I is for Icarus

Icarus, myth or reality? Woven into every greed-infected pursuit rests the dream of defying the sun. When I look around our world today, Icarus stares back at me. Remnants of charred wings blow across the streets of New York City, the deserts of Afghanistan, the rubble of Iraq, the sad, torn lives of too many people without jobs, homes and a secure future because greed – not theirs, but that of men, women, businesses addicted to power, blinded by their success cheating the rules, believing they were immune to failure.

Icarus also honors creativity. According to the Encyclopedia of Greek Mythology, Icarus was the

“Son of Daedalus who dared to fly too near the sun on wings of feathers and wax. Daedalus had been imprisoned by King Minos of Crete within the walls of his own invention, the Labyrinth. But the great craftsman's genius would not suffer captivity. He made two pairs of wings by adhering feathers to a wooden frame with wax. Giving one pair to his son, he cautioned him that flying too near the sun would cause the wax to melt. But Icarus became ecstatic with the ability to fly and forgot his father's warning. The feathers came loose and Icarus plunged to his death in the sea.”

Not giving up hope, recognizing the maze and thinking beyond what is a dead-end to find alternate directions forward. In my writing, with my family, and as I deal with a profound hearing loss, thinking beyond what is an obvious solution or even just giving up is what I also glean from the tale of Icarus. However, the goal is to be more like Daedalus and less like Icarus. I want to take the risks, pursue new ideas, and not be resigned to the status quo. How about you?

 Idyll (nirvana)

Flight beyond expectations

of others or self,

wakens passions

simmering,

tepid,

hidden

beneath daily duties,

strikes chords,

harmonizes my life

with the power

of the universe,

grants

my inner talents

room to breathe.

H is for Hawks and Humor

Hawk

hawk,

soaring

beyond Earth

tethers, thermals

start sky bound ascents,

you drift without concerns,

confident, keen-eyed hunter

locating prey from high above,

aerobatics, one swift dive, dinner

snared, savored, nature’s life cycle renewed.

A blog post ought to be of some use to a reader and yet I’m torn when I reach the letter H.  Back when I wrote about April Fool’s Day, I ended with a reference to “humor” and how that would make a good topic for today.

I also wanted to write about hawks because I harbor an affinity for hawks, have chosen “hawkseye” as my online pen-name and accept that hawk and I share a spiritual link. However, writing of the hawk is more for me than others, so let’s take a tour of humor instead.

Do you know what makes you laugh and why you find some experiences humorous? I challenge you to attempt a concise definition of humor that could apply to wide range of people. Personally, I think it would prove difficult. What you find rip-roaring hilarious might cause me to merely roll my eyes or leave shaking my head. What’s humorous to one culture might provoke shock or disgust in another.

Even a search around the Internet led to nothing concrete. I think it fair to say, however, that what most people consider humorous today, while different in context, holds threads of similarity to what made people laugh in decades far into the past. Whether written, expressed verbally by a comedian, found in song, theater or just in conversation, humor and its triggered outcome – laughter – is good medicine for the soul.

G is for Gargantuan

Gargantuan -- don't your just love the way that word tumbles around your mouth and mind? The word contains so much more than big, or even giant. When I was a kid, much of life was “gargantuan” and beyond comprehension, but I tried to investigate all of it anyway

According to Merriam-Webster, Gargantuan is an adjective frequently capitalized. Now that’s power. And just take a gander at the definition: colossal, gigantic – more single words. The power is compacted, like a seed within an acorn; restrained power held in a small space, ready to birth one humongous, flowing, space-filling, towering oak tree.

As a kid, the world begged interaction. Like the oak tree, I started small, in my mother’s womb, progressed to larger, but still confining, containers called strollers, buggies, high chairs. After that, once those legs and feet found the power of ground contact, there was little stopping my curious mind. Most enticing, of course, was everything “off-limits.” That meant I loved the alleys behind our apartment in Chicago, the fields, creeks and developments far beyond my home street once my family moved to the suburbs.

