Sunday, July 23, 2017
Poem for August
Miguel tells us
that what is buried here
stays here,
under the Portuguese sun
as he fans himself
with the straw hat
he swings by his side,
and that when we see
petals fall and the last bees
hover as awkward heads
of raw-green skin
suddenly appear
that that is when
apples bud and dangle
like unwanted words
and then blossom
tilting this way and that.
This he tells us
means that spring has arrived
as the new-born sunlight
leans against the slope
above a small stream
flowing through the valley
where cork oak trees
in open woodlands
are warm to the touch
in the sheer wind passing
as nearby sheep graze
and Iberian pigs
thrive on the fallen
acorns.
Miguel’s hobbled walk
is steady like an old
horse
put out to pasture
and against the
blinding sunlight
he is more scarecrow
than man
but we keep up
stride for stride
past the slanted hillside-
fincas and eucalyptus
ready
for the harvest
and the olives
recently picked;
the marks of nets
dried in the ground
where the shaken
olives
had fallen and are
kept
beside the stone walls
in barrels.
Miguel says it is
better
to be here now
rather than in the dry
heat
of summer when
crickets
sing and the vines
are weighed down by
fruit
and when buses full of
tourists
roam the old mosaic
floors
entombed in
foundations
lived over for
thousands of years
he says, antiquity
like all else
is best kept in the
dark.
He is an old man
who is careful with
his smile
and as careful at
picking bones
from sardines and
tipping
his hat to old woman
passing
on their way to
market.
He has lived here
forever
he says as do
his ten grandchildren
he reminds us
when he extends his
hand
for the coins and
dollars
we lay flat on his
tanned palm
and as we head back
to the parked car
beside the café
with a shiny apple and
green olives
still full of grass we
had taken
from the fields,
Miguel is approaching
another couple
talking aloud of Roman
ruins,
of hillsides full of
olives and sheep,
of acorns and the
smell of spring,
of how an old man with
ten grandchildren
knows the secrets of
old Rome.
Steven Pelcman
Acta-Victoriana
magazine Toronto Canada spring 2015
Thursday, July 20, 2017
Personal stories of those in or interacting with government
Every new government that comes into power has its
supporters and its detractors and that is a common experience. Everyone is
entitled to their opinions but if they have had direct contact with an
administration and feel disappointed, frustrated, angry, ashamed or even delighted
or enthusiastic they are freely and legally allowed to voice those sentiments.
The following links refer to personal stories of some people who are sharing
their stories regarding their interaction with the Trump administration.
Copy, paste and google or click on link:
Monday, July 10, 2017
Love is where you find it
In a world of gender conflict (and other morally and human
socially based issues) where people’s prejudices, fears or religious
convictions contribute to a distorted perspective and perception, a central
element seems to be missing; love. People are often culturally, politically or
morally influenced and religion or belief systems for whatever reasons
sometimes make people act and these acts are not always positive. They are
often violent and yet, the harmless interaction as the referenced article
reflects makes one wonder which species is the one to learn from. There are
animals who out of security, protection or hunger reasons act with violence
although if they could vocalize and explain their behavior they may not see
their acts as violence. Whether mankind or the animal kingdom is the cruelest
is a judgment for each person to make. I know how I’d vote and I think the
story in the article makes a fine point.
Click on link
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)