The Seated View

    Every year (more or less) on this day, I participate in the Bloggers Silent Poetry Reading on the Feast of St. Brigid. I’ve never been able to find out how it originated, but went with the flow of what I saw around me, posting poems I liked. I’ve posted an ode to nature by the 17 th century poet Thomas Traherne, a poem about grief by Pablo Neruda and one of myown , as well. This year, I found out what this silent poetry reading is all about and it turns out I’ve been doing a sort of amended version. Because seven years ago, this started as a pagan bloggers’ celebration of the goddess Brigid, patron of poets, healers and midwives.  The idea was to post your own poem to Brigid. I like that. A lot. I’m still going to continue my tradition, though, posting a poem I like, rather than one I wrote myself. Still, this year is very much connected to Brigid. It has been two years since we lost out beloved Claire and we are still raw and hurting. Thi...

A month ago, I had a great idea for the 2011 Silent Poetry Reading, but 4 weeks later, have no idea what it was. So instead, I offer a personal poem in pictures... 70% Water An Exhibit of Photographs by Lene Andersen Oakwood Village Library & Arts Centre 341 Oakwood Avenue February 1-26, 2011 p.s. And because I was - and continue to be - fried when I posted this, I forgot to say something very important: Thank you to Michele, Richard and my Main Minion (aka The Boy ) for all your help. Without you, there wouldn't be an exhibit.   

"Please shoot me," I said, like an arrogant snot, "if I ever get a Twitter account." I have a friend - who shall remain nameless to protect their dignity - who regularly sneers at television. Simply doesn't believe that there can be anything of value, artistic merit or non-trashy on the small screen. We all know that this snobbery is a cover for the fact that if you put said person in a room with a television that's on, they will never, ever leave, completely mesmerized by the flickering in the corner. I suspect my arrogance was rooted in something similar. Given my tendency towards immersing myself rather fully (which sounds so much better than the word obsessive ), Twitter has the potential for taking over my life. And then there's the fact that I doubted I could express myself in 140 characters (me? Verbose? Well, now that you mention it...). And then I got injured. Well, not the one I'm "enjoying" at the moment, but the one a couple o...

To celebrate the Feast of St. Brigid or Imbolc, the Fifth Annual Blogger (Silent) Poetry Reading is happening all over. Last week, Nairn Galvin left a poem in the comment box on my Grief post and it's so beautiful and so right that I'm reposting it here (Nairn - if you have a blog, please put the link in the comments, as the shite Echo system won't do it automaticlaly). It's even more right because some people say that today's poetry reading is in honour of the Celtic goodess Brighid , goddess of creativity and healing. This poem is healing and it needs to be out there. The Cure We think we get over things. We don’t get over things. Or say, we get over the measles but not a broken heart. We need to make that distinction. The things that become part of our experience Never become less a part of our experience. How can I say it? The way to get over a life is to die, Short of that, you move with it, let the pain be pain, not in the hope that it will vanish but in...

Today is the Feast of St. Brigid (as well as Imbloc and Groundhog Day) and that means it's time for the annual poetry celebration . The first year, I posted Pablo Neruda , the second I sort of forgot - although I'll argue that this picture is a visual poem, a paean to sunshine in the depths of winter - and last year, it was Thomas Traherne . This year, I've decided to post one of my own. Worthwhile Endeavors first appeared in Borderlines . W orthwhile Endeavors I don't work well, not for pay anyway I cannot work (for pay) I lost my ability to work (for pay) years ago a disability can do that mess with your ability to do things What use am I if I cannot work (for pay)? in this world, what use are any of us if there’s no employment to go to ? You don't work (for pay)? What happened to your spine, your get-up-and-go, your work ethic, your independence, your stamina What is your excuse, your justificatio...