Wednesday, 26 April 2017

primal sparks

it was spitting on
the mostly empty,
yearning, street
that brooded
in bruised shadows

and though, leaves and litter
danced about my feet,
I shifted from my easy amble to
a quickened pace … back
into the sanctuary

of great swishing crowds –
to douse the primal sparks
of an obscure foreboding
with mindless noise
and warm insipid tea

note: an old poem that I thought could stand some tidying – part of my poetic spring cleaning – and ended up editing it into (practically) a new poem (including a new title).  Eeech ... I’d better be careful. I don’t want to make a habit of ‘the endless rejig’.  That is a rabbit hole, I don't think I could ever climb out of. ~  lol ~
photo:  W. Pender in Vancouver - W. Bourke
© 2017 Wendy Bourke

Thursday, 20 April 2017

butterfly upon a ripple

HEAD DOODLING BACK (with rejigs)

I stopped atop the little bridge.
a breathy breeze arose: 
whiffle winds upon the pond – 
cat's paw ripples ripped in rows.

it evanescedto stillness
as a butterfly flew by … 
alighting on the water's blue, 
beneath the azure sky.

ripple after ripple
undulating circle spin – 
fascinating, mesmerizing,
drawing me, drawing me in.

a wisp of magic floats to earth
when spells entwine with riddles: 
the scent of green and sunshine glints 
and butterflies on ripples ... ... ... 

The ripple effect is a term used to describe a situation where - like ripples on water when an object is dropped into it - an effect from an initial action can be followed outwards. 

The butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions - a small change initially resulting in large differences later.  The name of the effect, coined by Edward Lorenz, is derived from the theoretical example of a hurricane's formation being contingent on whether or not a distant butterfly had flapped its wings several weeks before.  Although esoteric, the butterfly effect can be seen in simple examples everywhere.   In literature, the butterfly effect is used in presenting scenarios involving "what if" cases where one storyline diverges at the moment of a seemingly minor event resulting in a very different outcome.

graphics by W. Bourke

© 2012 Wendy Bourke

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

notes ♫

strings  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~
in the twilight dissolve
of my darkening home ...
the sparkle of a memory
flickers in the hum drum

a fragile evocation  –
though I know I danced
in those moody strains
over the moon and under
far away stars

the trees outside my window
sway in breezes
and cascading notes
and glimmers of recall 
that swirl … in the sweet elusive
music   ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~
casting its serendipitous spell
conjures forth a wisp of past
to float and fall … by chance ...
upon a moment

note:  a tanka sequence

photo:  Red Shoes - B. Bourke 

© 2017 Wendy Bourke

Friday, 7 April 2017

This Place of Giant Stones

Again, last night, I dreamt that I was falling – as I often have, throughout the slumbers of my life – though lately, such dreams, have lost their ability to bother me … much.  I suppose if you experience anything enough times, over a long period – and live – it losses some of the power it once had, to alarm.

In other aspects of my life, as well, I seem to be developing – in my senior years – a different relationship with fear.  As the panoramic vista of the valley of the shadow begins to come into view – albeit, off in the distance (though clearly there is no getting around it) a trepidatious acceptance has started to settle upon me.  Though I know (all too well) that, tragically, life can end at any age, the expectation is that human life spans will follow a predictable pattern.  Having had the good fortune to stick to that pattern, I am grateful that I have been blessed with (what my Mother used to refer to as) a ’good run’.  I like to think I’ve struck a pretty decent bargain for myself … a kind of ‘just-let-me-roll a fair way beyond my threescore years and ten – and I’ll be good to go.  I am curious to see, if that bargain holds.

This acceptance of the inevitable, may always have been a feature of deepening age … though, the scale of the turbulence and destruction of the times that we live in, probably makes coming to terms with our mortality, considerably harder, than it was for our ancestors.  They had planted their seeds (figuratively and/or literally) on a beautiful earth and those seeds would flourish, long after they had passed.  Today we – all of humankind – are leaving this planet with far less optimistic prospects.  And that – for most of us – is not a nice feeling – and not the way we would choose to leave it … if we had a choice.  In effect, we will go to our deaths, in fear … in fear, for our beautiful planet. … and all that lives upon it.

That is my – greatest – fear … and I know it is, a deeply felt concern that many of you share.  I fear for the children of this world.  What a world we are leaving to those innocent little souls.  I am afraid for their future, and I am afraid for the planet that we are in the process of destroying.

When I was a very young child, a shocking scene from a war torn country, came into our living room via the nightly news.  And when I asked my Mother, what was going to happen to the people that had been filmed, she said:  “Life finds a way”.

And so, I turn, again and again, to the sky and the sea and the forests and such places … that are life affirming, and to such people … who are active and engaged in initiatives to heal this earth.  I do what I can, to try and make a difference.  And I live in the hope that … life will find a way.  

this place of giant stones
that time and river transform –
in the vastness of this earth …
so many miracles
waiting to happen 

We have come to a place where, those of us, who love this earth … live … and die … in the hope … of miracles. 
note:  a tanka prose piece.

photo:  Lynn Headwaters Park in North Vancouver, BC – P.M. Bourke

© 2017 Wendy Bourke