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Tuesday, April 29, 2014


Sweat Lodge

The grandfathers are placed in the
Sweat lodge, ceremoniously.
One in the middle for the creator,
And four for the four directions.
People, stripped of all worldly possessions,
Crowd in and circle around the hot stones,
Clockwise–the path of the sun.
The elder disrupt the peace
With words of thanks.
And splashes water on the grandfathers.
As the hiss subsides
People go deeper within.
Some with no-thought,
Others with troubling-life thoughts,
Searching for understanding and peace.
The Elder erupts with a chant,
And asks each searcher
To express his thoughts
To help cleanse their souls.
More water–sizzle.
More silence.
People crawl out,
Thanking Earth Mother,
And greet the cool night air
On their hot skin,
As they remain in silence
With a sense of renewal

Monday, April 21, 2014



Time for a poem of a different nature...

This poem won an honourable mention in a poetry contest.


earthearthearthearthearthearth beat
earthearthearthearthearthEarth is alive

Sunday, April 20, 2014


Unwanted Response

heavy rains forecasted
with severe lightning
my car at roadside still
it failed again

soaked while fault-finding
I shake my fist to the sky
scream out frustrations

      the sky responded

now naked and shaken
clothing evaporated
soles of my shoes smouldering
I must be content
lightning did not destroy 
the stainless steel wrench
in my tingling hand

Saturday, April 19, 2014


This is the correct website.  Please take a look at it when you have a chance.  Two of my friends in Germany now have a website with books for sale.

They are of a spiritual nature.

Thank you.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014



Hear! I am the Hill of Poetry
brought about by soulful
and natural forces.

Through hail, sleet and disruption
I glean with my Eagle Eye
a spiritual truth
in the healing defence of time;

And throw myself upon
the purifying shores
of the River mouth
of Divine utterance.

It is here I greet the Rain of Bounty
and cast my life upon
the true journey
of the soul, helplessly
and utterly charmed...

For, I am the Tear of Growth
and a Spiritual Warrior
who will be victorious in every battle,
setting my course
for the planets and stars!

For upon the boundless Ocean,
I shall be set adrift
to seek and gain
salvation's Spiritual Sun,
to return hope and order to all men
as a world tree of transcendent light.

For I am the Heart of all mankind.

Martha Meshberg

Copyright ©2001 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014


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New post on Kites Without Strings

Sarnia’s Bluewater Reading Series: A Pictorial View

by d78hill
Behind the swinging doors of the "Famous Room", a new reading series emerged. Below are the poetic highlights!
The official 2014 National Poetry Month poster!
The official 2014 National Poetry Month poster!
James Deahl, Master of Ceremonies and Spokesperson, Bluewater Reading Series.
James Deahl, Master of Ceremonies and Spokesperson, Bluewater Reading Series.
A time for reflection.
A time for reflection.
Special thanks to the four guest readers!
Special thanks to the four guest readers: John Wing Jr., Allan Breismaster, Lynn Tait and Clara Blackwood.

Allan Briesmaster reads from Against the Flight of Spring (Quattro Books)
Allan Briesmaster reads from Against the Flight of Spring (Quattro Books)
Clara Blackwell reads from Forecast (Guernica Editions)
Clara Blackwell reads from Forecast (Guernica Editions)
Lynn Tait reads from her manuscripts Chatter Marks and Broken Days
Lynn Tait reads from her manuscripts Chatter Marks and Broken Days
John Wing Jr. reads from Why-shaped Scars (Black Moss Press)
John Wing Jr. reads from Why-shaped Scars (Black Moss Press)
Featuring New Work
Featuring New Work
A stellar and captive audience.
A stellar audience.
"In Celebration of National Poetry Month. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the League of Canadian Poets"
The League of Canadian Poets new_logo_2

Please note: Two more National Poetry Month Events have been planned for Sarnia.
Spoken Word welcomes writers to share their work in front of an audience, Friday, April 25 starting at 8 p.m. at the Lawrence House Centre for the Arts. Sign-up for readers is at the door. Admission is free. More info here.
Seven poets Steven Michael Berzensky, Kent Bowman, James Deahl, Ryan Gibbs, Debbie Okun Hill, Norma West Linder and Lynn Tait will celebrate the literary work of literary giants Milton Acorn and Raymond Souster, Sunday, April 27at 1 p.m. at the Book Keeper. Admission is free. More infohere.
Celebrating Milton Acorn and Raymond Souster during National Poetry Month
Celebrating Milton Acorn and Raymond Souster during National Poetry Month

Thursday, April 10, 2014

JERRY JORDISON - New Liskeard, Ontario

The story below won second prize in a "Canadian writers Journal' Short Story Contest.

I Loved Ronda Once

            Thirty-five years ago in a little Southern Italian village, Ronda sipped Chianti with me for two glorious weeks. I’ve longed for her since that last explosive night. And now, sitting just ahead in the sixth row is a woman who looks just like her.

