Catching the Butterfly

Photo by Cara Barer

shimmering.
elusive.

hypnotic.

you stay out 

for hours

you are determined.

just one, you say

just one more try

and when you finally

at long long last

grasp one in your fingertips

a delicate, weightless thing

you realize
her wings are broken
bent beneath the weight of
your pressing.

trembling
it slowly dawns
that in capturing beauty
you have ruined her

this fragile moment 

and now she is
a flightless thing
batting futilely against your palm.

*****************

...ok, so I realize that my poetry recently has seemed perhaps a bit...depressing? But really, a lot of my poetry is about lessons learned. This poem is a thank you for the butterfly.

What do you think the lesson is here? Let me know what you think :)

for Parisan and British Potholes

If we didn't have potholes, we wouldn't have these:

The first three photos are from Paris artist juliana santacruz herrera.

The last two photos show a similar creative venture (are they channeling each other??) by artist Pete Dungey. Pure brilliance. "If we planted one of those in every hole, it would be like a forest in the road."

Even potholes can be beautiful. Think about these images next time you hit one.

Around the World With Q & M: Brazil

My friend and I have a tradition we call "Around the World With Q & M"
Basically, every other week we pick a country or style of cuisine and cook up a scrumptious meal based on recipes from that style. It has been a really fun and delicious experience! Yesterday we picked Brazil, and I found this yummy vegetarian recipe for Brazilian Vegetable Feijoada.
I doubled the recipe and used a milder pepper since my husband is not a big fan of super hot dishes. I also used white rice instead of brown. It was DELICIOUS.

My friend made a coconut curry chicken dish with baked cheese balls,
and a potato salad with olives.

And, since it was my birthday the day before, I topped off the evening with a White Chocolate Mousse Torte with Oreo Cookie Crust.


Click on the photos below to find the recipes for these amazing dishes!

Reflections on the Birthday

What is it about the Birthday
that causes it to be so celebrated?

In some cultures (like my husband's in East Africa) and religions (like Jehovah Witnesses)
the Birthday is not a thing of celebration
or praise for the Birthday Girl or Boy.
It is merely another passing day
like any other
that fades in and out without much thought.

What do they think on this occasion when another year has passed?
Oh yes, I am x or y or so many years old now or
On this day so many years ago my dear mother was birthing me
laboring to give me life.
Do they think about themselves as babies or children
Do memories of years past come flashing through
their mind's eye?
Or maybe they think
I am simply one day older than I was the day before.
Today was Yesterday and Tomorrow will soon be Today.
And I hope to be around Tomorrow
and maybe the next.

Perhaps they don't think much of anything at all.
Only who to see and what to do that day.
I will work and my child will eat and I will be grateful.
Like any other day.

Why do we celebrate the Birthday?
Is it to tell the world:
Hey! I was born on this day! I exist and I am an important contributing person to society!
I am a child/tween/teenager/adult/senior citizen/oldenoughtovote/oldenoughtodrink/intheprimeofmylife/havingamidlifecrisis/havingaseniormoment/centenarian

Or is it an excuse to buy and give gifts hoping that when your turn comes,
you will also receive?
Or maybe a time to spend precious time catching up with friends and family--lookitismybirthdayandIamgoingtoseeyouandspeakwithyouIcandowhatIpleaseSOTHERE.

It is my Birthday, so I am entitled to my wish on this Day.
We all like to make wishes and have them granted
blowing candles is for everyone
Young and Old

Maybe the reason is a bit of everything.

Who doesn't love a reason to eat Birthday Cake?
On your Birthday, the calories don't count.
On your Birthday, you can do anything you want, and no one
No ONE can say anything.
Because it's your Birthday.

My favorite kind of Birthday Cake is homemade.
I like to make my own partly out of revenge for all the times I bit into a store-bought white cake overflowing with deceptively mouth-watering flowery fluffy colored goodness
only to end up with a mouthful of dry sawdust and sugar-coated Crisco.

And partly because there is some difficulty in buying
homemade white chocolate mouse torte with double-stuffed Oreo crumbled crust or
4-layer chocolate tilting cake with whipped cream cheese frosting and candles falling off or
cake shaped like My Little Pony's Castle complete with treasure chest inside
(cake varies depending on age).
You can't put a price-tag on that.

Which came first- the Birthday Card, or the Birthday Cake?
What would the world be like without either of the above?
Would Hallmark even exist?
Gift stores would find it hard
to stay afloat on all the days other than Christmas
What about clowns?
Candles shaped like numbers
Multi-colored sprinkles
Pointed cone-hats with streamers
The "Happy Birthday Song" -- you know, the one that has the same tune in every language
The word "Belated"
Would anniversaries be next if Birthdays disappeared--
Would we even be able to comprehend What or Why without the Birthday?

