Author: Bill

Poem – NaPoWriMo: Frist Weakened Then Dead

The day 13 poem prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenges me to write a poem in which the words or meaning of a familiar phrase are up-ended.

I chose the phrase whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. My upending is in the poem’s title. Besides the prompt, my inspiration for this poem stems from reading Christopher Hitchens’ Vanity Fair article regarding the maxim, and the entire series he wrote during his tribulation with cancer.

Indeed, successful resistance often strengthens. That is the principle of inoculations against disease, doing regular exercise, preserving through addictions, or recovery from mental setbacks such as depression. The problem arises from the universal application of the maxim, no matter who first said it.

First, it may kill you (and someday something indeed will). Secondly, things (like whatever) can and do leave you weaker, not always stronger. In my opinion, despite having taken the shot against shingles, I contracted the illness because I had been ill repeatedly over months and my immune system had been severely weakened. And there is the age thing (it’s not just a number). Being ill did not kill me, but it did make me weaker, more vulnerable, and not a bit stronger. Shingles does not make you any stronger either.

Here is a good article about Hitch’s Vanity Fair piece. And the poem…

 

First Weakened Then Dead

I am my body and my mind
‘tis me nature to be friendly and kind.

Then you entered me, quite uninvited
You’re a vile corruption of cells divided.

You took my strength, my pride, my hair
Weakened what I am, if you ever care.

We both suffer, but it’s you we must kill
In my losing battle to save my will.

Die I must, that’s what they say
But I hope to find some other way.

(Bill Reynolds, 4/13/2018)

I’m a Kelly Clarkson fan, especially since watching her coach on the TV show, The Voice. I’ve included her 2012 hit in the interest of leaving you, literally, on a positive note.

 

From birth to death, look both ways.
Mind the gaps and the cleaver maxims.
Even mine.

Click link to National Poetry Writing Month

A2Z Challenge — L is for Leprechaun

As I look back, growing up in an Irish Catholic home, superstition and myth were taken as part of life and often mixed with religion. The wee people were never mixed with religion but being Irish certainly was.

It seems like leprechauns were taken for granted. While no one believed they existed, few of us would have been shocked if one was to suddenly appear. Maybe I could say we were more like leprechaun agnostics than non-believers.

In this case, I developed a mental image of leprechauns regarding appearance and spirit, or morality, and I hold to that even today. I did not know the history, but I understood that they could be blamed for everything – good and bad, mostly mischievous. I continue to see leprechauns as childish pranksters. They’re sort of like gremlins on airplanes or motorcycles. (Ever see a motorcycle with a small bell tied to it? It’s there to annoy the gremlins who delight in causing mechanical malfunctions on bikes).

Leprechauns have a folklore family tree. That enchanted race of mythical fairies and leprechauns of Irish folklore are descended from the ancient divine race called the Tuatha Dè Danaan, or “peoples of the Mother Goddess Danu.” The Tuatha Dè were a race of gods that inhabited Ireland before they were defeated by the Celts/Gaels, the ancestors of the present-day Irish and those of Irish descent around the world.

I have no idea how leprechauns procreate since they all seem to be males. But given the family ties with fairies of other natures, I suspect that can be worked out.

Often referred to as The Folk, The Good Neighbors, The Fair Folk, or the Wee People, they can be appeased with offerings. Never anger or insult them. They are often thought of as stunningly beautiful, though they can also be terrible and hideous.

The movie, Leprechaun, relies on some of this myth. Here is the trailer for your review. It’s not too scary, but a wee bit.

Look both ways as you travel to the pot of gold at the end of rainbow.
Be mindful of the wee people and the gaps.

Poem – NaPoWriMo: Welcome Home…sort of

The day 12 poem prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month prompt challenges me to write a haibun, which is a prose/poem form that takes in the natural landscape. This one is supposed to be about the place where I live, to bring this area to life through a charming mix-and-match methodology of haibun. Read about haibun here if you care to.

I am not sure about the charming part. Haibun, and the included haiku or tanka are Japanese poetic forms hundreds of years old. I’m not that old, nor am I Japanese. But, I am an old American boomer-poet, and child of the sixties. It’s poetry. I write ditties. Ditties don’t have rules. What follows is my twist on haibun. (No disrespect to any oriental art from intended.)

Welcome Home…sort of

The rocky trail invites my curiosity as it gives me perspective into the central Texas biota detected by my five senses and absorbed into the lungs of my mind. Stubborn life forms which I admire more for hardiness and attitude than for beauty or comeliness. Bright green immature ears grow from dark-gray, near-dead, needle-covered cactus. Big old oaks mix with scrawny mesquite and scrubs-n-shrubs to shade the rough pathway.

