have to create an account and can unsubscribe to those catalogs you specifically do not want to receive.
-To opt out of other types of junk mail, you go to http://www.dmachoice.org. They provide various choices for different types of junk mail you wish to quit receiving.
After doing all this, I decided to take a little hike in the new land of green in which I reside. I discovered a tree, which I thought the drought killed, slowly leafing out–a rather strange sight in June. Usually, this occurs a month to six weeks before. Black foot daisies are blooming everywhere, their small snowy faces showing up boldly in the emerald grass sea. When I opened the gate to let Rosie out to graze–finally there is enough grass to let her out, she ran and ran and ran and bucked. Nothing is more glorious than a happy, running horse. The prickly pear are near the bloom stage and some other cacti are starting to bud magenta blossoms. When they come out, I will take photos to share.
Rosie–photo taken by my friend, the photographer, Anabel McMillen.
The Sound of Silence
For years I puzzled over what this phrase means. This evening I discovered the answer. Unlike the first part of the week, today was sunny, little wind, high 70s, what most consider a perfect day weather wise. I ran home from work, gave Rosie, my horse, some food, let Isabella, my dog out for a bit, and then ran back to town to see my grandson perform. He attends Wolflin Elementary School. The physical education teacher selected a group of students called the SWAT Team who perform at different functions. The last time I saw them, they performed at a local high school’s basketball tournament. Today they executed four routines at their school’s annual gala, a fund raiser with games, food, a silent auction, dunking in the water, that sort of thing. It really astonished me. I have no idea how much they practiced, but these routines were not short and everything was perfectly choreographed. First, the boys performed using basketballs to do various tricks and movements in unison to music. Then the girls did this complicated sort of dance over these long bamboo poles that other students clicked together. The only other place where I have seen anything like this is in Thailand at the Rose Garden near Bangkok. The third routine included both boys and girls and they used this giant circle of multicolored cloth to dance around, in and out, make the cloth into a sort of yurt like shape. I have no idea how they kept it up like a giant circular tent one minute and flat the next. Finally, they competed with hoola hoops to see who could keep going the longest.
After I returned home, I hosed off the front entryway, planted some flowers in pots, and watered other flowers, all in preparation for a fund raiser tomorrow night at my house–to raise money for a local senior citizens center. Rosie is shedding her winter coat and seemed miserable itching so I brushed her. Now tufts of pale rose colored hair lay everywhere in her corral. Finally, a bit after eight I came inside for a late dinner. Then I noticed. No sounds, no wind, no appliances humming, no coyotes howling, no birds singing, no dogs barking, no sounds at all. Nothing. The patio doors are open; I walked outside a few minutes ago. Nothing. I sit here before the computer and hear the sounds the keys make when I hit them. When I stop, nothing.
Rosie
Isabella on the patio in winter.
They started blooming today.
writingontherim 