Social Media Prayer – a poem

Mtn Girl Poetry
Hippodrome, Baltimore, B/W by Becca Andre

Hippodrome, Baltimore, B/W by Becca Andre

But you can Pin me!
It’s my latest favorite thing.
Pin me to a wall, any wall.
I will take a link back to my website
in any way, shape or form,
I am not a picky girl
and I love to Share!

#############

#Social Media Prayer

Just a few requests –
Please do not follow me if you know an unfollow is in the near future.
Please do not friend me if you cannot love on me every so often,
or at least hit Like.

I would rather your total disregard;
complete ignorance to my words and images
as they appear in your feed,
than a ❤️ that is insincere and empty.

I would rather you comment that you hate it!
As opposed to your lukewarm skimming
and eye roll as you move to the next best thing.

And please, please,
if you are at all feeling like a twat today,
please do not Tweet.
Those words never go away –
they live immortal in screenshots.

Sometimes I wish there was an IG filter for words…
You know, to soften the edges,
to brighten or blur
because life is NOT black and white.

But you can Pin me!
It’s my latest favorite thing.
Pin me to a wall, any wall.
I will take a link back to my website
in any way, shape or form,
I am not a picky girl
and I love to Share!

©Rebecca Andre 9.25.17 1st draft

P.S. – I paired this photo with this poem because I was inspired by the thought that life is more of a stage than ever before, thanks to digital media. Do you agree?

Layered, with poetry, weekly photo challenge

Mtn Girl Poetry

Layered is the theme for this week’s Weekly Photo Challenge  that I have decided to participate in for the rest of the year.  How appropriate, as today at 4:02 pm is the time of the Autumnal Equinox, when day and night are about the same length.

Result: I will be forced to blog at least once a week. I will be forced to take a new photo (i.e. take a walk) or at least re-edit an existing one. If I decided to follow this week’s template, I will be forced to write new or re-examine previous poetry.

Today, I decided on the waiting woodpile as my subject. Stacked in late July, I have been waiting patiently to enjoy the fruits of my labor via a warm and comforting fire in my cabin’s wood stove. Still waiting…

Waiting wood pile on first day of fall

Waiting wood pile on first day of fall

COVER ME IN ORANGE | rebecca andre

Surround me

with an abundance of citrus-coloured coals

that promise a winter-long fire, an amiable warmth,

that seeps into the logs and into my soul.

Allow me

to lay down and nap on a fragrant fabric of leaves,

leaves like crunchy clouds, that take on cookie-cutter shapes

of hearts and stars and diamonds.

Carve me

a smirking pumpkin, a face eerily lit in the evening,

turning to a crooked grin in the morn,

as a layer of shimmering frost smoothes its sinister edges.

Let me

pass time at my stove, instead of my desk,

whipping up spiced cakes and all sorts of gourd-inspired dishes,

finished with nutmeg and cloves and mace.

Layer me

in scarves of crochet, in flannels and corduroys.

Camouflage my abundant curves in sweatshirts and woolen jackets,

as I dream of knee-high leather boots.

Cover me

in the handsome hue of autumn.

Dust me with its cinnamon scent…

Cover me in orange.

 

 

My Auntie T.’s Poetry

Mtn Girl Poetry
IMG_3110

My Aunt at 16. Yes, I am aware of, and happy for, the resemblance.

Heredity is a double-edged sword. Never has this become so apparent as in the last week.
According to doctors, my little girl is going to struggle with the same weight and anxiety issues as her mother, yet she has also inherited my empathy and sense of adventure.

Finding out pancreatic cancer is hereditary was not a treat, I hope my Mom doesn’t pass that on to me. I hope all I get from her are the traits of thriftiness and intense loyalty to family.

Speaking of family, I have been blessed to have some of the most amazing, talented, accomplished Aunts and Uncles a niece could ask for. Growing up I was aware of my Uncle’s black belt in karate, and his brick-laying artistry. I was nine years old when I first watched my other Uncle perform on stage with his own modern dance company; he is still a sought after NYC choreographer. I watched all of my Uncles put their children first, and always make their nieces and nephews feel special, even though we didn’t see each other a lot. My Auntie T.’s husband was my first introduction to camo! I wonder if my sis remembers dressing up in his hunting gear?

All of my Aunts are women of deep faith, tireless care-givers and some of the most hard working women I have ever known. They may not know it, but their examples still inspire me.

