Friday, August 19, 2016

The Legend of Rainbow Bridge by William N. Britton Illustrated by Dandi Palmer


      


"Until one has loved an animal,
      a part of one's soul
      remains unawakened.
                     ~Anatole France~

it seemed as if we'd lost our 
assistant ed. frosty "I was crying 
from the depths of my heart. . ." 
states assis't ed. tama (you and 
Judith and I, we all were, Tama) 
but!  due to some, gotta say it, 
apparent spiritual interventions, 
we haven't!  
    Here he is, all healthy and an even 
       improved irresistible rascal!

Seeking solace for our heartache, 
we turned to 
The Legend of Rainbow Bridge
(for children and adults of all ages) "healing words and comfort
for souls and hearts of countless animal lovers around the world"

a teaching/healing presence held by peoples all around our world (here, explained by a shaman, a religious philosopher of our native Sioux/Iroquois). . .

Just this side of heaven is the Rainbow Bridge. When our pets die, they run and play together, healed and happy, beside this bridge made of rainbows. . . and they are content, and! they are waiting,
waiting for their beloved human(s),
for you and I. . . and when we approach, they'll just know, and quickly will come to us - after a joyous reunion, together, we'll cross the Rainbow Bridge.

tama says, "if I'm the first to the Rainbow Bridge, I'll be waiting for frosty, and 
judith, and for you, mister editor daryl" and we for you, tama. . .  we'll all 
cross the Rainbow Bridge, together.
   




Love the animals,
Love the plants,
Love everything.
If you love everything, you will
   perceive the divine mystery in things.
Once you perceive it, you will begin to
   comprehend it better every day.
And you will come at last to love the
whole world with an all-embracing love.
                        ~Fyodor Dostoevsky~                                      





see you in a moment


ayaz daryl nielsen











                       darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

from bear creek haiku #136: Mary Jo Balistreri, Catfish McDaris, A J Huffman, Jim Kacian, Karen O'Leary, Nancy Shires, Christina Sng, Donna Snow, and! T Kilgore Splake. . .

from assistant ed. frosty:                       

"my very favorite poets 
are in this 
soon-to-be issue"
and! assistant ed. tama: 
"every poet we choose  
is my favorite poet!"


t. kilgore splake
calumet  michigan:

phone marketers hangups
 encouraging old poet
secret admirer still alive


                            catfish mcdaris
                            west allis  wisconsin:
                                                                                    
                                                                The Desert

Cochise’s dry hot tears                                  
skeletons of buffalo
windstorm ghosts dry death.                                    




mary jo balistreri
genesee depot  wisconsin:

    Witness

    As the storm comes
    closer
    the bent-limbed oaks
    offer shelter
    to fluttering finches,
    yellow-slick feathers
    curled into
    golden balls
    ornaments
    of hope
    in a deep-rumble sky


nancy shires
greenville  north carolina:

                             little wren
                             smaller than
                             his own song

if I don't move. . .
cat curled in the crook
of my legs


  donna snow
  lakeland  tennessee: 

  Today lilacs are in full bloom

  Their sweet smell my odd companion

  At the breakfast table;

  What a delicious tea!



a j huffman
ormond beach  florida:

Fog-filled dreams disperse.
Freeing my mind to wander
In and out of sleep.

                                      Listen to the trees.
                                      They whisper themselves silent.
                                      My nature is to follow. 



christina sng  
singapore:

                 first day of summer
                 a raven feather
                 at the door


curled up with books
endless winter nights
spent in other worlds


    jim kacian
    winchester  virginia:


top down
the midwest
unfolds


           Sunday morning
           a jazz riff
           in the mockingbird's call



    fog the sound of the foghorn



karen o'leary
west fargo  north dakota:


sepia pages
peace settles                                 central farm time    
between the wrinkles                       milking the cows before
                                               the cock crows



frosty and tama: "goodbye, everyone!  treats, belly rubs, 
                                            and peace for all!"



see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen
                                    
                                      darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com


Monday, August 1, 2016

on my knees before Dorothy Walters: "MARROW OF FLAME Poems of the Spiritual Journey"

poetry section of favorite used bookstore, seldom visit the lowest shelf (w, x, y and z) 'cause it's a matter of hands and knees ("should take me with you" grumbles assistant editor the froster). . .
so! on my knees, nose to the floor [bowing to poetry?], a revelation:  Dorothy Walters! now wishing I'd embraced this poet forty or so years ago ("never too late" from assistant editor tama)- the tumultuous incursion of heartfelt reviews (daniel ladinsky and andrew harvey included) 'with the heart of Rumi', 'etched in fire and ice', 'an extreme love affair with the Divine'. . . 
                                         "and they're right!" states tama

Dorothy Walters, her poetic depth akin Li Po, Rilke, Hafiz, a Wiccan princess, Ono No Komachi. . .


In The Forest

was a path
which led on,
and on as if an access
to a deeper realm--
a place where peripherals,
the eddies at the edge of things,
were all forgotten,
and I entered
a silence of green,
became a soundless vortex
moving through stillness.


from The Witch. . .
Since then I have lived here
at the edge of the woods
with my tabby and my charms,
my thatch needing repair.
My potions are famous
all over these parts.
When people come seeking
from near and from far,
they ask what goes in.
I mutter: "Roots and berries.
Berries and roots."
How can I tell them
it is themselves they taste?





