September 2021 was the last time I posted. In these little baby steps in returning to writing more, I thought I would mess around with a new look for the website. Not sure that this will be the version that I settle on but it will do for now. Sunflowers are my favorite flower (next to roses) and after such a long hard (and very grey) winter here in Ontario, Canada, I need to see blue sky every time I visit to post.
As the days move on I will likely find more photos from the archives to share but will mainly focus on keeping everything simple and ‘clean’ looking. I will write more about this later, but two years of lockdowns with this pandemic has proven to me that I can live with simplicity. I can live, not just survive but thrive in it. More reflection to come on that soon.
Many years ago, I had the privilege of being part of a writing group called Diving Deeper. There were many writers from all over the world who gathered together to talk about writing, about going deeper into our story telling, and diving into the places we really didn’t want to write about. Being able to write, share and get to know this group of writers was a very special time for me both as a writer and as a person. It was with this group I learned about distance, about trying not to write about something personal for example, that was traumatic or intense for a few years, sometimes as long as five years because the time between will help you to be able to move past some of the raw emotions tied to the event. I think this concept must have seeped into my soul because it has been a long time since I have like writing anything at all.
In fact, it has been two years maybe more since I even attempted to keep a journal of any kind. Daily writing has been very difficult for me to do, like running straight into the barbed wire instead of hopping over it like a graceful gazelle. I have tried to write even a few lines every day but it never lasts for more than day or so. I have been thinking about why that is today. I think it has a lot to do with the dramatic and drastic changes that the pandemic has brought to not just my life, but to everyone’s (the global scale overwhelms me to think about). My recent return to working in the office is also dramatic change from working in relative isolation in my apartment for the past 2 years. The pandemic of course is not over but protocols and mandates are changing or being lifted. I think that it has all been too intense and too immediate for me to be able to get the distance I need to be able to write about any of it. At the same time, I need to write about it. At least some of it. Maybe all of it.
I am not big on grand declarations. This one is not meant to be one of them (although it seems like it is growing into one) but it is a starting point. Like hopping a barbed wire fence when you have a niggling thought in your head. There was a time when I couldn’t stop writing. There was so much buzzing around in my mind. I don’t know if I am going to be able to dive into anything. I am not sure if anything I write now, whether it is fiction or non-fiction will be possible, but I feel an inner push to try. Maybe it is a desire to get some balance back into my life, the fire I hold for writing or maybe something entirely different, but I am waking up in the middle of the night thinking about writing. That is usually a pretty good sign to get back to it. There are stories percolating which have been at a low boil for almost a hundred months now. They are starting to beg to be written. Not only are the stories are asking for attention, but poems, thoughts and dreams are asking to be recorded. I can’t even remember the last time a poem has woken me up or made me stop in the middle of doing something so that I could write it down, but it has been happening. It is good. Not that I have actually listened and written anything down yet, but it is good that the feeling has returned.
All this to say that I plan on writing more, soon. What will arrive? I have no idea. If nothing arrives, I have a couple of notebooks filled with fragments of poetry and stories that I could type out. The little writing that I have been doing has been handwritten. We will see what happens. I may even write about what the past two years have been like for me. I have really resisted the idea of writing about what pandemic life has been like, and what my personal experience has been. I am not sure that it will be at all interesting for anyone else to read but I have never let that stop me from being able to write for myself. I think I need to do that, write for myself. I had a niggle when I just typed this… write for myself. I have repeated it three times now so I really must do it.
a part of me
remains unchanged
in the time
we have known
each other
your reflection
a drop
falling
to meet the calm, cool
lake water
moments wrapped
in layers
like pebbles rolling
in endless waves
I am there
that part of me
that has always
been tumbling
You are there
in those rolling ripples
the ones you made
through my life
with simple words
with love
there
and I am
no longer unseen
~
like a fly crawling
across the screen door
on a hot August afternoon
time passes
in slow plodding steps
when you are gone
I listen to the cicada scream
in the trees
the heat of the day grows
as I coax another minute
on the clock to stumble
into the past
you are never far
from my thoughts
still I count the minutes
the hours
the days
until I hear your voice
again
knowing I only have
to close my eyes
to see you
open my heart
to feel you
open my arms
to hold you
~
where
do I begin
along these empty lines
to unfold the days
lay them out on the desk
in carefully crafted phrases
wind them in delicate circles
around my body
tucked into a thousand pieces of paper
waiting for the north wind
to catch them through the window
beginning
with hope
laughter
in the fresh crisp air
days stretch over rooftops
long lines left by sunsets
and shadows
waiting for the sky
to change
dust collects on shelves
decades old
while I sit in the half light
listening
to whispers
and heart beats
holding joy
before it fades
~
la 2021
turn the dial
as the sun passes
the window
orange glow
soup heats on the stove
I stretch my arms
to wrap around
the empty space
empty embrace
before me
fluorescent light
distorts my reflection
lines point
in different directions
around the eyes
don't know where to look
to find the truth
which line to step along
or trace
night creeps up
onto the windowsill
perched just outside
looking in
~
la 2021
lines on the page
drawn with a careful hand
outlines move
in slow curves
to the centre
crossing over
in unexpected intersections
blank pages slowly fill
colour pulled by sunlight
sneaking through cracks
we are okay alone
living
in the corners of our soul
but
together is better
when the lines meet
before
continuing
on
~
la 2021
your voice falls
over me
like honey
from a spoon
held high enough
to slip down
to cover
to soothe
to calm
me
I breathe
again
for the first time
not realizing
I had held my breath
for years
breath comes
dressed in laughter
in tears
in healing
in freedom
an unintended gift
perhaps
not understood
it does not matter
now that the cage door
is open
I stretch beyond
what I bowed to
and gather
torn pieces
in my arms
ready
to
fly
~
la 2020
the pause after the end
leaning into another beginning
that place
I want
need
to step into it
fold my body
fold my heart
fold myself
to curl around you
to hold you close
to me
and be held
beyond the edge
of myself
but
like a thousand steel needles
I fear
if I close my eyes
I am lost
alone
bound and torn
into slim ribbons
of existence
I hold myself out
to where dreams thrive
and follow me
like music
through the trees
ask for nothing
in return
just a pause
before
~
la 2020
I have let these threads
weave between us
in loose and fragile patterns
that complicates itself
in the futility of existence
I go
and return
to you
as the sun passes the window
pulling light into corners
where it has not
touched
yet
before leaving
again
I wake
and sleep
not moving
in this isolation
allowing
what needs
to
be
I have let these threads
weave between us
in loose and fragile patterns
I have let these threads
remain
~
la 2020
I have not loved you
in the first 18,471 days
I have known you
not once
I have not felt
a tenderness
towards you
or felt compassion
in seeing your reflection
or cared for you
before another
not once
I have not walked
through my soul's estate
wondering what I
could do to care
for you more
but now,
here we are
in conversation
for the first time
~
la 2020
one hundred
and eighty two days
blurred together
like paint smeared on canvas
like a photograph
left too long in the sun
like gibberish dreams
that fill the night
nothing makes sense
silence binds isolation
with threads
left dangling, untended
to knot in the early fall winds
introspection
dances on the edge
with uncertainty
avoidance brings inspection
and distraction by the hand
but I...
I sit with you, love
and wonder
what you
will teach
me
~
la 2020
lei fraser 