Saturday, June 28, 2014

Writing Work Shop Inspired by Sabina Berman

That was my favorite sound from that time on. The sound of cut glass crystal smashing against a window. The power that that was behind the crack and the landing of a million sharp pieces. The way I said no to the turn of my husband. Said no to another compromise, because that’s what love says to do and decided to do something for myself.

I ran feral on the beach for two months flew to the California coast and got an agent and auditioned for movies next to movie stars and had people laugh at my attempts. I stayed in a little dive in a corner of the city and smoked a joint with other people who had struggled many years, had my own university of screen writers actors and sadness on the balcony of the old hotel.  

In the morning I would wake up in a dirty tank top an pj pants that had sheep and goats on them in Pepto-Bismol pink and ran along the beach, sometimes people would join me, sometime it would just be me throwing shells back into the ocean. Eating greasy fried eggs at the tavern down the street and calling my husband and crying because it wasn’t near as glamorous as Taylor swift makes it out be.
I never did make it to Hollywood Boulevard, i guess there wasn’t time.

Oh I had done my share of acting, but no one wanted to see me in a movie. No one wanted to take my hand across the beach, there were no family pets to throw sticks to and fetch, the sticks just sat out in the ocean and floated away out of eyesight, although I swear that there one that washed up against the beach every night and I throw it out to the sea every morning.

Then one day when I’m out on the private beach with pop and beer cans I hear a sound behind me, and it’s my husband and he holds me in m arms while I cry and I tell him I can’t do this, this was my dream and I can’t do it. And he took my hand and led me up to the room opened the door and said “Get what you need. I’m taking you home.”

My dreams had changed from that 19 year old girl in university and I had to be k with that but I had a chance to try it one more time.

That summer a big movie came to my small town, the director recognized me and put me in a little role of a country secretary and “you know who,” walked right past me a few times in the scene. I had made it.

Thursday, June 26, 2014


A tattoo isn’t something
I want wrapped
Around my arms
I have enough scars
From memories
I don’t want
Storied on my skin

Scars like ropes and strings
Rushing and pulling
Being knit like sweaters
By the heart

I don’t have tattoos
But man I’ve got scars
 A slice of a smile
A wound of a touch
And you want me to say hello

Feelings from fellows
Who walk away
A sadness of the simplicity
That comes to most people

A turn of the head
A wink of the eye
A smile and shadow
And oh so many tears

I lost my way
Deep in the scars
In another tattoo
Across the heart

Tattoos like the last poem
I painted in heart beats
We always dwell
On the paintings
On our skin

Take a moment and breath
For the people I let touch
My life and you can’t see them
On my skin

Work in Progress Me

I see me. There are two kinds. The ones who do; and the ones that don’t understand. I’ve never met another one who said they wanted to but didn’t have the courage. I have them, tattoos, sort of, they’re scars on the inside places. Tours I’ve been on and the feelings I’ve had.

I grew up on a hobby farm, my sister and I got many scars from falling off horses, rolling down stairs and running into stray nails. The cut I have from putting my hand through 100 year old window is gone. But I remember.

I have a new scar that I got from holding my cat to make sure when she panicked she didn’t dart out in the road, it’s not healing, I’m older now and the flesh just doesn’t  clear like it used to.

There’s a new boy in town, wants everyone to go say hi. We all remember the last one, and are skeptical, want to give it time, see the real him come out.

There goes another poster on Facebook of liking people with tattoos, but what about us women with scars.

Like the ocean, diving in where it’s too shallow and cutting yourself on the rock. Like following your intuition and having a cut on your heart. Like not being able to breathe under the water, like feeling the tears in your heart flood your lungs

I don’t really have a tattoo, Got a couple of scars, where I was touched, my heart, and then he walked away, so I’m not in a hurry To say hi to another.

There’s a dream in my heart, the kind that left a tattoo. I dreamed I was his bride a handsome man I’d never seen before. And then I met him a few weeks later, he had no idea I dreamed of him, and so he waved and walked by.

