2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Crunchy numbers

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,900 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 48 trips to carry that many people.

There were 71 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 112 MB. That’s about a picture per week.

The busiest day of the year was April 19th with 126 views. The most popular post that day was Crow Song.

Who were they?

Your most commented on post in 2014 was Children of the Activists

These were your 5 most active commenters:

Thanks to Mike, Suzanne, Writers Dream9 and Morningstar.

The Poet Sings of a Poet’s Tree

What kind of tree is your
poet’s tree?

Is it boab or oak
paperbark or willow?

Does it dance with Mandela
mediate with Mahatma?

Is it a haven for
Maya Angelou’s caged birds?

Does your tree sing
of how to
make a walking stick
through pain
with words to make the feet
lighter?

Does it encase your feet in
shoe bark
to travel on the heated ground
of despair
through the cold of ignorance’s
ice
help you to slide to the leaves of
peace?

How many in your poet’s family
tree went to war and
created odes to soldier’s
who bloodied lay
at the base of this tree
– lost?

Will the nightingale
sing from the branches
of your poet’s tree
guide you
into the heart of things
-take you out beyond this side
of a worm hole
into the galaxy where peace
birds fly?

What kind of tree is your
poet’s tree?

(c) June Perkins

How to Write a Poem to change the World

‘I want to change the world,’ said the young poet
‘with a poem that makes you think
long after reading it.

You don’t feel like you were lectured
but something subtle crept into your heart
made a hole that penetrated
all you thought you once were sure of
so you started asking questions.

Questions about what you could do to make
the world more peaceful as one individual
in one family in a number of communities
and in a neighborhood and a country.

And when you reached that point of asking your questions
the hole in your heart became
something that you climbed into, and healed with an action
and whilst your action might not be a poem
it could be a song or a class that you took
at school as a teacher or
maybe you had an opportunity
to do something enormous like make an invention
or start a project, perhaps very small, perhaps very large,
that would heal the world
and thinking back you felt changed because the poem did something
powerful whilst you were reading, it empowered you.’

And the young poet went looking for her poem that could
change the world – with a heart full of love that overflowed, and a strong desire to avoid lecturing others when she was full of questioning holes she herself had to fill- by looking at the poems and poets that had changed her. She sought poetry seeds for a peaceful poet’s tree.

To be continued….

(c) June Perkins

The Diviner

awesome ripples
Water Ripples – June Perkins

With her forked stick
she walks the surface of the drought.

She walks the future of his farm
calling water to sing through the twig
wherever it may be.

She looks for The Dog stars
in the sky
waiting patiently at the twin’s table

Cosmic dogs with dry throats sing,
‘the land will once again
have need of boats.’

She throws her forked stick
into the expanse of sky, whispers
‘Little Dog and Dog star hunt for water
Give us rain.’

But for now she must find the underground stores
to tide them over until that rain is found.

The Great Dog rises before dawn
at the end of summer.

Now hunting
of the rains can end.

All will feast on her tears
soaking into earth
giving seeds birth to saplings
and a land without drought.

(c) June Perkins

(Not a found poem today, just an imaginative exploration of a Diviner Character – will need to do some more research.)

Sky Water

Sky Water

A woman asks for water
aiming her camera at the sky.
Tracking the skies
for cosmic soul,
she frames a constellation.
in the dazzling light

A blind king
in a seemingly mundane world
spends moonless nights
surrounded by a wall;
he dreams of invisible light
falling into his kingdom’s river.

(c) June Perkins

Although I am having a break from most blogs and social media – I thought it would be fun whilst the family are on holiday to create some ‘found’ poems with a theme of universe and to create a few extended metaphors.

I enjoyed doing this when doing a recent poetry exploration of forms based on suggestions at Joyce Sidman’s website.

This one above, looks like two characters in a situation of drought just came into being. I wonder if they could be part of a new series. Time will tell. This one was inspired by a text book on astronomy and a book on Pacific Mythology.

You can find out more about how to create Found Poems Here

Focus Time

Pearlz Dreaming

DSC_9747 Brisbane – through the trees – June Perkins

I am finally into the draft of a novel.

It is
full of adventure
an environment and world that sparkle
characters that delight me
and I want to know what happens next.

Now I just need to make more time to write it.

A little less blogging and social media will help me through the draft.

