My Auntie T.’s Poetry

Family, poetry, Uncategorized
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

outdoors, photography, poetry, Travel

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

moonlighting reporter in 2015

blog, Catskill Made, Catskill Mountains, new york, photography, upstate new york, Watershed post

Following the dream to become a published, paid writer this year has led to some incredible learning experiences.  Whether reporting a news event here in the Catskills, promoting a non-for-profit event, writing editorials and essays, or, my favorite, photo journalism, I am constantly fulfilled with my work.

Home Office

Home Office

Finally, I am doing what I love.  Reaping the benefits of involved pitches, copious interviews, and being in the right place at the perfect time.

Working together with editors that are professional and experienced provide me with that much needed extra set of eyes.

Folks that ask me what I do often scoff at my answer:

“I’m a writer, a photographer.”

“What else do you do? You know, to actually make money?” they ask.

THIS is what I do.  I write what I see.  I ask questions.  I take my camera with me everywhere.

And I get paid.

Any questions?

THANK YOU FOR READING:

Along with a photo-essay in the upcoming Catskill Outdoor Guide (print) and some work done for Delaware County Times (print) here are some published articles available online:

Watershed Post Contributions

Catskill Made : Survival: A guide to making your home in the Catskills

Catskill Made: Poem: House of Secrets

Catskill Made: The Moon as a muse – her phases and their meanings

 

Silent Night -Digital Holiday Card

Ben rounds, Catskill Mountains, music videos, new york, photography, upstate new york

Update:

Sitting here

snowless,

January 25.

Just 2 hours south

are 30 plus inches in the city.

This mountain girl is baffled

by her snow-free surroundings,

and wondering why the 4

neighboring ski resorts

only boast man-made snow

after this historic weekend.

Life just is not fair.

So press play below,

it will cheer you up,

if you are pining for snow.

A sweet New York Catskill Mountain slideshow video highlights waterfalls,  moon-scapes and snow-scapes, set to Ben Rounds‘ rendition of ‘Silent Night’, for all the fans and supporters of Mountain Girl Photography & Design.

 with love, peace, joy! (& snow!)

DYING FOR THE LOVE OF PICTURES & WORDS

Uncategorized

VW with camera on mountain large_6886

The world is a mess. The 13th anniversary of the scariest day of my generation is looming. We live in a time of multiple wars, a time when journalists die for, not religion, or patriotism, or family. They die for, and as a result of: their passion.

Their passion became their job, and they literally lose their head for it.

They are compelled to document, with their pen and camera, what is happening in a war-torn country worlds away from their own country, their own comfort zone. They are compelled to go to the most dangerous place a journalist can work, a place where their predecessors have already been kidnapped and killed, so they can witness and record the crisis of humanity that is happening in Syria.

Why?  Why the risk of losing everything?  Is it worth it, to capture the fleeting moments none of us would ever see if it wasn’t for their cameras?  To capture the beauty and the horror of the world they have traveled to?  Is it worth it to capture the truth of what is happening, separate from mainstream media (many of these journalists are free-lancers) and attempt to share it with the world?

To them, yes.  And I get it.  Though I am not a journalist.  Yet I do share the same desire to scoop up a moment in time with my lens, hold onto it for eternity, and share it with anyone that will look.  Behind the camera, nothing can touch me.  My mind empties of all the stress of life, as I grasp at the images I see, and try and make it so you can see what I see.

I also share the journalist’s same drive to write, with the belief that writing is cleansing, and influential, and meaningful.  It is effective, moving, motivating. Writing helps make sense of the non-sensical. Writing is a purification process, filtering facts and fantasy.

And I am free.  Free to write.  Free behind my camera.  No fear of capture, beheading, or death at the hands of a terrorist.

Yet so many times, I find I censor myself for fear of what others think!  Let’s put this on an imaginary scale. The fear of death, as compared to the fear of what others think.  Which do you think should be heavier?

WV-windmills-sunset-with-text

So for all the men and women who have died too early, before they had written all they had to write, persecuted for the truth of their words and photographs, I say this:

Thank you. You amaze and inspire me to write as long as I am alive. To appreciate every moment behind the lens. Your death reminds me to not take for granted our days, to not waste an hour, to never silence ourselves. To not let anyone else silence us. To be courageous when faced with something as horrific as a terrorist, or as seemingly small as a naysayer. 

So go forth, pursue your passion like it’s your last day on earth.

boy and ax_1347
Boy and Ax.
A Sincere Thank You to our First Responders Everywhere.