Can you like a girl, whose heart as been broken scared tattooed by broken dreams of love and success? Or do you have to see it physically painted there for everyone else to see to?

Tuesday, June 17, 2014


I’ll write about the boat that sat up
Tall, in a wave, and threw me away to the sea
I’ll write about the storm that took me under
In the waves that
Pulled me up on the shore
The last breath
Of gulped seaweed
And pleasure
My death on the sea
I’ll write about taking my piano to the grave with me
So I can play Bach on the clouds
And sing with the choirs

I was too afraid to sing yesterday

Monday, June 16, 2014


There's a place for me ... another world
In another time...
... A place where I can be
 and express explorer

an imaginier...

...once again
it's time to be me....

...But really focus
and think about it ...
Not who I say am ...
...But who happens
When life pushes me along... perhaps

...once again
it ‘s time to be me....
...I was longing for another place
And time
...And forgot to love the present

Sunday, June 15, 2014

#bitesizememoir Childhood Illness

1)      Whenever I was sick as a child with a cold or upset tummy There was always grilled cheese sandwiches and Wizard of Oz
2)      I always had to have a shower after the school bus went by, you always tried to be as less sick as possible
3)      Ear aches that made me cry in the night
4)      Antibiotics that I took in dreams
5)      Tylenol at midnight at 2 or 3
6)       The times I couldn’t get up in the morning
7)      Listening to Robbie Robertson and feeling better
8)      Sleeping on the couch
9)      Trips to the Dr to tell stories of our goats with the same name as the Dr'
s Assistants

10)   Getting sick in university dorm and wondering where Dorothy was, and The Good Witch tapping her crown

The Wedding

I say this cautiously. Last night after a few rum and cokes I decided not to take my antidepressant and anti psychotic. I say it cautiously because I know, like me and gluten, some people don’t get a cheat day. It’s left me open and vulnerable to the thoughts in my head. The voices all around me, a joy and a tingle and a fear and tears always the tears when I’m not medicated right.
I would love to go off them, but know I could never hold down a job, they were described to me as a band aid the other day and I agreed it was a band aid I needed.
Like every weekend morning I get to write my morning pages. Today I was drawn back to a memory of me being very young and helping my mother as she volunteered at the local animal shelter; Something that has shaped me into the person that I am and my beliefs in animals and their rights, people and their rights, myself and my rights.
There was one day we were there that a woman came in crying because she was getting married and her fiancé was allergic to cats, so she had to give them up. I learned some things that day about people.
30 years later I drive past a wedding and cringe. I’m asked if I’m alright.
“I don’t like weddings.” I said and didn’t stop to wonder why.
I just now realized that while young woman my age were imagining weddings and what kind of wedding gown they were going to wear, sneaking their mothers modern bride mags I was learning something different about weddings, seeing another side.
I’m starting to accept this animal lover, rather than be ashamed that I don’t feel the same way about things as other people. I’m learning to share what I’ve learned and who I’ve become.  I’m learning how important it was to learn this respect at a young age, even if it does mean I’m different.
I remember an adult, I still consider a friend today, saying you don’t give up your cats for a man. And I think I learned in that moment to be a feminist as well as an animal rights lover.
You don’t sacrifice that kind of love, that part of yourself, to be in a relationship. Stay true in who you are don’t sacrifice such a huge part of yourself for a man, it’ll only come back to haunt you.
I think of some of the shit I heard when rescuing a cat a little while back, and wonder if her friends encouraged her to “give up the cats for true love.”

