a duck's gonna quack

the path round the lake winds like a storybook trail

in greenish blue and blue and green

and aqua notes that stir peaceably

in the pleasance of that avian sanctuary –

where hours while away in quiet geniality

and introspection ...

all who come there, do so as respectful visitors

with reverence for nature and deference to the birds

who live in that protected place ...

and so ... it always seems to come as a shock when

... from time to time ... the ducks let loose in cacophonous

honking quacks that careen off that lake of serenity

like a hilarious prank on their guests ...

everyone grins, then

... like we never saw the joke coming

no matter how many times you go there ...

for some reason ... you're always surprised ...

when the ducks quack

photo: Burnaby Lake Regional Nature Park -  Wendy Bourke

 ©  2021 - W. Bourke

Serendipity

Serendipity is one of my favorite words   For one thing ... it sounds wonderful ... musical ... magical even.  As it rolls off the tongue, you can practically see the pixie dust swirling through the air. Even serendipity's definition is splendiferous:   events playing out ... by chance in a happy and fortuitous way ... much like a dawdling wander that leads to an unintended ... though, never-to-be-forgotten destination.  To me, serendipity is 'great good luck' with a splash of enchantment added to the mix.

Because serendipitous occurrences are unplanned, they can take you by surprise. Their import and potential magnitude may even go unnoticed and unappreciated ... at the time. This, I have observed, is especially true with, those happenstances that strike us ... at our core .. with such intensity ... they intertwine with our existence.  Sometimes their game-changing life-altering significance may escape detection altogether.  Thus ... it is best to proceed, in this world, with eyes-wide-open ... lest you miss out on what 'serendipity' attempts to offer you.

One of the greatest pleasures in my life, I believe, had a serendipitous beginning ... as is the case with many of our greatest joys. 

~ ~ ~

There were enough students to fill two grade fives at the school that I attended, in some long-ago year. For reasons that I still don't understand (if, indeed, there were reasons, and not simply a lack of accord amongst our educators) that first week of school was a complete shemozzle.  Classrooms were moved. Students were moved. Teachers were exchanged. Students were exchanged. And then, for a while, it looked as though the dust had finally settled.  But no ... there would be one last tweak of the seating plan ... before we would get down to the business of teaching-and-learning. 

It occurred to the principal to do a final head count of each class: and ... as is the way of musical chairs ... there were two more of us in one grade five, than in the other.  

The desk that I had '"ended-up" in was next to the door, and, as the principal was standing in the doorway when he shared the news, I was the lucky duck who caught his eye. It was that serendipitous ... the random decision to move me from the Spelling-Obsessed-Grammarian to the Lover-of-Poetry.

"YOU – Gather up your things and proceed to the other grade five," I was told ... with no more thought than one might be told to "sit-up-straight". And, with that, I was on my way to the Lover-of- Poetry ... and all that came from that.

The first poem, I learned by-heart, was The Wreck of the Hesperus by Longfellow. It – literally – still brings tears to my eyes, to this day ...

"It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter,

To bear him company."

By the following Monday ... I was in 'Poetry Heaven' ... where I remained ... blissfully ... for the next ten months ... listening to poetry ... reading poetry ... writing and memorizing poetry.

All of those passionate occupations ... having found their way to me ... because a wee bit of good luck ... casually fell upon earthly circumstances ... and landed perfectly upon the ;joy of poetry ... where it has remained ... all my life.

 "I am a part of all that I have met."

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson ~ Poet ~ 1809-1892

photo:  Mid-Grade Class, 1950's:  Sacred Heart Elementary - Kapukasing, Ontario

© 2021 Wendy Bourke

The Light of Tomorrow

It might have been the colors of the wharf where I had sat myself down ... or the call and coast of the gulls ... or perhaps the water’s scent, that conjured forth a mid-twentieth century ambience that set off the familiar parade of phantoms … my childhood family … stirring, yet again.   All those happy times ... shared ... at water's edge ... with nary a single harsh word-or-worry, remembered ... to muddy-the-bliss ... Such is the spell of water ... Alas ... it is not without end.