I want to do more reading though, and the last few weeks have read some historical fiction to keep me inspired.
Now is a time to concentrate, but also daydream my story. Time to focus on the task at hand.

So dear readers I’ve gone writing but I will be back soon, perhaps with something to report.
The completion of the first draft?

To all my friends taking a similar pledge – less social media writing more concentrated fictional writing, poetry writing, or non fiction project…

View original post 95 more words

The Story So Far

Miranda’s Loss
(I)
In my skin
there’s a butterfly
forever captured
dancing to the beat of my sweat.

It’s dedicated to
the memory of my lost child.
At the moment I keep my weight constant to
keep her memory alive.

But if another child should arrive
and make my skin stretch
maybe it will be time to let go
so the tattoo can mark my
journey back from grief.

Maybe then I’ll have a new tattoo to
celebrate the child I
am finally able to have
perhaps another butterfly.

Am I lost,
to mark out my grief deep into my skin?
To feel the tattooist working the picture into my skin
that is nothing compared to grief.

The pain of losing my
child’s heart beating
inside of me
is too much to bear so
I had to bury it in
the butterfly tattoo that
perches on my back.

Meeting Love

I met him at the butterfly house
in the zoo.
I remember butterflies
settling all around him
drawing attention to his presence.
He was so still.

A small girl, with a rainbow hat,
watched the scene
but she giggled and jumped
– the butterflies scattered.

Delighted at their flight
she grabbed her mother’s hand
and they moved on to follow the butterflies
further into the enclosure.
But my eyes could not.
They remained on the still man
who seemed to remain in a sublime moment.

He blinked and then
looked straight towards me.
I blushed
to be captured staring
which was not something
I normally did so indiscreetly.

A smile settled in his face
and he said ‘Whenever I come here I remember home.’
this was our opening.

I would usually have brushed such a greeting away
as I liked to keep to myself
when out in public places
where everyone was a stranger
but something drew me in,
‘Where’s home?’
‘Queensland’
‘Ah you have great butterflies there,’ I ventured.
‘Yes, we do.’
I waited for more,
but he simply began to walk
and so did I.
Butterflies were our beginning.

Our First Walk

Our first walk
past the rainbow mosaics on the path
developed the beginning of
our short hand.
His short sentences about working as
a falconer
had me intrigued.

I had heard of this ancient art
but never before met a practitioner.
We could barely breathe words into the world
of our first meeting.

I didn’t know where his sentences
would end and he kept leaving me
wanting to know more
I would later discover he had a tendency to leave
them hanging …
like a cliff hanger.

When I asked him his name
he countered me with a question.
‘What do you think it is?’

What’s in a Name?

The issue of names
would come up once again
when their child
still wriggled in the womb.

This unborn child
loved to kick to Opera.
She didn’t want to think about
the lost child
and had been avoiding opera lately.

But this man from the butterfly house
who she walked beside
what could his name be?
She had to read what his face said
open with dark eyes she couldn’t see into
but wanted to.

He was almost precisely her height
putting them on an equal footing.

He moved lightly
as she glided besides him.

What about names that went with
hers?
Could this be a test?
Could his name be Ferdinand?
What if his name was Caliban?
Could people really be matched by name
or astrology, or perhaps his name was something
to do with the birds he loved?
Peregrine?
Merlin?

It would be so strange
to meet another who seemed to be
named just for her.

She opened her mouth and the name
she thought he should have tumbled out …

It’s Only the Beginning

I can’t censor it
my imaginary name for you
forward rolls out of my mouth
‘Dan Nomad.’

You laugh at my guess
at your name, shake your head
‘Jackson Wheeler’ you gently reply.
‘The Deborah Conway song
‘It’s only the Beginning’
pops into my head

My mind is lost
daisy chains are made
I am doing cartwheels in the park
diving into multicoloured
rippled water
are you my ‘love of a life time?’

I am already walking
hand in hand with you
my butterfly man
I see our children’s
fingers
intertwined with ours
this is our beginning

Jackson Wheeler I think I knew even then
you were the one
my sweetest day dream …

Jackson Wheeler

The day we lost our child
I had a dream
of her possible future
with us.

I wanted to comfort Miranda
to share her sorrow
to take our first steps
beyond
grief.

I couldn’t tell her about
the dream
of our future
lost.
I looked at her
unable to see
where to begin
except without words.

Our little one
lost her spin of life’s wheel
she would never
take first steps
with us.