When I look at Izzy and Tini and say “I love you little ones.” I know what I’ve learned I getting here, and that my life will revolve around making sure they stay with me. I don’t take on the name MAMA lightly.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Char lee & Mee

For a moment
Just a moment
I looked for advice
From everyone but me
All the pissy little lies
And fears of other people
So afraid that you’d be bad
I only heard
From other people
Call you a little Shit
Call you disease filled
I doubted all the good in you
I kept you locked in a cage
In the night
Rather than let you out
Rather than touch you
They asked me if you were good
And I said no
SO many people said
You should die
Nothing more
Nothing less
And I could struggle enough against the shit
To hand you over to someone else
She saw your beauty
Beyond just saving
And into loving arms
And I hunger to hear her stories
About how kind you can be
And everything worked out
The way it needed to be
But I’m sorry
I doubted
Your beauty
Your Love

For a moment
Just a moment
I looked to others
To see who I am
All the pissy little misconceptions
And fears of other people
So afraid that I’d be bad
I only heard
From other people
Call me a little Shit
Call me disease filled
I doubted all the good in me
I kept me locked in a cage
In the night
Rather than let me out
Rather than touch
They asked me if I was good
And I said no
So many people said
You should die
Nothing more
Nothing less
And I could struggle enough against the shit
To keep myself alive
But that was it
Never saw my beauty
Kept myself wrapped up
In antidepressants
And the hunger of another Oreo
Adding to the wrapping
Keep me hidden and in layers
I am beautiful
But I’m sorry
I doubted
My beauty
My Love

Saturday, June 7, 2014

With Dreams Like These

The jewels fell from the skies like shooting stars
Gold coins fell from the clouds like rain
And the peasants were able to afford
Their own bread and wine

Good bye to poverty
Good bye to hopelessness
And freezing on street corners
At the nights dawn

The beggar on the corner sings
There is no way out of this place but to dream
And so I dream
And so I dream

Iris I keep walking down this street
Down the rocky road
As I wash my hair
As I brush my teeth
Is there something
I’m supposed to find
Supposed to remember

Iris it’s on the way to your house
Am I supposed to find
What you have taught me
A heart in the wind
Why am I walking down this street
Every morning

Flowers fall from the sky
Orange roses and pink tulips
Perfume to hide the stench
Of world being ignored

And one person says
This will not do
And asks to love more
And so I dream
And so I dream

With dreams like these who knows what the future might open up to


I still listen to the hum of the universe
As she sings me a lullaby
Tonight the train comes back along the track
I hear the ocean wave to the beat of the whistle

I still listen to the pull of gravity
Pulling my shoulders forward
My feet across the sand
The empty shells sit beside their friends

I still listen to the swish of my dress
As the wind whispers along my hems and seams
Tonight  the sun sets on the ocean
I hear the hope of another day

I still listen to the hum of the universe
As she sings me a lullaby
Tonight the train comes back along the track

I hear the ocean wave to the beat of the train whistle

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Feet in the Sand

I spent money on curtains some to dull the view of me as I write my poetry with the cats in the sun porch. I bought curtains to hide my nakedness as I run through the living room to my bedroom, post shower. And then when the money ran out I used blankets with colourful designs and thick weave to block out all sun and sight.
The sun is a powerful being and brakes in through the cracks of the blanketed curtains and nudges me awake with it freshness.
It is another day and a friend calls to have an adventure. I have many things to do today but I want to spend time with her so I forgo the luxury of being able to pick up and do the laundry when the spirit moves me and tell her I have to be home in time to clean my cloths.
A friend sends me love and joy in an email of love and joy. Not one of these spam emails but just to tell me she is feeling love and joy and I accept it. And say I too am going to pay it forward, share it with my day’s “adventure friends.”
And that’s all we can do right?
I value my freedom and still I find I live in the captivity of a democratic country; the need for a 9-5, the need for an address, the need for A SIN; The belief that my dreams are handicapped by finances and obligations.

But I can share love and we can take the scraps of quarters and loonies and toonies that we have and buy a pop along the coast, in the country, as we leave the small town. Walk along the beach and sift our toes through the June 1st sand. Feel the salt air on our lungs. Watch a sail boat dock on the wharf.