This last week the Writer’s Abroad anthology was published, including a short story and poem by yours truly. You can order a copy from Amazon for 300 pages of short stories, fiction and non-fiction as well as poems from 93 contributing expat authors from all over the world.
Surprisingly, no less than five Dhaka ladies were amongst the writers who had pieces selected for inclusion in the Anthology, and here they are celebrating and planing a launch of the Anthology in Dhaka
I’m working on a poetry project about motherhood, and looking back it seems I have been a mother forever, but also that it was just the other day my boys were babies…
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Through the hourglass
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I watch young children in oblivious play
Shouting, stomping, laughing in childhoods self absorbed way
And I want to tell the restlessly watching parents not to fret, not to frown,
It does not matter; you’ve already let your guard down
Now, lasts forever but the next moment is already pushing on
And before you finish the sentence they will have grown
before you know for whom you wait
it’s too late
So fast the moment will be past
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I remember how one can’t imagine the nearness of the next instant
nor this moments dearness ‘til it’s gone
frozen in the moment, gazing at the view, lazing in the sunshine
but in the same slow, sleepy, drawn out moment
we’re hurrying, scurrying up life’s unevenly stepped ladder
While every moment in that moment lasts forever
we slip with sand grains through the hourglass’ center
in a flash as bright at the speed of light
through the curve of distorting glass
You see it pass
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In memory of Sarah Manokore, who would have had her 74th birthday today. With thanks to her daughter Ruth for the inspiration to write this poem, and encouraging me to go down memory lane with this wonderful lady.
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Sarah Manokore
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There are some, who live on,
not as a face, but as a feeling
A sense of being loved, of being cared for
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There are some, who lived through much,
who took on loneliness, suffering
And turned it into strength, enough to share
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There are some who always gave
Who had enough time, energy
To listen and advise, to share wisdom and a smile
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There is one, who lives on,
not as a memory, but as a presence
A quiet guide, a natural mother, a woman of strength
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Sarah; mother, grandmother, teacher, friend
You cannot be gone, forgotten
You are still here, within us
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Missing my sons, who are far away at school…
Your own two feet
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You have far too much luggage
all piled messy on a cart…
A bump, and it all slides off
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I long to help you,
my whole being aches…
Nothing to do, for it’s only a dream
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My arms are heavy with sleep.
You must learn to stand…
On your own two feet
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Just back from Istanbul, this week’s poem can only be about that awe inspiring city, and the happy days spent there is company with my family. Our unguided morning walks were one of the many delights
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Istanbul morning
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Birds fly for pleasure, flashing light from morning minarets
Lace up and run down stairs leaving guidebook and map
Drawn like pilgrims to floating domes and ancient towers
Blue tiles and the genius of ancient architects
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Stride along city walls built, torn down, rebuilt by long forgotten hands
Stones in palace walls speak of princes, born to death, power, or madness
And elegant garden trees swaying in whispers from the Harem,
hooves ring out and crowds cheer in the hippodrome
The sun heats up and across the water colossal cruise ships threaten a flood
We dodge down narrow streets, returning to drink too deeply our first coffee
Coughing and laughing over pomegranate juice, olives
and other Turkish delights
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First impressions of Istanbul, staying in the old city. A good place to turn one year older, as a single year, is nothing, here.
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Istanbul
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Istanbul, paved with amazing tiles of history.
Centuries of beauty and battles,
religion driving love and death,
power and passion.
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The blue mosque presides over old town,
majestic as a mountain,
moody in the changing light.
We return to gaze, morning, noon and night.
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Skipping on the surface tension of time,
how young we are
in Istanbul
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After grey days it is good to remember to breath deeply, to remind oneself that each day comes only once…
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Raise your head
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Raise your head, lift your eyes –
See the drifting clouds redraw themselves
in stories of the sky
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Leave alone your counting –
Business cards and calendar days,
hours spent in traffic
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Straighten your back, lift your shoulders –
Breathe deep into your consciousness
the shifting colours of passing day
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No more slouching, shallow breathing –
Jagged streams of consciousness
through restless, sleepless hours
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Raise your arms, raise your voice –
Feel the pulse of vitality,
be counted amongst the living
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“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.” Karen Blixen
From my morning run…
mongoose crosses my path at high speed –
an exclamation mark looking for a situation
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Thursday evening, 4th of October, members of our Dhaka meditation group met to celebrate World Animal Day, and each shared a favorite poem about animals. I decided to share a poem about our late grate rooster, Chickie-boo… here is the poem.
Chickie-boo
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Cock-a-doodle-doo said Chickie-boo
For the first time today
And we all sat upright on our chairs
And the hens clucked their hurray
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Cock-a-doodle-doo said Chickie-boo
Stretching neck and looking shocked
He’d always thought he was a person
His foundations have been rocked
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Cock-a-doodle-doo said Chickie-boo
And the hens came out the bush
All their heads are bobbing up and down
And their eyes are bright and flush
Then old grey hen did a victory lap
At high speed around the yard
And the younger birds came rushing back
through the gate that we had barred
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Cock-a-doodle-doo said Chickie-boo
And our flock is looking up
All three hens are sparkling happily
As they fluff their feathers up
Now they’re crowding round our Chickie
And they’re looking mighty pleased
They all glow bright-eyed and healthy
Though they went to roost diseased
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Cock-a-doodle-doo said Chickie-boo
Stretching wings and neck and thigh
And he’s looking kind of handsome now
He’s got a twinkle in his eye
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Cock-a-doodle-doo said Chickie-boo
“There’s a cock around the place,
Now I’m going to bring some order”
And the hens bow to his grace
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