I was, momentarily, jostled from my reflections as she joined me there. Sitting down beside me, we dangled our legs off the pier … though, they did not reach the water. I had brought a late picnic supper ... OUR salad (as we had dubbed it) of couscous and lemon and parsley and garbanzo beans which we began to scarf down, hungrily, with buns and ginger ale. "You seem lost in thought," she said, at last.

"Being near water, has that effect on me," I explained. "It seems to kick up so many old memories. We're making a new one now, for you."

"And for you, too, she hastened to add," to which I offered no response.

"Are they all good memories," she asked.

"Bittersweet ... as many of the people in them, have passed." She nodded and issued a sigh ... acquiescence to the hard truth of mortality.

"I often read at water's edge," I remarked (handily changing the subject) "and I find now, that passages from the books I read, sometimes play out against a shoreline canvas."

And then, suddenly seized by inspiration, I added, "Look over there, below those cliffs. If you squint your eyes, you can just make out the image of a women ... clutching a thread bare shawl ... obviously, waiting for her sailor love ... to return from the sea."

"Oh there he is," she quipped, getting in the spirit of the tale, "in a red jogging suit ... Hm-m-m-m:  completely bald ... with a foot long white beard. Golly, it has been a long wait." And we both burst out laughing in sprays of champagne soda bubbles. 

The day was coming down from its peak ... far more sunshine having shone than remained ahead. Out on the lake, two sailboats met ... and then ... passed each other. One of them turned back to shore ... The other sailed on until ... it could no longer be seen.

"That was a nice little picnic," she commented. "I always think of you, when ever I share OUR Salad with someone else."

The tide was coming in and the two of us scooched backwards ... That didn't slow it down for a second.

'"Light tomorrow with today!'

Elizabeth Barrett Browning ~ Poet ~ 1806-1861

photo:  the Picnic Place at Belcarra Regional Park - W. Bourke        

© 2021 Wendy Bourke

twilight at the museum

 

it is months now

since we were told

to wait ... and wait

alone and yet ... all-in-it-together

behind the door

behind the portal to the world

that lies beyond the stairwell

to the fourth floor ... and down ...

to the entrance of this building

twilight ... at the museum

and this place

... that doubles as a home ...

slips into stony petrified shadows

as I strike the lights

and Exhibit Titles pop to mind

earlier in the day

she had come

in blue sweater and jeans

... as merry as a piece of sky fallen to earth ...

her feet six feet away from mine

smiling behind her white mask ...

and carrying fresh fruits and coffee, greens and wine

~ ~ ~

'ALL IN IT TOGETHER:

A TYPICAL SCENE FROM THE 2020 PANDEMIC

– repeated millions of times, worldwide –

the act of groceries being brought

to the homes of those most at risk ...

by those who had nothing to gain'

~ ~ ~

Thank you for Supporting our Family's COVID-19 Initiative –  Whatnot Press and Productions. We have appreciated the opportunity to seek out and share a bit of positivity, by way of navigating our way through, what has been a very stressful and challenging time – and are pleased to end the year on a note of charity – another way of reminding ourselves that, even in the hardest of situations, there are good directions to go in.  As 2020 comes to an end and 2021 begins, we are happy to say that we sold a few books, gifted a few books to family and friends and made donations to the following organizations that support children and animals.

World Vision School Meals Program in which donations multiply by 5 times.

UNICEF's K.I.N.D. (Kids in Need of Desks) Program

BC SPCA Donation earmarked for Animals Most in Need

Covenant House Vancouver Homeless & At Risk Youth Matching Gift Campaign

SAVE THE CHILDREN Double the Impact Donation Program

Happy 2021 ... PLEA-S-S-S-E!!!

photo/graphic: Twilight at the Museum - W. Bourke

© 2021 Wendy Bourke    

A few thoughts at the end of this difficult, difficult year

Wishing you all a pleasant holiday season

and

A Happy New Year – PLEA-S-S-S-E !!! –☺

What a year 2020 has been! Creatively, I have found it particularly challenging. Though, I don't always stay on course ... I do try to begin a piece of writing, by giving a thought to expressing a bit of positivity as I write my way through to the other side. That, of course, doesn't always pan out, but I have found that trying to, at least, 'head-off' in somewhat of a life-affirming direction is more emotionally restorative. Finding my way to that 'starting place' has been a tall – if not impossible – order, in these Days of COVID.