Just last week one of my Aunts discovered my poetry online and she shared some of hers with me. We are talking lines written almost 40 years ago, starting in and around the year of 1969.

That’s when it dawned on me! We have a serious streak of creativity in this family!

So, I would like to share a few of Auntie T.’s full length poems and some excerpts. I poured over the snapshots of her hand-written lines and yellowed pages she sent to me. I feel honored to be privy to the love, pain and hard life lessons documented on those pages.

Auntie T. wrote this one when my cousins were babies:

Complex sensations dwell in the length of a day.
Kindness expels from deep within.
Expanding with style and grace,
vibrations are there,
meant to be felt.

Confront each day in the light of reality.
Take caution and care not to indulge.
The thread of the Universe ties everyone together.
Our combinations, all slightly complex.
Life is given to live as an individual.

To see Life for what it is,
and not for what it seems.
With hope our world will long endure the pain.
To continue through eternity,
with the love it gives.

Taste of the fruit Truth can possess.
Giving could be a link to satisfaction!
Fill your environment with happiness,
then truly the fullness of Life
will be felt.

~~~~~

And two more sweet limericks she wrote for her babies. First, on trying to get my cousin to eat her breakfast:

BANANA, BANANA HALF MOON FRUIT

Banana, banana half moon round,
Yellow, yellow fruit I found.
Fill my tummy, stop its growl
Tasteful, plentiful, makes no sound.
Slice and sweeten, cover with milk
Hmm, hmm, good down smooth as silk.
Another please and thank you do,
Have a half moon fruit and chew, chew chew!

~~~~~

And this one from 1984, written for her son’s school book week, and ending up being painted at the entrance to the school library!

Read a book
Dream new dreams
Explore the real
Take a look
Words together
Words apart
Start a book and fill your heart
Complete it and your mind is full
Adventure leads to open doors
The more you read, the less you miss
As the world ensures your mind insists.

~~~~~

SEASONS

Morning dew, evening mist.

The Autumn daze remembrance
of horse drawn carriage rides.

The fields of bright flowers gone
buried beneath the leaves.

Romping about very merrily
happy to be alive.

Forgetful, I find myself while gazing,
that Nature takes its course.

The changes seem to me a miracle:
As birds and aging trees,
as old and new repeat the course
of Nature’s nostalgic seasons
that come to us
each year.

~~~~~

MINUTE CRYSTAL GLOW

Rainbow blossomed colors flow
within the bright beam of light.
Tiny particles make within my mind
the beauty seen.
Could I taste your shiny flake?
If so promised my love, redeemed.
Shine!
Oh, shine my loved delight.
Reflect your beauty with all your might.
Glow of love’s blossomed flight.
Touch my body from head to toe,
the warmth and loving for your foe.
Why waste your minute beauty
to those who fight?
Glow forever on and on…
Gradually you’ll penetrate…
I’ll guard thee always sworn,
for each are soon to meet their fate.

~~~~

Excerpts from “THE MEADOW” poems:

…The meadow of a peaceful life can harvest beauties of untold treasure.
As love for life brings continued endurance
on the rocky path we all seem to follow.
To feel the rewards of a harmonious life,
One must tune oneself into reality…

~~~~~
…Since to live is to die,
each flower opens its petals to their fullest annually….
The beauty the new Life brings with it
Love unquestionable…

~~~~~

This is the final poem I will share for this round of “Auntie T’s poetry. Dated 1969, its application to 2017 is eerie.

FREEDOM CALL

People live dreaming free,
gazing at reality.
“I am you, you are me,
together we will see.”

Long distant battle….
helping company;
pleasing sounds
of a child’s faint cry.

The War has just begun.
President (Nixon) talking rhymes; people die.
A brother and mother sigh,
the War, it must be done….

Help each other, dreaming free.
Fighting for reality.
We are all brothers,
together we will be.

Heavens in the silent night,
God extends his light.
Helping each other to live,
sorry for those that die.

Harmony prevails,
silence bring less tears.
The War –
it has been done.

~~~~~

Thank you Auntie T. for reaching out to me with your poetry and helping me break my writer’s block I have had regarding this blog. Most importantly, thank you for being there beside us this last year and a half, helping us navigate Mom’s cancer journey. Now, it is time to get back to writing and taking pictures!

*All poetry is intellectual property of Auntie T. (pseudonym).  This blog is for sharing, but the words within are protected by copyright laws.