And what did I encounter? Were there any greasy, grimy, gopher guts? Perhaps - like the day when two cars crashed on the corner near that Chicago apartment. I was maybe three at the time. My cousins, brother, neighbor kids and I swarmed the corner, peeked into the car and there, splayed like so many internal organs, the contents of a Chinese dinner nobody but the worms would be eating that night.

Later, I did meet a few gophers, but the garden snakes were more fun. They were numerous and I had no fear picking them up. I was bitten a few times, but soon learned how to catch and hold them in order to tease the squeamish without harm to either snake or me.

The story doesn’t end here, of course, and continues on even as I type. Gas-powered vehicles took me to foreign lands and on journeys around my home country. I met guarding gargoyles, ate honest-to-goodness Greek food, danced with geckos in Hawaii and hid from grizzlies in Canada. The oak tree of my life continues growing skyward, a gargantuan expanse of existence still waiting to be explored.

TODAY'S POEMS...

Both are cinquain poems (More info can be found at http://www.cinquain.org/  )

rhododendron

giants
begin as seeds
planted beneath treasures
found in mythic gardens, spring brings
blossoms

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

just dance

giggle

figgle, piggle

dance to life's sweet silver

arrows of sun, rain, dew gathered

for you

French Bread

French Bread, Flash Fiction and other "nice" F-words

French Bread

Fresh

bread wafts

succulent fragrances

like sensuous dancers

around my nose,

wakens

forgotten memories

of France,

forests far from home,

crusty, sweet breads

fueling

sweet adventures.

  

War’s Remorse

Fight or flight,

freedom’s desires

unite

passionate lovers,

dreamers

of a future

fueled

by compassion.

The letter “F” starts many words finding frequent appearance in discussions of life. The fires of summer and passion – I like those. Freedom – there are many voices of freedom fine-tuned to current cultural or political desires. Or freedom, as in release from the confines of prison, marriage, a discordant note, an unhappy job, or physical pain that has been borne far too long.

And all fit nicely into themes for short stories, or my more recent passion – Flash Fiction. The definition of flash fiction is as varied and flexible as the themes and authors. In general, flash fiction is any complete short story with 1,000 or fewer words. Others use 750 words as their upper limit. And then there’s micro-fiction. These fascinating tales range from the hard to believe six words, up to about 500 words. 

The key is brevity – making every word, phrase, sentence, and idea hold more than meets the eye.  Composing good to great flash fiction demands that the author evaluate every element for significance and toss descriptions, ideas, and side-story information that might actually enhance a longer story.

This is one reason I enjoy composing and reading flash fiction. The discipline reminds me of good poetry where only the essential heart of the message lands in print, while retaining enough clues and what I call “windows” into deeper layers, visible to each reader individually according to their inner reality or perceptions and experiences about life.

This blog, for example, contains an excess of verbiage compared to any flash tale I might pull together.  

Many websites have popped up over recent years where you can visit to enjoy some good tales and then submit your own. It’s great fun. Why not try a few?

Some sites to visit:

WritersType --  http://www.writerstype.com/

Flash Fiction Online -- http://www.flashfictiononline.com/

Smoke Long Quarterly -- http://smokelong.com/home.asp

Elephants and more

Egregious Elephant Ensconced In The Middle Of The Living Room.

That's the headline on this, our fifth day of blogging through the alphabet. What’s your unspeakable-obvious-but-won’t move elephant? Mine is…. well, not revealing that here!

I like elephants – the real ones, or at least the ones I get to visit at the Washington Park Zoo in Portland, Oregon. My favorite is Samudra. Sam is his appropriate nickname. Some might ask, “Why not Packy, the elder statesman?” (He will celebrate 50 years April 14^th)  Maybe because Packy gets so much press, so many birthday parties and Sam, well, come on now, the guy is just too cute!

