Category Archives: Poetry In Motion

Words ‘n stuff

Winds and Sails…..

Parenting and the digital age. Ugh.

No one ever said regular parenting was easy.

These days, the task of nurturing our young is significantly enhanced. So much so that it can knock the proverbial wind out of your sails.

Our kids are growing up faster. Navigating their tech-savvy, social network-dominated existence is almost like watching an alien soap opera.

Sure, we grew up with the first instances of the information age, but it didn’t command and define our personalities and demeanor.

There is so much more exposure to a variety of electronic elements. The language, the tone, the intent – it all hinges on the momentary impulse that emanates from their finger tips, like electricity pulsing through a circuit.

What we say matters. How we say it, even more so. And as always,
our audience plays the biggest role.

Its easy to forget that this reality is common place for our kids.

That the new paradigm is not new. Their ability to bob and weave the jabs and uppercuts thrown by their digital peers is as much a survival technique as making fire or reading the sun.

But sometimes, they misstep. They fumble. They make mistakes.

And it is still our job to catch them. To help them help themselves, and to point out the lesson they need to learn.

We are all only human.

Winds of change will blow. Other sails will unfurl. And our kids will be challenged as parents, in ways we can’t even conceive.

The only difference is they are the first generation where everyone else is listening.

Let’s teach them to craft their voice with care, thoughtfulness and compassion. They are our legacy; our lasting imprint on the genetic memory of our species.

Hitting the Wall

So I’ve been at this now consistently for two weeks.

I wonder how professionals do it.

I mean it’s a lot of work, dragging chunky bits of scribbling gold out of my head each and every day.

I remember when I was in college, back in the old Twentieth, riding to school on the TTC. My brain was afire with glimmering wondercakes of poetic wizardry. The words flew forth as if I was possessed by the first dictionary-ist.

Sorry. I accidentally a word.

I still have all those scraps, safely tucked away, the ink barely faded.

Maybe I should try to transpose them, as a catalogue of my intellectual and creative development through the millennia.

That way, philosophy professors of the future will have a wealth of pre-lecture ha-has with which to entertain whatever passes for students at that time.

Larson. Epic.

Still, there was a good one i wrote about trees.

Remind me to dig it up before I leave.

The highs and lows of contemporary living

Each day is different from the next.

Each day brings a myriad number of challenges, upsets and experiences.

For me, today, this equals ongoing vehicular repairs, the shameless misery of financial disappointment, and a perpetual nightmare of pets that poop, pull and prattle at squirrels.

But hang on. Listen to this.

Today, our littlest one began the bright and beautiful journey of being able to read on his own.

Its just a beginning, mind you, but a beginning nonetheless.

How awesome is that?

In the grand scheme, a wonky tire, a few bucks short, and energizer puppies are tiny legumes.

Its hard to keep sight of the high points day in and day out. We get so wrapped up in the things that don’t work out, that we miss the things that do.

When next you fret and swear over a missed appointment, or a broken plate, try to look around. See what went right.

We only get one day at a time. Enjoy each one as much as you can.

A Symbol Little Thing……

So some of you may have noticed there’s a big story in the news – the whole white poppy thing.

The general tone is this: there is a group of individuals who don’t like what they believe the wearing of red poppies for Remembrance Day symbolizes.

Red poppies are apparently reminiscent of bloodshed, loss and ongoing warmongering.

To move away from this culture of armed conflict, we must embrace those things that represent best what we hope for: a world of peace and communication. Hence a white poppy.

Bullshit.

The wearing of the red poppy tells anyone who cares to look that the wearer acknowledges ALL of the sacrifices, ALL of the commitments , and ALL of the choices that those who have served,  are serving,  and will continue to serve  have made to GUARANTEE that each and every man, woman and child alive in this country is free.

Free to dissent if they so choose. Free to gather with others who are of like mind and disposition.  Free to bask in whatever it is that defines their self expression.

Every. Single. Day.

Wearing a red poppy on your left lapel is a simple little gesture of your appreciation and thankfulness of that freedom.

Anyone in this country can choose to do so, or choose not to.

There are two items of significant importance that are often overlooked when it comes to the red poppies:

One – poppies are red. Red is the colour of our blood, something that we all have in common. Blood doesn’t have to be spilled to suffer. We are all part of one human family. We bear the weight together.

Two – we wear the poppies over our hearts. Ironically, the heart represents that part of us where we feel loss, where we feel joy, where we feel love. It’s also where our blood comes from.

There is a reason we develop symbols in our civilization. They act as totems to our history. They connect us all and bring us closer together when we feel sad, or quiet. They give us strength when we must rise to the challenge, and they make us proud to belong.

It’s a simple thing, putting on a red poppy.

But don’t worry. You can wear a white poppy if it’s really that much of an imposition for you.

I will GUARANTEE your right to do so.

You’re Welcome.

image

Day One…..

So I’ve had this blog for awhile.

It hasn’t gone quite the way I hoped. It’s ok, but it isn’t where it could be.

I had always fancied myself as a writer of sorts. i certainly have enough scraps of paper, manilla envelopes and discarded napkins with the essence of my works scrawled on them.

But I haven’t been as dedicated as I really need to be to honestly call myself a “writer”.

Listen – here’s the deal.

My wife, in an effort to focus on her love of photography, committed herself to taking a picture everyday. For 365 days.