            Watching my son perform on the flying trapeze, my face is flushed as I glimpse the profile of that cheek I once touched. Beside her sits a fair skinned man with young eyes. The catcher, my son, grasp the flying lady’s wrist, gleaming to the spontaneous applause, then with a subtle flip lets her go again to fly back to the bar. I need to know for certain.

            If that face is not Ronda’s why is my pulse drumming so violently? I tried to will her to turn sideways, so I could be sure. My wife, Marie, broke my concentration as she touched my hand to ask if there was anything wrong.

            “Scott is doing well tonight, isn’t he?” I recovered. During almost thirty years of marriage, Marie could always sense my emotions. She smiled and focused on the flyers again.

            Wartime was no excuse. We knew it was our last night together before I had to leave with my unit to go north. I had told her that I would return as soon as I could and we’d spend the rest of our lives together. One minute she was smiling, the next, she slapped me and left. I never could understand why.

            With all attention focused on the high wire, I noticed Ronda make her way to the end of the aisle and head toward the washrooms. My stomach knotted with certainty. I excused myself and followed her to the concession area. I stood beside a pay phone waiting for her to come out.

            We were wartime lovers. What would I say to her now? Without time to get my thoughts together, she walked past me, returning to her seat. Our eyes did not connect. I returned to my seat as well.

            Scott was now performing his bicycle rodeo routine. The crowd laughed and applauded. I couldn’t help noticing her laughing face again. As a certain fragrance brings back instant memories, her laughing face brought back memories that I could not deny. I must talk to her. I have to know. How am I ever going to make contact with her, when I am here with my wife celebrating out son’s debut performance with Circus Soleil?

            At intermission Marie grabbed my hand to lead me backstage to congratulate Scott. I saw Ronda, with a young gentleman, flowing with the crowd in the opposite direction. Scott was busy changing his costume. Smiles, hugs and congratulations were exchanged. We returned to our seats as the crowds returned from their break.

            We settled back to watch the Chinese diabolo group perform. There were no more breaks before the end of the show and we had promised to meet Scott after the performance to go out and celebrate. I was beginning to lose any hope of a rendezvous.

            Was she married and now living in Montreal? The man beside her is younger than she is. I remember how she commented on how young I was in those days. We had only known each other for a couple of indulgent weeks. The bombing had intensified. As we sipped our wine that night, we both witnessed a ship in the distance, being blown out of the water. She slapped me and left shortly after that.

            Scott performed again. This time he was with a troupe of acrobats, flipping and juggling at the same time. I sat amazed at the skills he had gained. I remembered him enjoying the stage with me doing magic shows as a child, but he had never displayed any talent for what he was doing now.

            Any hopes of meeting Ronda after the show vanished during the standing ovation as she disappeared into the crowd. Disappointed, I followed Marie backstage to wait for Scott.

            We joined Scott and his friends to celebrate at Marco’s. We toasted and laughed as we talked about their great performance.

            Startled, I looked up as Ronda interrupted to ask if I was Larry. My heart did a double loop. There she was, talking to me. I hugged her and introduced her to my family and our new circus friends. I explained that we knew each other in Italy during the war. I told her about Marie and our son, Scott.

            She was delighted to meet a real live circus performer. Her young escort approached and she introduced him as her son Anthony. Anthony explained that the reason they stopped in Montreal was to see Circus Soleil, on their way back to California, where they now lived. We shared some wine and more conversation.

            I desperately wanted to know why Ronda left that night. I needed to talk to her alone. My perceptive wife sensed my dilemma and suggested that I take Ronda to the empty table to catch up on old times.

            “It is great to see you again,” I began. “I really want to know why you left me that last night?”

            “I would like to apologize for striking you,” she offered. “Do you remember the ship we saw being blown out of the water?”
            “Yes, I do.”

            “I never told you but I was married to a sailor during the time we were together.”

            “You what!” I blurted out. “I know,” she quickly replied, putting a finger to her lips to calm me down. “Let me continue. He was at sea for three months and I had just received word that afternoon that he was returning home in a few days.”

            “Go on,” I impatiently encouraged.

            “Remember, just after we saw that ship being bombed, you reached up and touched my cheek? In that instant I had an intuitive flash that my husband was on that ship. I flailed out at you and left.”

            “Was he?” I enquired. “Yes. I received word the next day he was killed in that bombing.” I reached out and touched her cheek, once again, as I consoled her. I stood up to return to the group, when she took my hand and motioned for me to sit down again.
            “There is one more thing I need to tell you. Anthony is my son. You are his father.” “What!” I stammered. But I don’t want him to know. He thinks his father was my husband, the sailor, who died during the war.”

            She stood up, walked over and whispered to Anthony. They both said their good-byes to the group. She turned and smiled at me, and they walked away.

            “Larry, are you all right?” Marie inquired. Yes,” I murmured, and returned to sit with her.

            I loved Ronda once.