I’ll get there when I get there
she always said
torturing the fast-moving
the odor of weariness
on her clothes
in her hair
stolen time
in the middle of the day
but not too long
never too long
draped 
like an afterthought
on the end of the couch
walled off
by veiled eyes
her head on a bent-arm pillow  
the next worry
puckering 
her forehead
as weakness gloated 
in self-care’s limelight

Photo Credit

Photo courtesy of Carol Good – all rights reserved

I danced through a field of sunflowers
large and full and yellow
running against a deep blue sky
puffs of white scattered here
to remind me of the inconsistency
of nature
the fragility of time
racing by like the clouds
I watched as the flowers
reached
and so did I
though I did not know
what it was
I was reaching for, light perhaps
upon this awakening
the sky in me, the fragility of nature
the inconsistency of time and space
perhaps I danced through
the field of time
and discovered there
that I was
a sunflower

Photo Credit
Photo courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

Some people say that a word or two
Of I love you’s can tell a mother
She is loved, but how do you truly
Thank a woman who raised
Held
Supported
Comforted
You

A few cards, here and there
A gift, one or two, maybe more
Maybe just a dinner, overtime more
Than a few Sunday dinners,
adding up to many
Here and there

Memories of times laughing shared
A story of resilience, perseverance,
Triumph and through it all words
To create the same in you

A mother wrapping little gifts
To fill bottoms of Christmas trees
Painting houses,
Baking bread,
Knitting love into sweaters
Making soups and stews
Left on the doorstep
To make a long day at work
Just a little easier

Long conversations about nothing
And sometimes somethings
But always listening
Always just listening
Even late in the night
When hours escape her sleep

Sometimes a word or two can say I love you

But thanking a mother
Supportive listener
Fierce  protector
Seemed impossible but today through
Poetry I express my gratitude 

Photo Credit

Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay

He used to bring me coffee in bed
we would lie there and talk
starting our weekend mornings with a cup of java
was always the best
he used to squeeze my hand so tight
as we would take our walks here and there
holding hands like teenagers
he used to surprise me with special gifts on special days
flowers and jewelry and fabulous trips
he used to love me so tenderly
full of passion and joy, our love always so strong
he used to make me laugh
so much laughter, his humor infectious
the things he came up with would make me roar
he used to share his secrets with me and I with him
my best friend, my confidant
I always knew he was there
he used to look after me
when I was sick or tired or both
he would pick up and carry on
ever so quietly, things got done
he used to say things that I was thinking
we could say the same thing at the same time
our minds working together
he used to smile at me from across a room
that gave me shivers, and made me smile too
he used to spend so much time with our babies
tending to them, loving them
helping them grow, nurturing
he used to make my lunches, he would cut off the crust
and cut the sandwich in triangles
he used to watch sentimental movies with me and we’d cry
and then we would make fun of each other for crying
he used to lose sleep while going to our children’s events
hockey and plays, graduations and birthday parties
he used to work nights and so our car was always clean in the winter
driveways were shovelled before we all left
he used to always love dogs
from Kimmy to Trinity, our barking dog
whom he loved like one of his kids
he used to love to scare me
popping out of dark corners and yelling
was one of the things that had him in stitches
he used to laugh and joke
and find the humor in most things
he loved to laugh
he used to be
my husband
my friend
my lover
he is gone now
I miss him terribly
already 
he used to be…

Brian Alexander Page 
July 15th, 1958 – April 1st, 2023

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

Explaining its rational for choosing Dylan for this honour, spokesperson Sara Danius stated it was, “… for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.”

Bob Dylan himself said, “It’s not easy to define poetry.”

He’s also been influential to other poets like Leonard Cohn – to whom Dylan said was the best, next to him – for using music to more effectively communicate their works. As John Lennon explained about song writing, “It’s like sending a postcard… not much space to say a lot.”

My first introduction to Dylan was in an English Literature class. It seems strange now, but up to then I mainly listened to the music. Perhaps the lyrics didn’t have much to say, but he opened different perspectives for me to consider. And, as the Beatles evolved, I was ready for new possibilities.

“You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows”
~ Subterranean Homesick Blues by Bob Dylan
Watch on Youtube

Journalist, Bill Wyman, in support of Dylan, said, “His lyricism is exquisite; his concerns and subjects are demonstrably timeless; and few poets of any era have seen their work bear more influence.

Salman Rushdie tweeted “From Fran Orpheus to Faiz, songs and poetry have been closely linked. Dylan is the brilliant inheritor of the bardic tradition. Great choice.”

As The New York Times succinctly put it, “He finally got the prize because he re-arranged the way we all think.”

One thing for certain… Dylan will continue to acknowledge whatever recognition – musical, humanitarian, artist or writer awards – with equal skepticism.

And, who can blame him when the public is so fickle: supporting him today… condemning him tomorrow? For example: showing up at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, with an electric Fender Stratocaster guitar – causing a wave of negative reaction.

Unfortunately, the ‘Folk’ community felt betrayed because Dylan seemed to be going against the very values – like traditional authenticity – their protest music represented. Looking back, it’s a shame that guitars, not peace, became a focal point… like holding a “gun” to each other’s head.

Yet Dylan said, in a Martin Scorsese produced documentary, it was electric because he simply needed more volume to be heard. “Country music was going electric too… I felt it didn’t have anything to do with me.”