It worked wonderfully. She takes amazing photos, as anyone who has seen them can attest.

So, what the hell is my problem?

I have no excuse.

So starting today, I am committing myself to writing something. Every. Single. Day.

I won’t promise that it will always be funny. Or insightful. Or even comprehensible.

But it will be here.

This is Day One.

Join me.

I Write A Blog Now. Blog’s Are Cool.

I was always writing a blog. Just not in a timely manner.

Listen. This is the year of reliving my past.

I haven’t died. I’m not pouring emo-statically over old vhs tapes of sisters flipping off swings, or fathers falling in tubs.

I’m being force fed a plethora of repackaged, re-constituted, watered-down, smarmalade-laden, well loved and oft-quoted chunks from my formative media-tainment years.

I’m having, it would seem, a bit of a hard time with it. it feels like I got shoved into a brightly lit column of “This Is Your Life”.

Here’s the rub – Ignorance really winds me up. Like – “I can’t be bothered” ignorance. I’ll explain.

See – here’s the thing. When I was a kid, I had to work a little harder to get the next scrap of happy happy joy joy input from my favorite characters and stories. Cue Whine and Camembert. 1000 tiny violins a’ violining.

Episodes seemed to take forever to arrive. I had only my toys and my dad to bounce my ideas off of, and I only now appreciate his exceedingly generous patience.

I READ Tv guide. Cover to cover. Every. Single. Week.

And I developed a humble and hallowed respect for those stories that found their starts in more classical works, or were at least older than me. I delighted in their unveiling.

So I made the effort to learn about them. I enjoyed the history. The time and care given to the formation of the background. The colour and the shape.

And here we are in 2013.

The internet has effectively levelled the once impenetrable wall of time and frustration for those waiting to immerse themselves in their shared worlds of wonder. It’s here. it’s all here. Piles and piles of it. All for you.

However – in it’s place has arisen a culture of instant gratification and must-needs-have-now demand that has chopped away some of the enjoyment of “waiting til the folks are up to open the presents under the tree”-iness.

It is entirely possible i am being an ass, shaking my cane at young uns, gripping my towel and straightening my decorative vegetable in a harumph.

But now – yes, even NOW – I can see a new take on an old theme, appreciate the vision (even if i disagree with it). But I still take the time to learn about it. To immerse myself in this new tome. In some cases, I’ve even been pleasantly surprised, and my faith restored in the sacred and the wounded word.

But I shake my head. I crease my brow. And I feel a little sadder. Because a lot more often lately, I am having to come to terms with the fact that what may have been made before, may be made again. And theres a lot of folks that just don’t care about what was made before.

George Santayana said “Those who can not remember the past, are doomed to repeat it”. This isn’t just something to say. It’s a mantra. It’s a way of life. And it applies to our hearts, our minds, our science, our politics, our art.

I pass on my love of rich worlds of various creation to my children. I show them the things they want to see, and some things they don’t. I guide them through the past, share with them the present, and marvel with them at the future.

At some point, they will continue the journey without me.

But i hope, if nothing else, they will have learned to appreciate the world around them. Enjoy the world in front of them. And are thankful of the world behind them.

Otherwise, I should really get off my ass, make like a tree, and reverse the polarity of the neutron flow.

Yo Dawg, I heard you like philosophical meanderings of an introspective nature….

I have a morbid fascination with the concept of time. Our complete obedience and subjugation to it, perceived or otherwise.

We are all time-travellers, after a fashion, we are just travelling forward. Albeit very, VERY slowly. And the impact we have on events can’t be felt or acknowledged as it occurs, but much later. It’s like the worst plot ever for a science fiction film.

We live immersed in an ocean of perception and experience. We order those elements into finite cubes that make sense to our three dimensional brain. We stack those cubes in orders of importance or priority, giving preference to those cubes we cherish more.

And everyday, we are stacking. We stack them in groups, or pairs, or in great conglomerations with those we love. The cubes grow and shrink in number and size. They stretch out towards the horizon. They fit inside our pocketses. They hide us, define us, catch us by surprise on a daily basis like Pikka Birds at sunrise.

We tend to them with loving, fretful vigilance. We are patient, and terrified. And the time just sidles by.

So another cube I place. Another stone to step on. Another marker for the miles.

It’s funny. We spend so much time waiting for things, and then when things happen, we wonder what the rush was. The new reality “You” looks back and says “Well of course this is what it feels like, what did you expect?”.

You know what they say.

Wherever you go, there you are.

(Facepalm) Past Me is waving at Future Me like an idiot. Everyone’s watching. It’s a little embarrassing.

Ermagherd! Wrerter’s Blerk!

New project!!

2500 to 2800 word essay. Open concept. Cool topic. One that I am exceedingly comfortable with.

This the part of the movie where I hit the proverbial wall.

I gave myself a bit of time to suss out what direction i wanted to head in, but unfortunately, as with some of my early attempts at script writing, fits and starts are all I’m getting.

And here I find myself again, where fine ham abounds like a banquet of literary pork. That last sentence just slipped right out like a well hawked loogie. So did that one.

So more than anything, today’s morsel is more for me than you. It’s my warm-up. Just enough to get me moving forward.

There. I feel better already. Eyes on the prize. Ready to rock. Send me in, Coach. Totally, 100% foc- SQUIRREL!