there was a phoenix young and bright
feathers shine engulfed in flame
it sparkles gold in dawn of light
waiting to be bestowed a name
take these wings and fly to the sea
i will be here when you return to me
i have a phoenix brisk and bright
blinding in rash or angry flame
proud but afraid of its intense light
wild in spirit, but in heart still tame
with those wings fly as far as the sea
don’t forget, here waiting, is me
my phoenix no longer brilliantly bright
burning slowly a serene flame
secrets of time beneath comforting light
powerful creature just the same
the wings have traversed more than one single sea
rest your tired limbs on me
i had a phoenix, in sight and mind bright
who one day extinguished its flame
vanish to leave only embers of light
darkness fell and the night came
from ashes emerges a song from the sea
those glowing wings remember me
My attempt at a story through a ballad with an ABAB rhyme scheme. I have always loved phoenixes, beautiful, powerful, and able to be reborn from their ashes. Human life is linear, but there are physical and emotional cycles within it. One lyric resembles that of the Beatles’ song “Blackbird” in “take these broken wings and learn to fly” because I love this song and the image of flight it creates. I have associated loyalty with these magical creatures since reading about Fawkes, Dumbledore’s pet phoenix in the Harry Potter series, so that’s where that attribute came from. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll write a tune for it. Or not.
Thanks for reading,
Image source: http://wiki.godvillegame.com/File:Phoenix.jpg
A cluster frolics the streets, wandering but fast
Fun to have, stomachs to fill, memories to make
Long hours rewarded and in the past at last.
It was the best chocolate banana milkshake.
Wind collects – lights, sounds, smells – as it circles the square
Pass the man drumming rhythms on buckets and tins,
Through the lively city we walk without a care.
Seems where the weekend ends I want it to begin.
So here’s a poem that is a pantun and about a walk (sort of). I tried ‘killing two birds with one stone’ as they say for missing the prompt on Day 13. Last weekend our whole class went for dinner at Mr. Greenjeans. With the busy and long schedules, we don’t hesitate when there is a chance to have an evening out, and we had a good time being outside in the streets of Toronto, even when it began it rain. It’s moments like these that make me so eager to have the school year finish so we can have the freedom of summer.
Thanks for reading,
The Big Blue is in front of me
Most beautiful species I ever did see
I grip the net tightly between my hands
Homemade and woven by individual strands
From generations collected of silkworm line
I step cautiously, keep quiet focus in mind
Raise the net high, ready for a swift sweep…
Watching the butterfly sway.
Take off in a flutter, into the clear sky
I let it fly away,
And wave an imaginary goodbye.
“I realise there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.” ― Jeffrey McDaniel
Just for fun footnote: The name of the poem comes one of my favourite childhood shows, Arthur. In an episode entitled “Binky Barnes, Wingman”, Binky becomes obsessed with butterflies and vows to catch one he calls “Big Blue”, who always escapes, satirizing the scenario of Captain Ahab and Moby Dick.
Thanks for reading,
A painter has a canvas, a musician, an instrument, an athlete, a ball or a puck, but a dancer? Dancers have their own bodies. Living, breathing art.
Dancers have nothing to hide behind, what they do is a pure expression of themselves – just people and their movements on a stage. Their work is fleeting, it passes through time and exists in the present – a dance cannot be captured fully, just as a portrait photograph is only a fragment of a breathing, human being. Dancers expose themselves to the world, placing their very identity in a most vulnerable position under the world’s eyes. And yet they are powerful, a celebration of human strength and artistry. Maybe that is why dance strikes a chord in nearly everyone, because there is such depth and sincerity in what can be expressed through the human body.
Ah, but with the pride of a dancer comes a challenge. A body changes, a person changes, and your work along with it. Every day a new balance must be found, muscle memory joggled, flexibility and stamina renewed. One day my pointe shoes are a size 4 1/2 the next day a 5. I can feel the backs of my legs engaging to solidify my ankle alignment, and in the future I may have trouble finding the same sensation. The body is very capable of adapting to situations dancers put them through, but sometimes it needs help in concentration and discipline to reach the perfection that all dancers envision in their dreams. It is a constant journey to discover the utmost potential of our bodies and the truest artists we can possibly be to ourselves. My ballet teacher taught me that. I feel very privileged to be a part of this art form for sharing the simplest joy of expressing myself through myself, as myself, in ways that words cannot explain.
“Dance is the hidden language of the soul.” -Martha Graham
Read, dance, and don’t forget to smile,