In the early days of the virus, I decided that ... while I waited for inspiration to return ... I could go in other directions. My son, Patrick filmed and edited short video pieces that I added snippits of poetry and lines of dialogue to. I wrote and featured a few articles that highlighted resources and websites that I had found beneficial over the last 10 or so years of writing. And I resolved to – once and for all – gather together some of my writing in the form of books.

After considerable digging-around (and not finding anything comparable in Canada) I decided on an American publishing company. There's more info about this on the 'Whatnot' website – under the heading of 'What to do with all that poetry' – which I will link to, later in this post. Needless to say, the extra exchange and postal costs are not 'good-news' for Canadians. But, I am philosophic about it. Nothing establishes your life-goals/bucket-list more incontrovertibly than running up against a world-wide pandemic ... at 70 ... and gathering some of my work together WAS important to me. If, indeed, it is important to you (whether it is poetry or short stories or a family history that you would love to see clasped, for years to come, in the pages of a book) I would certainly share with you that (though, it may require planning and saving and waiting for the financial repercussions of the virus to pass): It is a very doable dream (and indeed, one that has helped me, to cope with COVID).

Once you settle on a publisher and on the content you want included in your book, you will need an illustration or photo for your front cover ... an ISBN number ... and you're good to go.

ISBN Numbers are offered as part of their service by some publishers, they are provided free in some countries (such as Canada), and are supplied, for a small fee, in other countries. (I just Goggled 'how to apply for an ISBN number, and there it was.) Your publisher will create a matching barcode for the back cover ... and "voilà" ... you've got yourself a book.

So far, I have published Love of a Dog – A Tanka Celebration of Life ... Lived with a Dog. It began as a project combining video (that Patrick had taken of his Dog, Jackson, at the beach) with tanka I had written. It has a brief explanation of tanka and encourages the reader to give-it-a-try.

The second book (which is just out) is Nearest and Dearest: A Poetry Celebration of Family. It contains poems that are remembrance centric, day-to-day-living inspired and humorously themed ... as well as expressions of introspection and affection. It is illustrated with black and white photos taken all over British Columbia and on holidays, elsewhere, as well as old family pictures.

Patrick ... I have just noticed ... has pulled out all the stops on our 'Whatnot' website – promoting the books as Christmas presents (which will help us achieve our goal of donating to the SPCA's monthly support program, for 2021). It can be checked out at:

Whatnot Press and Productions

Speaking of 2021 ... I am hoping to finish Between the Busy Spaces (my third – biggest and most ambitious book) early in the year, as it is almost done. It contains some of my favorite poetry pieces – as well as, short prose and colored photographs that have been featured on my blog.

Once that is completed, I hope to get back to blogging regularly and begin the process of – what else? – creating material for one last book ~ smiles ~

All the best to you and yours!

Warm Wishes for Better Days Ahead!

Stay Safe!

– Wendy

note:  I just spent several hours trying to get a collage of family Christmas pictures posted - but no luck (hence this oldie - but goodie).  I have to chuckle, though.  What a fitting 'Adieu' to 2020.  

photo:  Happy Holidays - W. Bourke

© 2020 Wendy Bourke    

Days of CoVid

Like everyone else on Planet Earth – I cannot wait for these Days of CoVid to end. I have not enjoyed NOT seeing my grandchildren ... or NOT hugging my adult children, as they drop off a load of groceries or prescriptions in the hall ... or 'masking-up' in order to perform the simplest of errands, beyond my front door.

And then there is the distraction of the thing. You log on to your computer ... turn on the television ... or chat with family and friends ... and there it is ... muscling its way back into your life. For me, CoVid-19 has truly been the mother-of-all-writer's-blocks.

It is awfully difficult to 'get-into-the-zone' while pondering such weighty subjects as ... how much longer will this strange way-of-life continue ... and (at 600 cases a day in this town ... and surging) should I try to get the other half of my cataract surgery completed (it would be such a treat to see reasonably well again} ... which, inevitably leads to ... will I make it to the other side of this scourge?

