Tuesday Poem 002


On Communication Techniques

Risk misunderstanding
be labeled: melancholy, morose.
You know as well as I that
judgment is our mother tongue. Wicked
thoughts reside here, unholy trinities
of alter ego, inner critic, and truth with a sword.

You are neither less nor more, eloquence
is not more weighty than intent. Do not allow
preconceptions to double bind what
claws your guts for liberty. He too has
seen dark corners deep enough to drown.
Your part, delivery, phrases pungent with

redemption. Speak, unleash humility, transform
with praise the ashes of disgrace, love best you can.

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Tuesday Poem


Speak in now

Speak in now
immediate, common vowels, consonants.
Let slush piles smolder. Is cracks the surface
ripples out and out again, meets
edges of sweet tansy, yellow iris, squirming dens
of otter kits along the muddy banks. Choke

back prophecy, promise only tangible. Wrench
now from ragged throat barbs of bloody words
that mean something. Now is red and pulsing
delicious. Like the split second when snowflake
bites flesh, when what was and is becomes
ice lake in open palm. Tongues of fire to

tease cracked lips, fill parched mouths with
epiphanies of I Am, white and wet and pure.
Speak in now
immediate. Purify mind of conjecture, possibility
be still. Tame body of moving, striving
be still. Speak in now
and know.

I used to be a blogger…


There was a time when I blogged on a regular basis, saw lots of people drop into my blogs, linked my blog from my facebook page, and utilized the social networks I am part of to spread Buddy Breathing as wide as I could. And now, well, now Facebook has made some changes, and I’m no longer visible to all my ‘friends’ unless they choose to make me visible. And, I’m just not in a place where I want to ‘work’ my blog, spend hours making connections with people on their blogs, commenting on their writing which means reading their writing so that I can comment intelligently on it… I’m just not able to prioritize it right now. So. maybe it’s time for a little holiday from blogging… a bit of a break…

Another issue that’s come up recently is that whenever I share a piece of my poetry here, or anywhere else online, it’s considered ‘published’. That’s rather annoying to me, as much as I want to share my words openly, I don’t want posting my work here to undermine or prevent my ability to enter competitions, or even submit said work for publishing in the more traditional sense. So, the thrill I’ve had for the past 40 Poetry Fridays is somewhat muted by this fact.  Again I wonder, is it time to take a little hiatus from the blog?

I’m somewhat undecided, sitting on the fence, really. Processing, listening for some clearer direction, inspiration, or maybe just a new way.

So, I write about the Top (10) reasons why blogs fail… and wonder if mine is failing, or if I am?

My brother and his wife are currently blogging their trip to Iceland… lots of beautiful photographs, little bits of words, and it works. It’s interesting, fresh every day. Maybe I’m just tired, or distracted?

I am fairly certain that I need to re-purpose this blog… refocus my efforts. I hope you will stand by while I do that. But, if not, then thank you for all your visits (all 7676 of them). You’ve inspired me thus far, you really have.

For now… “adieu“. For how long… I don’t know yet. But I will be back some day.

Keep smiling… keep believing in the hope you have… keep on keeping on. Soli deo gloria!

Lesley-Anne

p.s. if you want to keep in touch, just drop in and leave me a comment… or, find me on facebook. Either one works for me!

Poetry Friday afterall…


The player aims at a group of hostile soldiers...

Image via Wikipedia

Hostile

If there were something worthwhile to say, I might open my mouth
and swallow you whole,
masticate your small bones, relish in splinters.

If I were dying of a nasty disease, and my voice was the first to go,
every last word I spoke would be
mighty important, so why can’t you shut up and listen. Now

I have a young friend who painted these words on his black bedroom wall;
“Open your closed mind and close your open mouth.” Enough said.

Mindless muttering of fools, this, trying too hard to make each word count.
Like this poem, characters filling up the page with pretense
cursive chatter eating
the white space.

Lesley-Anne Evans
May 2011

Poetry Friday035


Now

There’s before and after, and now is
the space in between. A marker for both

Winston

Image by Gavin Mackintosh via Flickr

carrying great expectations.
“How are you,” takes pause
“What’s up,” takes days.
Now is hard to swallow
like gorge in my throat when

the Doctor called back.

I made bold statements about God. Before.
Preached
prophesied
plastered bible bandages on gaping wounds oozing
with strangers blood.

Now

begs the question,

avoids answers.

Digs for God in the muck,

eyes squeezed shut.

Sucks air

through clenched teeth.

December 2010

Buddy Breathing 2010 in review


Japan Airlines 747-400 at London Heathrow Airport

Image via Wikipedia

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 4,700 times in 2010. That’s about 11 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 119 new posts, not bad for the first year! There were 292 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 298mb. That’s about 6 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was May 6th with 83 views. The most popular post that day was Pause and remember….

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were networkedblogs.com, facebook.com, en.wordpress.com, apps.facebook.com, and pink-ink.ning.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for buddy breathing blog, buddy breathing, art suke, bryce essler, and lang may yer lum reek.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Pause and remember… May 2010
2 comments

2

About the blogger January 2010
5 comments

3

Why my husband is hot! June 2010
7 comments

4

And so we begin… January 2010
8 comments

5

Peace, at last. April 2010
1 comment

Poetry Friday018


In the spirit of celebration for what has taken place in my life as a poet most recently, today’s poetry posting is a link to the publication of one of my poems, “Scotch Mints” in Lake – Journal of Arts and Environment. It’s an honour to be recognized by UBCO, and I’m thrilled to be included in their excellent publication.

