Showing posts with label Rocky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rocky. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

2018 The Year of the Earth Dog

the year of the dog - 
soft fur of Tibetan spaniel
shines on green grass

After all the upheavals and fires of the Fire Rooster Year (2017), we will be able to catch a break in the homey and comfy Earth Dog Year - according to the Chinese Zodiac, at least...  The Year of Earth Dog will start on February 16, 2018 (Chinese New Year) and end on February 4, 2019. This is the eleventh of 12 zodiac signs and the Dog years have been in this century: 1922, 1934, 1946, 1958, 1970, 1982, 1994, 2006, 2018, 2030, 2042... Since the Dog is an "auspicious" animal, it brings good fortune.

Let's welcome the Dog year with some Dog photos and haiku:

gold-furred dog rests
in my sunlit garden - 
happy, healthy, free


amber spaniel eyes
look at me with affection -
love conquers all


can dogs laugh?
dolphins nod in agreement
swimming in circles


a dog rests at my feet
his gold eyes full of promise - 
"my heart beats for you"


Artist Monique Lehman with her dog, Corcia ("little daughter")

angel in a halo
with her favorite friend -
an artist's spring


Since my Chinese Zodiac sign is Rooster and 2017 was the Fire Rooster year, I was hoping for some sunlight, smiles and a feather-light heart. But, instead, this....


The scorched earth, charcoal branches, and days of thick black smoke...  I got a whole lot of upheavals and dangers in 2017, including two huge fires nearby, one evacuation, a series of burglaries, and so forth. . . I came out of it all smiling, so I guess, all these things served to teach me to live with a "feather-light" heart, without worries, no matter how dangerous the situation seems.  It is funny to look, in retrospect at my last year's haiga card with a orange-red rose and my wishes...  We have to be careful what we wish for, I guess...


I have not written many dog-themed poems, though dogs appear in my love poetry book, Rose Always - A Love Story, as they played an important role in the unfolding of this mystery. Here is a sample of dog-themed poems from that book:

Dog Story


My dog ran away 
to bring me 
the man of my life 

a blond one 
like my first love
the
with smiley wrinkles  
like my last one 

(scoundrels both,
as the rest of them)

Are you different?

I cannot tell,
oblivious to all
but your beauty –

Be good, be truthful





A Desert Walk

Your dog welcomes me 
with mad displays of affection, 
overturning things
with his wildly swinging tail.

He brings the leash in his teeth,
ready for a walk, jumping with excitement.

We go out after sunset,
with my collie – beautiful and scared
of this boisterous stranger,
distrustful of his sudden attachment
to the lady of the house.

The blonde dog cannot be leashed
as he chases each cat, each squirrel.

Yet, he returns quickly, faithfully,
to stay right by my side.

I marvel at his obedience.


In a Flemish stained glass window based on a biblical story of Tobias and his unlucky wife Sarah (demons killed seven of her husbands on their wedding night!). Tobias found a fish, burned some of it in the fireplace and sent the demons packing, so the young married couple could rest happily, finally asleep, with their dog at their feet...


Light Centuries 

 by Maja Trochimczyk
                                                         
                                             “Where are the days of Tobias?”
                                                             ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Second Duino Elegy

                                              “Let us grow old both together in health.”
                                                            ~ Sarah in The Book of Tobias, 8: 10

They are asleep
in a Flemish window,
their stained-glass bed
sheltered by curtains
of cerulean and crimson.

Like two doves
in white nightcaps,
Tobias and Sarah
rest on soft, white pillows,
after the nightmare,
dreaming alabaster dreams.

Yes, that was an angel
walking with you
through desert landscape.
Yes, there was a river,
demons, fire, and a fish.
The dog ran along, panting.

He rests with them now,
curled at their feet,
among the riches
of verdant foliage
painted on translucent silk.
The dog – their only witness.

Flames danced at night.
The demon fled the stench
of burning liver.
You did not see Raphael
bind him in upper Egypt.
You did not feel
the rainbow wings.

They found a refuge
in the domesticity
of an ordered life:
candle extinguished
on the nightstand,
slippers waiting
for the step of the master.

Above the bed,
the womb-shaped
knot of a red velvet
curtain foretells
Sarah’s future, the wealth
of children to come.

Listen: Cold wind
carries the echoes
of crying, wailing
through desert fog
outside. Demons
mourn their happiness.

They are asleep.
Fluted columns
twirl up to a ceiling
of gold-flowered
sprites guarding
their glass dreams.

    Listen…

 (c) 2010 by Maja Trochimczyk

NOTE: This ekphrastic poem is based on a 15-th century Flemish stained-glass window.



Dogs become parts of human families and are missed when they are gone. Here's a tribute to a tiny dog named Hazelnut:


HAZELNUT

Somewhere a ballerina was born on Friday,

a trapeze artist, a clown or a juggler with a circle of balls
lined up in the air above her curly head.
A new life began, a life ended.

Somewhere, sometime. We are left with memories
of Orzeszek, Miss Hazelnut of Boston.
She practiced controlled skidding
across lacquered hardwood floors to accelerate
reaching her ball she never tired of bringing back
to be thrown again – delighted with the game
on instant replay. She’d step out for a dinner on town
in her fancy haircut and a red bowtie.

She’d gallop across the vastness of a meadow,
ears flapping in the wind, a picture of freedom.
She’d rest in her favorite hiding spot
under an arch of antique pink roses.

Ever cheerful, she could sleep
on Marcin’s head, on his chest,
tucked under his armpit, full of warmth and comfort.
Courageous, she’d walk across his face
if it were in her way, or lick his nose
in a fit of affection.

Hazelnut, oh, Hazelnut, too curious for new scents,
with oversized paws too fast across the pavement,
in front of the car that did not even break.