Rain strips pollen
from the air
a deer looks at me

So much nature
look, dunna touch
hearing of voices

Life thrives in this arid environ that permits me, a feral foreign pest, to have a limited experience. Flora here is so much like the native human species; tough, resilient, rebellious. Then there are the wildflowers: the bluebonnets, the Indian paintbrush and blankets. Beautiful. For now.

(Bill Reynolds, 4/12/2018)

Look both ways to see it all. Enjoy the scene but mind the gaps.

Texas longhorn in a field of bluebonnets
Click link to National Poetry Writing Month

 

A2Z Challenge — K is for Kelpies

E’m sure y’erd aboot eh Loch Ness Monster, but di’ye know o’ the Loch Ness Kelpie?

Kelpie in horse form

Or is it water kelpie? Whatever, the Scots name given to a shape-shifting water spirit inhabiting the lochs and pools of Scotland is kelpie (not to be confused with the Aussie dog). It’s usually described as a horse able to adopt human form.

Some say the kelpies retain their hooves when appearing human, but that’s nonsense. The arrival of Christianity in Scotland resulted in an association of kelpie with the devil.

Your ride

Robert Burns casts a humorous kelpie net in his 1786 poem Address to the Deil. Disclosure: I love the accent, when I understand it.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord
An’ float the jinglin icy boord

Then, water-kelpies haunt the foord
By your direction
An’ nighted trav’llers are allur’d
To their destruction.
O THOU! whatever title suit thee—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie,
Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor damned bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,
Ev’n to a deil,
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,
An’ hear us squeel!

–Taken from “Address to the Deil” by Robert Burns (1785) Read full poem here.

Virtually every sizeable body of water in Scotland has an associated kelpie, but the most extensively reported is the Loch Ness kelpie.

Kelpies have been portrayed in various forms in art and literature. Two 98-foot-high steel sculptures in the community of Falkirk, The Kelpies, was completed in October 2013.

Myth or not, these are supposed to be Kelpie

Other similar creatures of Scotland include the shoopiltee and nuggle of Shetland, and the tangie of Orkney. The Welsh have ceffyl dŵr and the Manx cabbyl-ushtey (I can’t pronounce it either).

Kelpie are usually described as powerful and beautiful black horses inhabiting the deep pools of rivers and streams of Scotland, preying on humans. If you’re not sure, look at the hooves. Kelpie hooves are reversed from a normal horse, a trait shared by the nykur of Iceland. Another variation has mane of snakes. The resident spirit of the River Spey is white and can entice victims onto its back by singing.

Some folklore says kelpie can be useful, hurtful, or may be seeking human companionship. Others say kelpies take their victims into the water, devour them, and throw the entrails to the water’s edge. It gets creepier.

Another story is the one of several children clambering onto the creature’s back while one remains on the shore. Usually a little boy, he then pets the horse but his hand sticks to its neck. In some variations the lad cuts off his fingers or hand to free himself. He survives but the other children are carried off and drowned, with only some of their entrails being found later. Who makes this shit up? No wonder Scots eat haggis.

Your kelpie awaits

Kelpies can transform into humans, but they may betray themselves by the presence of water weeds in their hair. As humans, kelpies are almost invariably male, but in my opinion, the best art has them la femme.

Even near the water look both ways.
Mind the gaps, lest the kelpie get ya.

 

Poem – NaPoWriMo: When THAT Happens…

The day 11 poem prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenge was for me to write a poem that addresses the future. I was to answer these the questions: “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”

I came up with a slightly sarcastic inventory, or catalogue, poem that gives this a septuagenarian’s take on future thinking. I strive to be (and some say I am) a very right here, right now person. My take on this is also male, but women may find commonality with or without small word changes.

When THAT Happens…

When it takes all day to do whatever it was.
When you see wrinkles that have always been there
When all your futures are in your past.
When no one tells you not to run when you are running.
When the future is like the playoffs and you hope to be at least be a wildcard.
When you always take the elevator.
When a young lady offers you her seat, and you take it.
When you allow extra time for everything and end up late.
When you google childhood friends and end up reading the obits page.
When a day off means no doctor appointments.
When young ladies think you’re harmless, and they’re right.
When a middle-age lady says you remind her of her father, or worse, grandpa.
When they stop asking what you do for a living.
When living is what you do for a living.
When even a bad memory is good sign.
When your future state of mind may be homeless.
When your body is like the movie, As Good As It Gets.
When a pain means you moved something.
When those old people turn out to be younger than you.
When sex makes you think of words like dysfunction and prostheses.
When a new tattoo is major surgery, and an old one is a Rorschach Test.
When you been there, done that, got scars to prove it
…but you can’t remember what the hell you were talking about.
When young poets talk about the future and you write a memoir.
When your memories are all in black and white.
When all your friends say, “I remember when…” and you don’t.