Kindred Spirts – a poem

Mtn Girl Poetry

Young caribou | Newfoundland

I got so close to her

I could see the glint in her eye.

With every step,

both our hearts pounded.

Exposed, but not in danger.

Alone, but still safe

as a swaddled baby.

Oh, sweet caribou,

don’t run away.

All that is pointed at you

is my lens.

becca andre | twenty sixteen

Through closed windows

I can hear the sound of water rushing.

I know there is a photo screaming to be taken.

But that requires rising up 

from this alter of depression –

my bed.

At 3 pm I decided to meet the schoolbus.

It’s sleeting now.

Staring at my keys with longing,

I leave them on the counter.

Forcing my feet into boots,

I go outside.

Holding the camera to my breast

I take the first timid steps.

It’s such a small reward I am headed for –

A photo of a waterfall

I’ve seen a thousand times before.

But the only escape,

for me,

from this prison of blues

is through pictures and rhymes,

with water as my muse. 

december one twenty sixteen | becca andre 

MY REWARD: PHOTOS BELOW


Like what you see?  Like to drink tea while you read? Visit my online store MountainGirlMade.

Mtn Girl Poetry

Penn Station 7/17/16 – a poem

Mtn Girl Poetry

image

I will not watch your bag.

I will watch meandering passengers of all shapes and colors
passing me by with glazed confusion distorting the light of their eyes,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will sit here, talking to a friend, sounds of our synced laughter lost in the crowd,
lost among the cries of tired babies and complaining elders,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will drag my luggage up steps for some city-fresh air on 33rd Street,
and notice how the cabs have become almost comically small,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will hear an announcer warn, “If you see something, say something,”
and I will steal a suspicious glance your way,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will avert my eyes from the disheveled ones with hands out,
wondering what story got them to this begging place,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will watch a heron, in his blue majestic stance, grace the edge of a Jersey swamp,
and count the colors of the storage containers as we drift by,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will relish the private concert of my iPod on shuffle,
sounds of Natalie, Bocelli, Cash, Chapman and U2 until I doze,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will attempt to decipher the graffiti that almost passes as art on the metal fences,
and wonder how they appear, as I never see a spray can wielding culprit,
but I will not watch your bag.

I will write my run-on sentences, all day long, passing time on the Empire Service,
but my dear stranger, this world has me just skeptical enough to say…

I just can’t watch your bag.

What is Poetography?

Mtn Girl Poetry, Photo of the Week

What is Poetography?

These days, there is a proliferation of catchy text over images used to grab our attention on social media. Then there is…grrrr…Instagram, that takes a lot of creativity away from the photography and editing process.
ENTER: POET-OGRAPHER, def: one that marries creative images along side meaningful poetry/prose as an expression of art.
I would like to believe I coined this word, as it came to me at 3 a.m. one night, but alas, its already out there..google it. But thats ok. Spellcheck still doesn’t recognize it, which indicates it is a relatively new concept. It doesn’t change how I feel about the process, which is this: Poetography is my new Prozac. Capturing photos of places and people I love, then adding even more expression to the piece with words, is a form of art that I intend to promote and engage in for the rest of my life. Recently I’ve even been able to combine my love of music into my art, photographing local musicians, promoting them how ever I can, and this concoction of music, photos and poetry is a salve to the soul. Check out our Facebook page for some of the amazing talent I’ve been able to capture.

Poem from above:

In the loop

there is peace

cast after cast

waiting for the trout

to reluctantly rise

in anticipation

of the dancing flies

as we surrender

to serenity.

Poetry & Photography

Mtn Girl Poetry

Snowy Hollow

waiting-for-winter-logo

WAITING FOR WINTER It seems so un-natural, this in-between time.  I raise my head and force a smile. I wait for the winter to come. To really arrive. Not with a fleeting flurry, but with a full on snow globe blizzard. I want to feel the weight of snow, as it pushes away  the November grey. With it’s blanket of clean, clinging to the bark, clinging to my insides. I long to see the snow stacked against the fence. A promising wall, a frozen defense, a gleaming reflection almost blinding, that heats up my face. And as the sickles form on the roofs edge, the sharp ice begins to melt in my heart. And as I sit by the flames I stare at the art that is these hills. It’s in this trance like state that I think I see you, honest as freshly fallen snow, walking my way. ©2014 Becca #105