Samudra

According to the National Geographic (online facts page), the African elephant is the largest land animal on earth. That must mean only the dinosaurs have a leg up on them and look where it got them! Seriously, I consider elephants, the real ones, elegant creatures, strong, bold, confident and friendly. Well, at least the ones I’ve met at my local zoo.

Now, those other elephants, the visibly invisible ones in the middle of the living room, anyone know how to coax them into an elephant transport box?

Elegant Elephant

Elegant elephant,

trunk snuffling

about, settled

quite cozy

in my living room,

would you care

for a scone

or two, perhaps

a cherry nougat

would do?

I’m on a diet

you see,

looking to lose

a few gems

of anxiety

anchored deep

beyond my reach,

where shadows

refute

their brilliant

clarity;

and lift
dark curtains

blocking my view.

Or is that just you?

Dragons and Dreams

Dragons and Dreams, kids have both. Then, again, so do I, having never outgrown the pleasure of living an alternate life between lights out and sunrise.

night shadows

dragons

dance on night walls

swift runners, fire breathers

reach wings toward me, come daylight they

escape

What dreams come your way? Do you believe them messengers and guides regarding your current life, maybe your future? Or do you, like me, wake looking for feathers on your pillow, scratches on your arms, your face covered in the remnants of the meal being consumed at the moment of reentry?

C is for Caterpillar

The letter C introduces an array of interesting words and subsequent topics, such as conversation centered on the meaning of civility, or cowardly choices vs. those that might be considered courageous. Then, there’s my cranky cat whose life seems centered on uncivil commandeering of my calm intents, corrupted by her grating, un-tuned violin insistence that every version of cat food I feed her is unacceptable.

More interesting, perhaps, is “caterpillar” and “chrysalis.” Both represent change, as well as perseverance, faith that withdrawing from a known life will lead to a new life direction or purpose. That caterpillar also becomes vulnerable to intentional or unintentional destruction without an ability to defend itself.

While the caterpillar’s life cycle prevents the choice of turning away from that time of vulnerable withdrawal in order to fly free, humans hold choice in their hands. While not every shift in life requires withdrawal, most demand at least some time alone. I’ve run many scenarios through my mind, including professional team sports, and don’t find a single endeavor that doesn’t include a strong “I” factor.

Personal skill develops from focused hours of practice. This could be physical, mental or both. Hours spent developing intricate skills are necessary for even a modicum of pleasure and certainly if one dreams of mastery. Some of this might not seem like withdrawal the way a caterpillar exchanges one lifestyle for another, but I think there’s a strong similarity. In order to become more proficient, to understand, to own the skills needed to contribute to a team, the world, a family, even your own well-being requires a moving within, to the core of self. Here the seeds are planted, nurtured, established and from here the fruits flow outward.

While I love sharing music with others, a practice that enhances music pleasure ten-fold, for me there is a different kind of magic and energy found when I’m immersed in play and practice in isolation. For my writing, while I glean inspiration and knowledge from interactions with other writers and poets, my soul is fed when I’m immersed in my characters, my muse leading me to worlds unavailable elsewhere.

I guess that says I get to build a chrysalis every day, accepting a kind of faith in where I am headed, perseverance pushing through or climbing over obstacles, challenges and frustrations. Eventually, I believe, the wings of my efforts will break free of the cocoon and fly free.

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

Cycle of Life

Caterpillar,

such a  short life

spent in search

of food;

chomp-chomp

here, there,

chomp-chomp

all day long,

focused,

your purpose clear,

cycle completion

leads

to chrysalis

transformation,

one set of clothes

morphed

into more elegant

wings

and escape

from grounded hikes;

sky waits,

fields of flowers

soon yours –

fly quickly now,

time also flies

and the hour approaches

for the laying of eggs

and letting go,

your plan and purpose

complete.

by judy Beaston

April 3, 2012