(Bill Reynolds. 4/11/2018)

Some of us have more past than future, but we look both ways.
Mind the gaps, ignore the aches.

Click link to National Poetry Writing Month

A2Z Challenge — J is for Jinn

Jinni (plural Jinn) is romanticized and anglicized as Genie. In Arabic mythology Jinn are supernatural spirits below the level of angels and devils. Types of Jinn include shape shifters, evil spirits, and treacherous spirits of variable form. There are several types in Arabic. Jinn are beings of flame or air who can assume human or animal form and are said to dwell in all conceivable inanimate objects—stones, trees, ruins—underneath the earth, in the air, and in fire. I left out bottles and lamps, but those too.

 

Jinn have the same bodily needs of humans and can be killed, but they’re otherwise free of physical restraint. Jinn delight in punishing humans for any harm done them, intentionally or unintentionally, and are said to be responsible for many diseases and all kinds of accidents; however, those human beings who know the proper magical procedure can exploit Jinn to their advantage.

 

Belief in Jinn was common in early Arabia, where they were thought to inspire poets and soothsayers. Even Muhammad originally feared that his revelations might be the work of a Jinni. Their existence is acknowledged in Islam; thus, as with humans, they must face either salvation or damnation. Jinn, especially through their association with magic, are popular in North African, Egyptian, Syrian, Persian, and Turkish folklore and are hot topics in much of our popular literature and entertainment.

Important point to make: people believe in these, even today.

So, look both ways as you rub the lamp or uncork the bottle.
Do not piss off the genie and mind the gaps.

 

A2Z Challenge — I is for Imps

Imp

An imp is a mythological being like a fairy or goblin, frequently described in folklore and superstition. They can be ugly little trouble makers. Their faces are like thin stone frequently twisted into a smirk or a grimace. They have big ears, sometimes horns, and leathery bat-like wings. Their skin may be a reddish brown, or gray and scaly. Imps walk with an unpleasant hunch.

Imps are pranksters who know how to switch babies in cradles. They lead people astray in the wilderness. But they’re not very creative. They don’t design elaborate, malicious schemes by themselves. Their pranks are impulsive humor. If an Imp is seen engaging in more cleaver games, someone else is the mastermind.

Long ago, imps and fairies were considered the same. At some point, the imps became ugly and evil, while the fairies transitioned into sweet things like fairy godmothers, or Disney’s Tinkerbelle.

Fairy. See the difference?

According to folklore, Imps have limited magical powers. They can shapeshift and they may conjure up fire. They’re good spies because they sneak along quietly, disguise themselves, and can disappear. Every private investigator wants at least one. Imps could put all investigative journalists out of work if they could write.

Some cultures may still see Imps to be the same as fairies because both share a sense of free spirit and enjoyment of all things fun. Both enjoy pranks and misleading people. Most of the time, the pranks are harmless fun, but some could be upsetting and harmful.

Imps are not solitary. They like people and crave our attention. To that end, they consider their behavior good when we find it funny. This sometimes backfires when people tire of the imp’s annoying efforts, or become the target of impish antics.

A cutie, but still an Imp

Even when an imp is successful in friendship, it often plays pranks and jokes on its friends because that is the nature of the imp. It’s what they do. This trait is the source of the term “impish” for someone who loves pranks and practical jokes.

When tolerated, imps are familiar spirit servants of witches for whom the little demons serve as spies and informants. During the time of the witch hunts, supernatural creatures such as imps were sought out as proof of witchcraft. Often, the so-called “imp” was a dog, cat, lizard, toad, or some other form.

Imps can be bound or contained within an object like a sword or a crystal ball. They can be kept nearby and summoned when their master wants. Some may grant wishes like a genie.

In the 1891 story by Robert Louis Stevenson, The Bottle Imp, an imp is contained in a bottle and would grant the owner their every wish, provided that the owner’s soul would be sent to hell if the owner did not sell the bottle to a new owner before dying.

Carefully look both ways. The imps are watching you.
Mind the gaps.
Don’t forget to sell the bottle. An estate sale is way too late.

Poetry — NaNoWriMo: Of God’s Little Pests

The day nine poem prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenge was for me to write a poem in which something big and something small come together.