Nevertheless, for all that ... we moil on ... each in our own way. The website Whatnot Press and Productions which I started with one of my sons, as a vehicle by which we could feature some special creative projects and encourage others to explore their creativity as a way of coping with CoVid-19, has finally arrived at a place, fairly close to what we had in mind many months ago ... when we started down the road. Along with tips and resources (for those getting started) and some video projects we've put together (for fun and mental exercise), the first of three books I have been working on. Love of a Dog is available for purchase.* As we are all Christmas shopping challenged this year, we will mail the book – wrapped, with your personal greeting – directly to your 'giftee'.

And so it goes, one-foot-down ... and then-the-other ... forward ... slowly forward ... to the other side. Stay Safe – Wendy

~ ~ ~

note: *Nearest and Dearest (a poetry celebration of family) is currently at the publishers and is expected to be available for shipping before the end of November (at a discount to those who have purchased Love of a Dog.

image of the coronavirus

© 2020 Wendy Bourke    

when seasons sigh

just when ... that sigh of season ... fell ...
the smell of mud and fresh air
and a memory of hop-scotch
somersaulted on spring breezes
rolling down the chalk-drawn sidewalks
circling passed expectant gardens
and awaiting-waking fields

then when ... that sigh of season ... fell ...
serenity-of-being
floated on bucolic zephyrs
and the scent of new mowed grasses
and the summer flora ... drifting
in that gentle time of sunshine
when I wander in cloud stories

and then ... that sigh of season ... fell ...
a fantasy of dry leaves
threads of russet-gold and blaze-red
wildly spun in blow hard-gust-o-o-o's
a resplendent whirling arras
a flamboyant magic carpet
sailing in the autumn dusk

but when ... that sigh of season ... fell ...
in snowflakes ... big as bunnies
starstruck winter-glittered soft-wind
sparkling in the velvet night sky
turned the world into a snow globe
peace on earth ... was all around us
in that wishful wistful white

note: I felt like indulging in a bit of word-smithing, with this one .... which I haven't done in quite a while ... and had forgotten how much fun it can be.

photo:  When Seasons Sigh - W. Bourke

© 2020 Wendy Bourke   

Like a Leaf on a Lavender Sea

It was after three ... when I closed the book ... and softly whispered, into the night ... "The End". Always, when I finish a book that I have found ... amazing ... I sit for awhile in dumb-founded consternation ... trying to wrap my head around the fact ... that mortals who can write like this ... who can think like this ... occupy ... or once occupied ... a place on this beleaguered, sorrowful planet. It is as if ... holding a brilliant book in my hands ... blown away by its contents ... I have proof: humankind can do better. What gives???

It just flattens me ... this strange, unnatural paradigm. How can this be? How can humanity bring so much intelligence and nobility and insight and empathy to-the-table ... only to be out-played by staggering narcissism and greed and cruelty and injustice? What drives this madness? In the constant contest of good-versus-evil ... how could there ever be any question as to the winner? How is it, that we find ourselves ... here ... in what should be the most enlightened of ages?

On this particular night ... the wind was howling, like a beast ... and that seemed wildly appropriate. Clearly, providence ... was not tip-toeing passed the irony that had settled over me like a cloud.  It was screeching ... like a wounded phantom ... in the shadows.

At length, I rose and drew back the curtains. The bright, full moon was at its most: take-your-breath-away ... white world in lantern light ... spectacular-esque ... and the outdoors had taken on that otherworldly soft purple luminescence that, can carry one outside oneself.

Immediately, I was able to match the yowling gales to the visuals. The lofty pine trees, that ring the edge of the property, were in throws of manic spasms ... lurching forward and back ... their heavy boughs flapping like dark, untethered sails.

The presence of the moon ... in scant ethereal wisps of smoky mists ... cast a mystical aspect over the modernity of the suburban street it hovered above. And yet ... it was ... that 'same-old-same-old-moon'. The same moon I gazed up at, from cottage steps ... in the last of a summer camping trip. The same moon I walked home casting glances at ... my hand in his ... on crackling leaf-carpeted sidewalks. The same moon ... I caught a glimpse of ... smiling kindly, in that moment ... as I lifted a sleeping child from a car, so many years ago.

