Poetry

I get by with a little help from my friends

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Here’s to friends, real, tried and true, old like a comfortable slipper, new and heart racing scary, virtual friends, and those yet to be.

Girls skipping at an athletics carnival

Girls skipping at an athletics carnival (Photo credit: Powerhouse Museum Collection)

Here’s to friends who share wisdom, like another supper idea when the recipe box in my head comes up empty, or say no when the bathing suit is just a little on the scanky side. Here’s to friends who laugh til they pee when I say something completely off the wall, and share their leftovers, and pass me kleenex at just the right moment, and let me use their chapstick.

And here’s to wordie friends… those who read and listen and affirm and suggest. The ones who understand the writing life is a bit lonely at times, who know a village, similar to the one required to raise a child, is needed to release a poem to the world. The ones who say something back when you say something you think might be OK to say out loud.

I have what I think might be a new poet/blogger friend in Vancouver, just over the mountains to the west. I recall reading about Samantha once in the paper, a couple of years ago. She inspired me. I found her online recently and read her blog, read what she’s up to which includes writing a poem a day for over a year. Wow.

And although I have yet to meet this friend face to face, she gave me a gift. What a generous spirit Samantha Reynolds has. What a gift to be featured on her blog, bentlily!  Thank you Samantha Reynolds! Thank you for believing, like me, that writing words down must always be followed by giving them away. Thank you, my friend.

Here’s the link to bentlily, Samantha Reynolds stunning, uplifting and creative blog.

And here’s the link to bentlily’s featured poet for the week (me).

Breathless and happy,

Lesley-Anne, SDG

poem 2

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Gutter weed

Gutter weed (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

Tomorrow morning

I will rise before the dog,
dig in the yard, celebrate
what is now and earthy.
I will plate the colour green in increments,
lemon lime, the shock of chartreuse, enough
to turn blood grass green with envy.
I will consider weeds, their uninvited flourish
without my tending, while
the hybrids, the proven winners,
need their hands held. Seems the weeds
are often stronger. Their tap roots deep
and thick, harder to dislodge. They find water
in drought, soil in cracked concrete.
You must admit
each dandelion gone to seed is lovely,
fertile head veiled and translucent,
entrusting all scattering
to an insistent breeze.

Lesley-Anne Evans, SDG 2013

A poem

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The moments when

we sit on the porch and you look
sideways and I lean soft into
your hard and you let me as
clouds gather over top the ridge
and the garbage cans are lined up
back beside our garage door. The tick
clicking of the neighbour trimming his
side of the hedge and our lawn needing
cut and the sun pouring it’s gold onto
our bare toes. The bed rumpled and
the dog sprawled over it snoring and
another clean load wanting out of
the dishwasher. The last fragrant
fifteen minutes before the apricot pie says
it’s done and perches on back burner
stove top until some celebration
of this day occurs after supper and
we join together to open words
and taste day’s end. The parts in
my library novel that keep my throat
full and now prognosis isn’t good so
I cry over the sink while dishes drown
in bubbles. The moments between
until always when I wonder if you
really will come home from work
and say let’s go walk the dog and
we will do things until it’s time
for bed and give our bodies over
to long breaths until morning and
you tell me again how these
moments make a life.

Lesley-Anne Evans, SDG, 2012

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What say you?

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Performance poetry 2005 #9

Performance poetry 2005 #9 (Photo credit: Clint Gardner)

Performance poetry 2005 #7

Performance poetry 2005 #7 (Photo credit: Clint Gardner)

Performance poetry 2005 #14

Performance poetry 2005 #14 (Photo credit: Clint Gardner)

So, now that I’ve tried a couple of variations on the theme of popping up, and now that it’s winter and very cold and icy and not the best conditions for street artists, I’m wondering what your opinion is. If given the option of receiving the spontaneous gift of poetry up close and personal, would you;

1. prefer to see some indication of professionalism, like a sign, or a business card, or a published book perhaps, to indicate that the person reading poetry to you isn’t a complete nut job? (ok, well, just because one has a business card, does not mean they aren’t a nut job, but at least they took the time to present themselves in a positive way, right?)

2. keep it casual, eyes up, smile on face, poet walking up to you and asking the simple question, “could I read you a poem today?” and you stopping on your way and listening for a while, attentive look on your face?

3. be more structured, like a lecturn or a podium that said poet reads from (with a sign), therefore offering a buffer between you and them, and the option to pass on by if they continue to read just a wee bit too long?

4. happen upon poetry spontaneously placed in the environment, with no poet attached, and be allowed the opportunity to enjoy without the pressure of the smile, or the voice, or the book, or the business card (like the wonderful examples in the photos of Clint Gardner)?

5. all of the above, at various times and in appropriate ways?

6. none of the above, I just don’t prefer poetry.

Please respond in the comments with your vote and your comments. Thanks! If you like what you read,  PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE!!!

I think it’s time to hit the streets as soon as the mercury rises above, let’s say 10 degrees C on a day with no wind and perhaps a little bit of afternoon sun. Yes, I sense a wee bit of stir crazy setting in!

I’ll be seeing you,

Lesley-Anne, SDG, Pop-Up-Poet

Oh gosh, that was really awkward…

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Yesterday the sun came out for the first time in… weeks. Well, maybe not weeks, but many days have passed since the clouds have parted and we’ve seen blue and sunlight. It put me in a good place, and as I worked on a writing project at my desk in the morning, the thought began to percolate that it might be time to hit the streets again. It’s been quite a while since I’ve read outside.

So, off I headed, this time with a slight revision to my presentation style: the addition of a stand to place my poems on and a small sign (a precursor to the bigger sign I’ve ordered and which arrived today by mail from Vistaprint). The sign to announce who I am in the hopes of taking away the, “what’s-this-woman-trying-to-sell-me-anyway” aura that is faintly around me out there (my perception anyway). Rather than approach people and ask to read them a poem, I thought I’ll just set up my stand in a likely spot and begin to read. Passersby will see me and stop and listen or continue to pass by… their choice.

Only it was awkward. The walk from my truck, past the coffee shop outdoor tables to the spot I chose with music stand in hand, was awkward. The setting up of the sign and the papers and the putting on of reading glasses was awkward. Clearing my voice and beginning to read to nobody in particular was awkward. And people passing by and not stopping and not smiling was awkward. Sounds of traffic seemed louder. I fought with feelings of low self-worth and foolishness and embarrassment and I questioned my motivation, my intent, my purpose. Yes, all this was awkward. And perhaps a little foolhardy and a little dangerous???

English: Don't stand too close Warning sign ad...

English: Don’t stand too close Warning sign adjacent to gate. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Until a fellow with a bike stopped and listened and nodded and carried on when I was done. And another man having a cigarette hung around and asked for my card, and a woman coming out of a store came over and told me she was a poet and then waited to hear an entire poem from beginning to end. She also wanted my card. Then I wandered to another spot, read out loud to pigeons and squirrels and a mobility bus driver who hid in the bus and one lady who kept her head down and eyes averted as she walked by (did she speed up?).

OK, so those encounters were worth it, I think. Usually it’s not really about me at all, but about the bigger picture. Sharing poetry. Sharing beauty. Being open. Returning the gift. Giving thanks.

Like Bill Cosby says above, or one of my favorite old Hebrew quotations that I keep on my fridge;

“… go in the strength you have…” Judges 6:14

Still popping up, next time with my new groovy sign!
Lesley-Anne

SDG