If you’ve experienced fire ants, you know. If you have not, you may want to read this.

I wrote this as a single sentence poem without line breaks so that it can be a fast, angry read. All the king’s power will not eradicate the fecking, misery-causing tiny fire ant.

Henry David Thoreau wrote a famous essay about ants and humans and combat. You can read it here.

Fire ants survived well Hurricane Harvey

Of God’s Little Pests

Thoreau did not know, nor did his essay thus show, the vicious pertinacity of your many tribes to attack and destroy, to sting and cause pain, to kill and devour, to disrupt with the evil of nature’s horror where the fittest survive, but not your power and numbers, that even all Texas resources with added more state and nation agriculture war departments, we burn and we poison, we kill and we murder, we hire mercenary flies to eat away your brain; yet you invade and continue your fight to survive costing billions each year with panic and pain, so that even attacks from Zeus Urei and the rains of Harvey allow you to still survive and produce from one queen astronomical numbers to replace workers each day and the best of science still calls you an exotic invasive species, still you’re a stinging nasty fire ant to me and you always will be, and you win, but I hate you.

(Bill Reynolds, 4/9/2018)

Standing or walking the land in the south USA,
look down and both ways for fire ant mounds.
If you don’t, you’ll soon learn. Mind the gaps.

Click link to National Poetry Writing Month

A2Z Challenge — H is for Hamadryads

If you’re a tree hugger, all is well. If you’re an arborist, even better. But if yer a tree chopper, you might want to be sure these little darlin’s don’t really exist. If you kill the tree, you kill the Hamadryad of that tree. That pisses off the gods and you know what that means, right?

Hamadryads live in the trees, more precisely in an individual tree. They are a specific type of dryad, which are a type of nymph. A nymph is a minor female nature deity usually associated with a specific location or landform.

They are different from other goddesses in that they are divine spirits who animate nature. They are beautiful young maidens who love to dance and sing. Their amorous freedom makes them very different from wives and daughters of the Greek polis. Now we know why those guys were hugging those trees.

Nymphs are beloved and can be found in forests by lakes and streams, and in or on trees.

Hamadryads are born bonded to a certain tree. If the tree dies, the hamadryad associated with it dies as well. For that reason, dryads and the gods punished any mortals who harmed trees.

I feel a twinge when I read Poe’s sonnet to science. To a degree, the poet is scolding science and, in a way, me.

He pines well for the wonderfulness of fantasy and nature’s unknown wonders. He is right.

Sonnet—To Science (By Edgar Allan Poe)

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

Source: The Complete Poems and Stories of Edgar Allan Poe (Pub: Alfred A Knopf, 1946)

Look both ways as you walk the woods
and recall within each tree lives a Hamadryad to protect.
Mind the gaps and morn the loss of so many trees.

 

Poetry — NaPoWriMo: Night Witch

The day eight poem prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenge was for me to write a poem in which mysterious and magical things occur. Last year, I wrote a long poetic story with a slightly different, yet similar twist. You can read it here.

 

Night Witch

For years I negotiated my labyrinth of life.
Then one day the path all went dark,
It filled me with alarm and I shook with a fright.

Burning deep within me watchful eyes I felt,
My temptation was rising to the oldest of times,
fear continued to grip me, from within and without.

She was the blackest of darks, that witch of the nights.
Her gaze was upon me when I opened my eyes,
I was blinded by flashes, visions of the enchantress.
I saw in her wonders worlds of exquisite pleasures.
She came from the magic of the eternal hereafter.

Without moving her lips, she spoke directly to me,
“Return with your love, to the darkness and danger,
back to my universe we can travel with ease.
Give over your being to my mystical kisses,
my promise of love will grant all your wishes.”

As she reached out and touched me,
I felt pain and wondrous pleasure,
Yet, drawn to her I nodded my answer.

She took my hand, and with a rapturous laughter,
I saw in the distance her dragons and castles.

She marked our arrival with thunder and lightning.
I saw in her army both imps and her glories
All served at her pleasure.
Now was I there, her newest found treasure.

To me she said, “Through pain and with suffering,
you’ve found a new realm.
Transition, dear man, as best that you can.
Give over your being to the queen of this land.
And she shall make you our king,
if the pleasures don’t kill you.
Together we’ll dance, for our love and our glory.
Let’s begin to write this wonderful story.”

(Bill Reynolds 4/8/2018)

In the labyrinth of life, look both ways for witches of the night.
Mind the gaps.

Click link to National Poetry Writing Month