The same moon my father went to war under ,,, the same moon explorers sailed under ... the same moon centuries of philosophers and poets penned under. That 'no man is an island' is never closer to mind ... than when thoughts come to rest under that 'same-old-same-old-moon'.

As I often do, I felt a quiet contentment, the longer that I stared up at that moon ... the longer I ... took in the force of the wind ... doing what it was doing ... with no direction from me.  A tranquility of hue, had begun to water colour the scene as it moved to dawn-of-morning.

I was tired ... and yet ... I felt more serenity of acceptance than I had felt since the conclusion of my book had steered my thoughts towards existence and meaning and mankind.

Tomorrow, would offer up, another chance ... to try and do better. But now ...I was tired. Even so, I picked up a pen and notepad and begin to write ... summoning sleep ... as the words fell to the page ...

and now

time rests ...

... and floats … 

as simple as a leaf

upon a lavender sea

... and drifts ... and drifts ...

eyes closed

it whispers

softly ...softly ... softly ...

just for now ... just ...

let it be

"No man is an island"

"Any man's death diminishes me,

because I am involved in Mankind;

And therefore never send to know

for whom the bells tolls;

it tolls for thee "

John Donne (Poet)
- 1572 -1631

photos:  Let it Be - W. Bourke

© 2020 Wendy Bourke   

Of Whatnots and Whirlybirds

 

I was watching a movie last night and ... during a particularly dramatic scene ... the heroine observed: "You go through life, thinking that you are happy ... and then, you wake up one day and realize ... that you aren't." That line followed me, as I headed off to bed ... the words rolling round and round ... until I finally drifted off to sleep.

I have always taken it, as 'a-given' that ... the billions of beings, that occupy this planet, differ wildly in their beliefs and values. How could it not be so? But, in spite of our many dissimilar views ... I tell myself, that ... where people are warm and dry and clean and fed and reasonably shielded from the prospect of ruination and/or extinction ... contentment will follow and ... for most of us ... colour ... our hugely disparate opinions and ideologies ... with compassion.

I choose to believe this because, I believe ... for most people ... this is true. Perhaps, if we could all work towards nurturing our compassion ... we might find a bit of universal happiness in that. For likely, is not possible to truly be happy ... to always be happy ... in the absence of compassion.

While I concede that people diverge greatly in what-they-think, I suppose I hadn't really given much thought to how-they-think. Unlike the heroine of the movie ... for example ... I have never gone through life thinking that: 'I'm happy'. I suspect, that ... those of us prone to ruminations on the state-of-the-world (and we are legion) will always have to search for that which makes our spirits bright ... for that which makes us feel happy.

I believe that emotions ... are felt. If you don't feel 'happy' what-it-is that you are referring to, if you claim to be happy? On any-given-day, I may feel a wide range of emotions: anxiety ... sadness ... surprise ... fear ... and so on. What elevates a-day, for me ... I have come to realize... is not necessarily feeling happy, the whole live-long day. It is about feeling good. ... and I feel good ... often ... over and over again. Sometimes I feel REALLY good. That feeling ... I have discovered ... is in the splendid details ... the pleasing little whatnots that fall to me like whirlybirds ... like helicopter seeds loop-de-looping off of maple trees ... delightful curiosities ... and inspirations ... and gestures of affections ... and wonders to behold.

Some of my strongest recollections of the way of such things to luminate and excite an ordinary hour, come to me from childhood. The smell of Mom's bread from the oven and the anticipation of the treat to come ... slathered in homemade raspberry jam. Somersaults off of the swing bars in our backyard. The cozy comfort of freshly laundered flannelette pajamas after a bubble bath. Stories, read aloud, by bedroom lamplight ... on the cusp of a tucked-in slumber. The late night sounds of shunting trains, on nearby railway tracks, mingling with all-aboard-whistes ... and dreams of faraway places.

Then there was the stuff of nature. Rattling thunder storms that mesmerized with shards of breathtaking light ... the same booming clap of thunder ... both terrifying and exhilarating. And blizzards, that could bring a city to a standstill while painting it in billows of sparkling white downy pillows. The vision of glittering snow ... in the hush of moon glow ... deeply emotive.