Poetry Friday007


It’s been a while… trying to recapture ‘normal’ in my life after the passing of my Buddy. Words have not been flowing, nor has the desire to post much other than a few pictures and comments on Facebook. Yet, there’s a growing tickle in my gut that prompts me to take steps back toward creative expression, rather than holding it all close and tight inside me. God’s gift of life purpose has been marked by the discovery of my voice, and knowing that, I cannot long be silent. In the past five years, God has taught me that the posture of my hands needs to be open and surrendered to what He has for me. Although right now I feel like curling up in a ball and crying, I know that’s not a posture of acceptance or expectation for what comes next. While I must grieve, I must also step into God’s future for me. Today’s post is just that. Although these poems are not new, they are some of my favourites.

Here then is a collection of poems and photographs for your pleasure.

Gulls 2
by Lesley-Anne Evans, Jan. 2008

Gulls are drifting inland on updrafts from the sea.
Wantonly weightless they float overhead,
Calling boldly of flight and freedom.

Creature of the middle earth I stand in salt spray, toes
Sink in wet sand, thoughts sink deeper.
I lift my face skyward, consider their foreign tongue.

Then, rusty hinges on the screen door and
You call from the cottage.
Warm voice carried on the wind, you beckon me.

I turn.

Choose the welcoming parameters of our love and life.

Caged
Lesley-Anne Evans, Feb. 2009

Shredded strips of newspaper
On the bottom of your fancy cage —
Evidence of neurotic tendencies, as

You wait for daily offerings
Of fruit and seed in outstretched hands.
Still, a hunger is embedded in

Your dull remembrances of
Open skies and temperate winds
And clipped wings healed.

Okanagan Harmonic

by Lesley-Anne Evans, August 2009

There’s music in the vineyard
A rising tympani of leaves
Exposing their soft bellies to
The western wind.

Harmonies of vine and wire
Vine and wire, vine and wire
And the rhythm of staccato posts
Support the melody.

Bees buzz, tasting floral hints
Of autumn’s fruit
While heavy hot summer sun
Pulls the song from root to blossom tip.

There’s music in the vineyard
A complex composition carries on.
And, the cry of red-tailed hawk
A grace note.

Bud Hunting
Lesley-Anne Evans, December 2009

It’s not like you haven’t tried to adapt to the new ways
In your old age. Like gun licensing – forcing you through bureaucratic
Hoops to hang onto that part of you that only comes alive in pine
And birch, aspen, fir and poplar. Then you gave in, gave your guns away
To your brother, left you having to ask him to use them. Instead,

You told hunting stories, like the time you were about a hundred
Miles up on the Spruce River Road with a bunch of buddies, came around a corner, and
There were all these white birds — Snow Ptarmigan — white and fluffed up and floating
Over the first dusting of October snow.  It stopped all of you in your tracks —

The sheer blessing of that moment.

In contrast to your most recent conversation with the clerk at the
Ministry of Natural Resources, who advised you in no uncertain terms

That you couldn’t even buy a game tag anymore. You felt the door closing

On yet another chapter of your life.  So you fought back, 83 year old

Disarmed hunter, in the only way you knew how —

Told the guy to ‘Go to hell’, as you hung up the phone.

Poetry Friday004


It happens often without explanation

We stop and stare seaward

Mona-Lisa-esque smiles on intent faces

Books open to paragraphs read and re-read

Awestruck and silent, but for the occasional

“Oh!”, and

“Aw!”

As leviathan launches from watery horizon

With slaps and splashes and foam

Do we remember the day we stood

Naked and knew it not?

When God showed us, and we named it, “Whale”?

It is still good.

Lesley-Anne Evans

March, 2010

Photograph of Humpback Whale breaching from John Fenzel’s blog.

Poetry Friday 003


Inspiration of salt water horizons, our family holiday to the Oregon Coast last summer was a time of prolific poetry writing for me. Here is a selection of three poems from that time.

Pelicans

Troubadours
Airborne units fly in formation
Low
Heavy
Skimming the space between sea
And sky
Mammoth
Undeniable, like
Heat-seeking missiles
Transcending the deep
And drawing up fish.

Lesley-Anne Evans
July 2009

Forgiveness

I look down but for a moment or two
To scribble something
I don’t want to forget
Into my journal,
Look back up and it is gone.

All of it —
Foreshore,
Headland,
Horizon.

Suddenly shrouded in a veil of soft grey mist
Making mystery of what was,

Covering all of my sins.

Lesley-Anne Evans
July 2009

At sea

How does it feel
To leave land behind
Take to the sea
Live on silver offerings
And faith
In your ability
To stay afloat
Regardless of weather?

Such humble beginnings
You wake alone to dirt walls
Glimmer of light at the opening to beyond
Hunkered down in your snug burrow
Fed by frequent visits from
Swift sleek parents, then

Pushed from your nest
You fledge quickly to cries of their approval
Now it’s time

No backward glances
Or salt pillars
You fix your eye on the watery horizon

And fly