Your heart beat quickly; stopped beating too soon.
We are sorry you had to go. We wish you could stay longer.
You left us behind to play in dog heaven.
Farewell, Hazelnut. Don’t forget your ball!

(c) 2014 by Maja Trochimczyk


And here's an eulogy by Just Kibbe for his favorite companion, Loki:

Just Kibbe with Loki in Los Angeles



Thank you Loki for teaching me so many of the magic words. You were many things as the Norse God of Mischief: a hunter, a trickster, a hardcore cuddler, a teacher. I think of you often, and you are running and leaping and licking my face and alive in my heart as you always will be!
                                                                                                                                 ~ Just Kibbe


Just Kibbe's dog, Loki

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

~ From Puck Monologue in Mid-Summer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare

As the official PR dept of Ravendaisy Farm, Loki touched many hearts and went on so many adventures in his 15 years.  On to the next, my love. We love you and miss you and can't wait to meet again.                                              
                                                                                                                        ~ Just Kibbe


Just Kibbe with his dog Loki and a horse

Happy Earth Dog Year 2018! 











Monday, August 29, 2011

Living in the Moment... Looking, Seeing, Breathing, Picking Mushrooms

Thanks to the lovely hostess, Elena Secota, and friendly poets and musicians the featured reading at the Rapp Saloon was very enjoyable. I even had a bass-guitar accompaniment to some of my poems, including "Look at me..." inspired by Ella Fitzgerald's version of Misty.

Rocky played the melody during the poem's refrains and was silent during the narrative stanzas. It worked very well! The poem itself is published on this blog, as well as in the Loch Raven Review.  My reading of this poem is on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJzzOId3KCY&feature=youtu.be

"Look at me..."

               the dark honey of Ella's voice 
                               filled the valley with a golden sheen

The bike stopped at the red light.
The biker looked at me intently.
All in black leather, he did not seem familiar.

              the dark honey of Ella's voice 
                                 spilled onto the asphalt

The light changed to green. I was touched 
by the brightness in his eyes as he drove by, 
turning his head, clearly off-balance. He stopped 
to gaze at my metallic Honda.  I felt his surprise. 

             the dark honey of Ella's voice 
                               blossomed in an aftertaste of sweetness

I knew he realized who I was, 
the woman he found irresistible again 
and again and again. I wonder if he told 
his girlfriend about our sunny encounter. 
 
          the dark honey of Ella's voice 
                       flowed over the wonderland --
                               the dark honey, oh, the dark honey

The country road led me towards live oak
and grassy slopes, shining yellow and bronze.

There was no hatred, just being alive 
after the storm. I was silent. I had nothing to say.

(C) 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk

 My listeners liked it a lot, but the greatest impact on the audience was made by another, older poem of a more philosophical nature. 




I wrote "Memento Vitae" after the death of a good friend. The title, modeled on a medieval monks' maxim, Memento Mori (Remember Death), means "Remember Life." 


Memento Vitae 

Let's talk about dying. 
The gasp of last breath. 
The end. Or maybe not, 
We don't know. 

Let's talk about the last day. 
What would you do if you knew?
Whom would you love? 
Would you find your dearest,
most mysterious love? 
Or would you just stay
in the circle of your own?
 
Would you rob, steal or insult anyone?
Would you cry? Burn your papers?
If the fabric of your future
shrank to one day,
or maybe just
an hour?

Let's talk about living, then. 
The next breath,
that will take you
to the next minute,
the next heartbeat.

Just about – now.



   
Soon after presenting my work to a very gracious audience at what should be called "Poetry Salon at the Saloon," I was on the way to the High Sierras for my first real vacation in years - without the internet, TV, or Blackberry. I was off the grid, wandering around lush mountain meadows and forests, while the Kadafi regime fell and Hurricane Irene was approaching New York. 


A week in the wilderness was a time of tranquility, rest, and spiritual revival. I listened to the breeze singing in the tops of the trees, as they whispered and sighed. I swam in the cold mountain lake every morning, leaving my worries "in my wake" - and I wrote a poem about it. Since it is still unfinished, here is a humorous testimonial to picking wild mushrooms among tall pine trees and delicate aspen.



On Mushrooms 

In the forest of Christmas trees for giants 
I look for the shapes of mushrooms I used to 
Know well – hiding in tall grass under the aspen, 
Beneath piles of pine needles and bark 


Prawdziwek – the true one, 
 The king of the forest, Boletus 
Rules in unexpected places 
Among birch twigs and Douglas fir 


Osaki, Kozaki – his second-rate, 
 Still lovely cousins wait in the shade 
Among manzanita, wild currants and fern. 


Osak

I find bitter, colorful szatans, 
Pretending to be true pale muchomory
My grandma used to kill flies 
In a glass filled with sugar water 

Szatan, inedible lookalike of a Prawdziwek

Psie grzybki (Dog's 'shrooms) have very thin stems, blades under the cup.

Psie grzybki fit for a dog 
That would not eat them 
And twisted, tree-growing huba 
I do not know how to cook. 


My share of mushrooms? 
The toxic lookalikes of true ones! 
That’s all there is in this 
Enchanted forest for me. 


And this is why, my dears, 
I wrote And you read Confessions 
Of a Failed Mushroom-picker.



 Picking mushrooms is a great activity, as it takes your mind off everything, since it requires all the attention you have to spot and claim the mushrooms hidden under pine needles or in the grass. Next year I might be more lucky and actually find some... Besides, I do have to swim around that rocky island in the middle of the lake, with just one pine tree on it!







________________________ 
 All poems and nature photographs (c) 2008-2011 by Maja Trochimczyk. 
Portrait of Maja and Rocky by Elena Secota.