Only in dreams
would we be together
life forever
unreal.

My heart like a brahminy kite
(a sea eagle)
flew away to the calls of
our daughter and Miranda
wanting to land
somewhere
we could all take
flight
beyond
mortal frames
to be a family
once more.

I knew we would
have to settle on
a name for the one
who took her flight first.

We Are Made of Tears

Bereavement Room

In a room to pretend
for a short time
we had a normal family life
our baby celebrating with us
but there’s no sound of her tears
what we would give for her cries.

In that space we discover
small gifts
from those who have lost their
loved tiny ones
only to be left with
little footprints
on cards.

The bed spread is covered in butterflies
so bright
so light
and we have time to take photographs
to treasure
as if she lived
before we must surrender
the one we love to lie on a bed
of our salt water.

The midwife, Clara,
is so strong
treating us as if we are
like any other parents
but our
hearts are made of tears.

She gives us just enough space
but not too much, catches our tears
as the butterflies fly off the bed
spread around the room.

I remember the kicks
the time she lived
and danced
inside of me.

Jackson
remembers
playing her favourite music and
the way she would respond.

We must celebrate that she took a
few breaths
she did live for a few minutes.

Yet we are made of tears for her.
We long to dance with her not
for her.

We have to believe she is an angel
with butterfly wings now.

She flies through the clouds
of our tears.

Sorry

i am sorry
my lost one
that choosing a name for you has taken so long
it’s just we had to find it for you
when we were swimming in the butterfly tears

i thought
i knew it before you were born
but we you were here and gone so soon
the name we’d picked didn’t seem to fit you
not just right

i thought we needed a name
that said something about
where you were going
and where you came from
perhaps two names side by side
to keep each other company
so it was that Nevaeh
meaning heaven came into my mind
and then Tuwa from Hopi
meaning Earth

i wish you could have felt the earth
beneath your bare feet
just once
so you could remember it
so my little butterfly girl
Tuwa Nevaeh

may your flight
from earth to heaven
be a flight
from the cocoon of the
love from Jackson and i

may you emerge with wings
from the brief touch of our fingertips
and the dreams we had for
you that will never be

Tuwa Nevaeh – tiny princess
forever surrounded by
butterflies
it’s time for me to name
you and say goodbye

(c) June Perkins

Day is a time for …

Day is a time for pain endured
Flaking skin and itching hours
Red map tattoo across my limbs

Longing for nights to sleep

Flaking skin and itching hours
Moment of calm in minutes free from pain
Longing for nights to sleep
I dream of a mermaid her first time with human feet

Moment of calm in minutes free from pain
Searching for a pathway to wellness
I dream of a mermaid her first time with human feet
Motivated by love she walks fearlessly

Searching for a pathway to wellness
Red map tattoo across my limbs
She walks fearlessly
Day is a time for pain endured

© June Perkins

 

I wrote this a week ago when going through a tough patch with my psoriasis.  Yesterday a glimmer of hope. I’m trying a new approach with life style management and nutrition. I often think about what psoriasis is teaching me.

I’ve used a pantoum structure for the poem.

Sorry Poem – Miranda speaks to her lost child

giftsofnature

i am sorry
my lost one
that choosing a name for you has taken so long
it’s just we had to find it for you
when we were swimming in the butterfly tears

i thought
i knew it before you were born
but we you were here and gone so soon
the name we’d picked didn’t seem to fit you
not just right

i thought we needed a name
that said something about
where you were going
and where you came from
perhaps two names side by side
to keep each other company

so it was that Nevaeh
meaning heaven came into my mind
and then Tuwa from Hopi
meaning Earth

i wish you could have felt the earth
beneath your bare feet
just once
so you could remember it

so my little butterfly girl
Tuwa Nevaeh
may your flight
from earth to heaven
be a flight
from the cocoon of the
love from Jackson and i

may you emerge with wings
from the brief touch of our fingertips
and the dreams we had for
you that will never be

Tuwa Nevaeh – tiny princess
forever surrounded by
butterflies
it’s time for me to name
you and say goodbye

(c) June Perkins

It felt like time to return to the story of Miranda and Jackson, but this time using some of the techniques and styles suggested by Sidman’s poetry prompts. I’ll start with the ‘Sorry Poem.‘ This is a character poem from the series on the Story of Miranda and Jackson.