Without the Birthday, would we find ourselves spontaneously gift giving "just because"?
Oh I bought this for you, just because it reminded me of you
Just because I am so grateful for you
Just because I love you
Just because I wanted to give
There would be nothing to forget
No date to remember
We would eat cake just because we "felt like it"
No reason to pretend to splurge "just this once on my birthday"

Each Day would be important, worthy of celebrating in itself
or just another plain and simple day
depending on your perspective.

"Touch has a memory"

Wind bats my face in frosty air
Touch has a memory
Gentle fingers run through hair
Touch has a memory
Icy cheek 'gainst warm embrace
Touch has a memory
Feathered circles on palm are traced
Touch has a memory

Grasp my face, hold it tight
Entwine us two till morning light
Tell a story throughout the night
We will not part without a fight
Wishes come a thousand strong
But only few are granted long
Touch has a memory

Even fairytales must end
A broken heart will never mend
But you are still with me, my friend
Though far from me you now pretend
Far from me far from yourself
Dust gathers on the shelf
Touch has a memory


There is nothing more powerful than human touch. It can both heal and destroy. We should cherish the small moments of human connection--we never know how long they may last.

for Keats

Just watched Bright Star, a movie based on the relationship between John Keats and Fanny Brawne. Keats recites part of this poem to Fanny, and the film ends with Fanny crying the words upon the news of his premature death. I found myself more moved by Keats' poetry than any of the acting or cinematography. Read this slowly and savor :)

Bright Star, Would I were Steadfast as Thou Art

By John Keats 1795–1821
 

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—

         Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

         Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

         Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

         Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—

No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

         Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

         Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

for Ultimate

...dug up from my old days as an Ultimate Frisbee organizer in Chicago. Enjoy.


The Jabberdisc-y

‘Twas brillig and the Ultimate throws

Did gyre and gimble on the field;

All mimsy were the Frisbee groves,

And the zone raths outzealed.

“Beware the Jabberdisc my son!

The razored edge no one can catch!

Beware its spryling curves, and shun

The frumious hammered snatch!”

He donned his vorpal cleats and water:

Long time that manxsome disc he sought--

So he reclined by the Tumtum sideline,

And stretched a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he hydrated,

The Jabber-Disc, with rim of flame,

Through the tulgey field it gyrated,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through!

Those vorpal cleats went snicker-snack!

One leap in the air, he grabbed it there

And went galumphing back.

“And hast thou grabbed the Jabberdisc?!

Come to my arms my beamish boy!

Sweet frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig and the Ultimate throws

Did gyre and gimble on the field;

All mimsy were the Frisbee groves,

And the zone raths outzealed.

*************************************

Other small poems:

1) There once were three people at Thanksgivin'
  When the air was exceptionally freezin'
  They played Frisbee for hours,
  'till their limbs lost their powers
  and they had to treated for gangrin'

2) I run like the wind
  my Frisbee flies straight and true
  your fault if we lose.

3) Beloved, prized above all plastic.
  We pray, disc, jiggle not in drastic
  contortions; thou art fair and beauteous
  and bounteous, virtuous, gracious, luscious.

4) Am I worthy to handle Thy rim?
  Is my wobbly forehand a sin?
  Is it wrong to desire,
  without consequences dire,
  that my one-person team gets to win?

Hope

Love is not a fairytale
but a deeply burning fire
if you are not attentive
you'll become its funeral pyre

Life is not a dream -- in fact
it's the cynic's heart that reigns
when you go down the rabbit hole
you'll never come out sane

Love's fiery embers becken
to bask in alluring flame
Life's tapestry of beauty
proves an illusionary game

So when Love shows no mercy
and Life cruelly strips you bare
grab hold of Life's faux fabric
and float high on Love's hot air




.....thinking one night about all the hurt that Life and Love and throw at us and what it is that keeps us going in the moment when our "cynic's heart reigns." Sometimes all you can do is hold on to something-- even if it is an illusion. Maybe the illusion will eventually become a reality.

for the struggle

for the struggle
the inner conflict
we all must wrestle
to combat what is comfort
what is familiar

each of us
deserves the
Fight
with our
self.

I feel very similar to this

Island by Akron/Family from Secretly Jag on Vimeo.

heartbreakingly beautiful

The short description for this video says "The film is an abstract dream/memory of a boy and his mother, experiencing a difficult time." Disclosure: I had to wipe away some tears after viewing this.

Broken from Freek van Haagen on Vimeo.