Some of these whatnots and whirlybirfs, were big deals. Some of them were so small they probably went unnoticed by others. What they had in common is that they moved me in a way that ... as a little child ... raised feelings ... feelings that were new to me. They fascinated with their spectacle. They calmed with their comfort. They fired my imagination. And they lit up a moment .... that has remained lit.

As my lifetime unfolded ... I noticed ... I had begun ... watching for them. I guess ... the thing is ... for a minute ... or an hour ... or a morning ... or a evening ... they made me feel ... happy.  They still do.

It may not be realistic to 'live happily ever after' ... or to get happy and stay happy. But, who's to say ... that there may well-be ... greater serenity to be gleaned, in the knowledge that ... if we put the onus on ourselves to look for it ... we will find happiness.

"Happiness, not in another place but this place ...

not for another hour, but this hour."

Walt Whitman (Poet)

– 1819 -1892

photos:  Whirlybirds on Maple Leaves - W. Bourke

© 2020 Wendy Bourke   

Serendipity

Serendipity is one of my favorite words   For one thing ... it sounds wonderful ... musical ... magical even.  As it rolls off the tongue, you can practically see pixie dust swirling in mystical auras ... flittering bursts of blue-bell-blue butterflies and granny apple green grass and sunflower sunshine.   Even serendipity's definition is splendiferous:   events playing out ... by chance in a happy and fortuitous way ... much like a dawdling wander that leads to an unintended ... though, never-to-be-forgotten destination.  To me, serendipity is 'good luck' (for serendipity always works to the good of things) but ... with a splash of enchantment ... a special something-in-the-air ... a je-ne-sais-quoi ... you can't quite put your finger on ... added into the mix.

Because serendipitous occurrences are unplanned, they can take you by surprise. Their import and potential magnitude may even go unnoticed and unappreciated ... at the time. This, I have observed, is especially true ... in simmering matters-of-the-heart ... in slowly-arrived-at, resolutely-held convictions-born-of-chance insight ... and in those affinities that strike us ... at our core .. with such intensity ... they intertwine with our existence.   Sometimes their game-changing life-altering significance may escape detection altogether.  Thus ... it is best to proceed, in this world, with eyes-wide-open ... lest you miss out on what 'good-fate' attempts to offer you.

One of the greatest pleasures in my life, I believe, has a serendipitous beginning (as is the case with many of our greatest joys).  Some may choose to call such happenstances 'accidental' ... but, let's face it: when you're talking about a life-long joy ... that's no accident.

~ ~ ~

There were enough students to fill two grade fives at the school that I attended, in some long-ago year.   For reasons that I still don't understand (if, indeed, there were reasons, and not simply a lack of accord amongst our educators) that first week of school was a complete shemozzle.  Classrooms were moved.  Students were moved. Teachers were exchanged. Students were exchanged.  And then, for a while, it looked at though the dust had finally settled.  But no ... there would be one last tweak of the seating plan ...  when it occurred to the principal to do a final head count of each class and ... as is the way of musical chairs ... discovered ... there were two more of us in one grade five, than in the other.  

The desk that I had "ended-up-in" was next to the door, and ... as the principal was standing in the doorway when he shared the news ... I was the lucky duck who caught his eye.   It was that serendipitous ... the random decision to move me from the Spelling-Obsessed-Grammarian to the Lover-of-Poetry.

"You!" he barked, as he pointed in my direction, in a tone that might lead one to believe, I had committed several Board of Education conduct violations.   "Gather up your things and get yourself down to the other grade five." 

By Friday ... I was in 'Poetry Heaven' ... where I remained ... blissfully ... for the next ten months ... listening to poetry ... reading poetry ... memorizing and reciting poetry and yes ... writing words of poetry.  All of these occupations ... a passion, I would pursue ... and rest in ... all my life.

"I am a part of all that I have met."

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Poet),1809 - 1892

photo: My son, Michael, on a Vancouver Island, cabin deck - magically - photo-edited. - W..Bourke

© 2020 Wendy Bourke