Yet, the inflexibility within people’s hearts and minds seems so sadly similar to today. Like so many artists before him, he’s paid a deep price for his art.

So, thank you Mr. Z! You’ve gotten us feeling critically creative, again: embracing change. Great music, like great poetry, lasts. His words are as true today as they were yesterday.

“Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown”

~ The Times They Are A-Changin’ by Bob Dylan
Watch on Youtube

And as Maya Angelou observed, “…people will forget what you said… what you did… but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

That’s the way I figure it. FP

Photo Credits

Bob Dylan Street Art –  from Pixabay

Bob Dylan and Joan Baez – from Pixabay

First published at fredparry.ca

Guest Author Bio
Fred Parry

Fred Parry lives in Southern Ontario. He is a lover of people and a collector of stories, music, wisdom, and grandchildren. His raison d’etre? “I’m one of those people who believe that if my work serves the common good, it will last; if not, it will die with me. I still believe that’s true.” Fred spent ten years as a columnist for Metroland Media Group – a division of the publishing conglomerate Torstar Corporation.

His book, ‘The Music In Me’ (2013) Friesen Press is also available via Indigo / Chapters.

Blog / Website: www.fredparry.ca

Little children starving in the night
Hungry eyes do tell
Time to put our differences aside
Learn to feed them well

Always in this heart of mine
Little girls and boys
Is there in that heart of yours
Room for their toys
Somewhere in this world of ours
Time to ease the pain
Somewhere in this world of ours
Time to love again

Little children lost within the night
Lonely eyes do tell
Time to put our differences aside
Learn to love them well

Always in this heart of mine
A place where you belong
Is there in that heart of yours
Room for this song
Somewhere in this world of ours
Room enough to share
Somewhere in this world of ours
Room enough to care

Little children crying in the night
Clouded eyes do tell
Time to put our differences aside
Learn to love them well

Always In This Heart
© 1990, Gil Namur

Photo Credit
Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection
First published at gilnamur.com

Darkness turned to laughter
The past a souvenir
In the promise of a new day – it all became so clear

And it took away the heart of me, it opened my eyes
That you are all a part of me, stars in the sky
Like a veil lifting over me, discerning anew
I knew it wasn’t magic then,
I know that it’s you

Hey languid mama, trade away your tears
And your ocean of sadness, and your deep well of fears
See the wonder within you and I know you just might
Trade a dance of surrender, for a dance of delight

Your darkness turned to laughter
Your past a souvenir
In the promise of a new day – it all became so clear

And it took away the heart of me, it opened my eyes
That you are all a part of me, stars in the sky
Like a veil lifting over me, discerning anew
I knew it wasn’t magic then,
I know that it’s you

A Dance of Delight
© 2008, Gil Namur

Photo Credit
Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection
First published at gilnamur.com

Shyness takes over
Heart to heart
Every part feels like glass
Clear, fragile and easily shattered

No matter

In the joy of joint creation
And rolling
And training
And playing
And praying

There is
Here
No roll playing
No toll taken
No goal making
Just soul shaking

Something more
Wanting more
To break more
To break more dull and stale patterns on boring timelines
That once called
So fervently
Greedily
Like a hungry habit
Which needs too much
And wants too little

Not creating new ones
But instead
Seeing that they are already
Already here
Inside the remembering innocence

Familiar senses
Long forgotten
Now remembered
In original Love
For all that is
Prior to thought
Prior to knowing
what thought or knowing were.

Hours and hours of watching these brave waves
These craving days
Training this vertigo
To be still
Could it be?

The best has yet to happen.

In the worst of this mess
To find it: This isness
Instead of communicating
With a chasing and constant dizziness
Of always wondering
Why there is a sense between me and other of trashy stickiness
And scratchy itchiness
And patchy frizziness
And unfinished business

Between truth and fiction
Why there is an insistence on so many possible timelines
Instead of just the best probable one

This one

The click of a light switch
In a long and darkened hallway
Which may or may not exist
Finds my hand
As I tear down the old cathedrals
Built around me
Which buttressed my hidden memories
And forgotten knowing
With comfort and caging

We are inside of time
And time is waiting outside
For us
To come and play
In the always of now.

I can feel it like warm skin
against my needs
Like winter in spring
Falling on me
Like lacy snowflakes
Lingering softly

Dusting it still
With my tender brush.

This innocence
Lights up new reflections
And shadows fall
In love with that which cast them.

Mary training on beach with sai

Photo Credit

Photo courtesy of  Mary Rose – All Rights Reserved

Some judge a man by his status and flair
If they say he’s no good it’s the length of his hair
Or his lack of investment in the real-estate scene
They say they can judge him, I say they’re obscene
But who am I to judge?

Some judge a man by his knowledge and wit
If he’s not into culture he’s a bit of a twit
And if he can’t tell a joke he’s a big waste of time
They say they can judge him, but they’re way out of line
But who am I to judge?

One judges men by their faith and their deeds
Even in judgment He’s aware of their needs
And He’ll never give up until all things have passed
Because then He will judge, who has judged.

© 1985, Gil Namur

Photo Credit
Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

First published at gilnamur.com

I can’t be with you
I miss you
you don’t understand me
I can be myself around you
I never see you
you’re always there when I need you
I can’t say I love you
please drive carefully
you need to eat

Photo Credit

Photo courtesy of Carol Good – all rights reserved