MARROW OF FLAME   Poems of the Spiritual Journey
   Dorothy Walters         Hohm Press    ISBN: 0-934252-96-3


see you in a thatched hut

ayaz daryl nielsen
("and frosty!")  ("and tama!")                        


darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com

Saturday, July 30, 2016

Richard Wright (and) Stanley Greaves - two heroic haiku poets (re)discovered (by us)

assistant editor tama, stating "a most heroic haiku poet, mr. Richard Wright, and we need a post about him!"
"also!" insists assistant ed. frosty, "we'll include Caribbean poet Stanley Greaves!"                              





noble suggestions,
worthy assistants,
and!  
here we go. . .


The last months of African-American Richard Wright's life, writing thousands of haiku in Paris and the French countryside. . . decades ago, having read his Native Son and Black Boy while in lit. classes with my favorite (activist) professors. . .

HAIKU  The last Poems of an American Icon
Arcade Publishing             ISBN  978-1-61145-349-2

'reading through these poems," tama tells me, "i cried"
tama, you know, so did I. . .


110           I laid down my book
          A tendril of wisteria
               Encircling my leg.


                           255           The shore slips away
                                     From the melancholy ship
                                          In an autumn mist.


                499          Just one lonely road
                          Stretching into the shadows
                              Of a summer night.




         

haiku  Stanley Greaves
Peepal Tree Press            ISBN:  9781845232979

140 haiku and eight original pieces of artwork from a gentleman
whose endeavors lead from Guyana, to Barbados, to the US
"lucky us!" states frosty. . .


from #21   . . . 
             'For poets, empty pages'

      
                                           #59   . . . 
                                             'a filled glass waits'




see you in a moment


ayaz daryl nielsen
"and frosty!"  "and tama!"

                        darylayaz@gmail.com  (and/or)    darylayaz@me.com    

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Richard M. Grove: "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Toti"


This poem is dedicated to Wallace Stevens for his poem 
“Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”
 
1
Among the many swaying palms                                       

The only living thing
Was the flutter of dozens of Toti

2
I was of one mind
Like a Royal Palm
In which there are thirty Toti

3
A flock of Toti whirled in the winter winds
A small part of the Cuban revolution

4
The sky and the Cuban flag
Are one.
The sky and the Cuban flag and a Toti
Are one.

5
I do not know which I long for most
The silent beauty of a clear Cuban sky
Or the cacophony of a Cuban orchestra,
Thirty Toti perched, chattering,
Or the fluttered painting of a black sky as they scatter.

6
Laundry filled the long lines
In sun-backed heat.                                                              

The shadow of Toti
Cross the wafting sheets
The joy of freedom.
Toti, shadow and laundry
An incomprehensible union.

7
O dear friends of Cuba
Can you imagine freedom
The way you see your Toti
Borderless
Flocking from tree to tree.

8
I listen and see the black flutterings
The inescapable chatter
And I know only too well
That the Toti is a measure
Of my existence.

9
And when the Toti fly out of my sight,
They are still part of my being,
My ever expanding circle.

10
At the sight of Toti
Flying in a Cuban blue morning
I cry out the ecstasy
That Cuba is in the air.

11
I bicycled hundreds of miles
Through emerald cane fields
Dripping with sweat.
Never in fear of being lost
Always with the chatter of my
Toti friends telling me I am home.

12
The outstretched arms of the mythic Ceibo tree
Are filled with the black cackles of Toti.

13
It was hot, a hot humid afternoon
There was hardly a breeze to ruffle
The frowns of the stately Royal Palms
A single, silent Toti sat,
In the outstretched limbs of the Bayam tree

Richard 'Tai' Grove 




ass't. ed's Frosty 
and Tama insist, 
"Richard's 'Toti' 
poem deserves 
a post of its own!" 

so it does
and, here it is.  Enjoy.



                   see you in a moment

                   ayaz daryl nielsen

                   darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com 

Sunday, July 24, 2016

mary jo balistreri, carl mayfield, karen o'leary, teresinka periera, donna snow, cristina sng, t kilgore splake, and, paula yup!

poets of soon-to-exist bear creek haiku, print issue #136:

Blank Look #811  

         dim grow 
         the eyes 
         of joy
         yet nothing
         is diminished

carl mayfield  
rio rancho  new mexico



Estrangement:

Like a falling tree

That rushes to a rootless earth,

Somehow the ground

Is no longer there.

donna snow
lakeland  tennessee



Witness

As the storm comes
closer
the bent-limbed oaks
offer shelter
to fluttering finches,
yellow-slick feathers
curled into
golden balls
ornaments
of hope
in a deep-rumble sky

mary jo balistreri
genesee depot   wisconsin



phone marketers hangups             final grand prix
  encouraging old poet    
secret admirer still alive             mg top down
                                          red-line max
                                          daring white line fevers
                                          poet's mad odyssey
     t kilgore splake                   outrunning himself
                   calumet  michigan

                                                             
       gravesite

       my tears drip into

       a poem



       Arlington. . .
       
       silent cries

       for peace


       karen o'leary
       west fargo  north dakota




       summer break
       the cat's hotel
       nicer than ours


       funeral morning
       the cacophony 
       of crows


       christina sng    singapore




                               THE NETHERLANDS


Bicyclists, the Rijksmuseum, rain, the Van Gogh Museum,
canals, Anne Frank's house, Central Station, feeding
birds in Haarlem, a ginger cat outside a restaurant. . .

                               paula yup  spokane washington


MOTHER

For a mother                                      
sons and daughters
are children forever
because love
does not change with time.
Full of dreams
for their successful future
the answer each mother
has in mind for her persistence
in waiting to happen
is the infinite hope.

teresinka pereira
toledo  ohio



frosty and tama,
"such lovely poetics" whispers tama
"treats for all of them" states frosty "and catnip!"



  




see you in a moment



ayaz daryl nielsen

                              darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com