NORMA WEST LINDER

For James, with Love

I thought myself content

to live alone

until you came along

my stalwart knight

to slay, with your keen sword

of winning words

the dragon of loneliness 

I thought with my dog, Rocky

by my side

(my little white Shih Tzu)

I’d face the future unafraid

need nothing more

than my circle

of fellow writers and friends 

I felt the silent company

of books

would see me through

I’d lose myself in tomes

of others’ lives

I didn’t know the joy

of days and nights with you 

Poet of mine, your words

your eyes of azure blue

your smile, your wisdom

and a heart that’s true

have re-arranged my world

and made it shine

yes, made it shine like new 

      Norma West Linder

FRANCES WARD

slide show

click click:       my brothers play road hockey

click click:       the sour cherries in blossom

click click:       my sister as a baby

click click:       my mother slim & pre-gray

click click:       my dead brother aims a snowball at the photographer

the rest of us smile cautiously

click click:       we lean against the dark tree trunks

some have maple syrup buckets attached

click click:       my dead father, proud of his belly & thick sideburns

let someone use his camera

click click:       my grandmother, visiting from England

her arm tight around her daughter’s waist

click click:       we are lined up, squinting at the sun

in front of the tent at long point

click click:       my children laugh at us

click click:       notice resemblances

click click:       joke about genetics

click click:       deny the inevitable

                                                                                                                                     

click click:       my mother cries quietly

click click:       looks away from the screen

click click:       & i am distracted

click click:       by the memories

click click:       of what happened

click click:       before & after

click click:       each pose

click click:       was struck

click click:       bright light

click click:       blank screen

Copyright(c)FrancesWard

Frances Ward (f.ward), (visual artist, poet, editor, publisher) was born in Manchester, U.K. of English/Italian descent, and emigrated to Canada as a child.  She has spent most of her adult years in Hamilton and surrounding area.  Ward is a multi-media artist who creates 2 & 3 dimensional works through the use of found materials and images; welding, collage, assemblage, printing, painting and photography.  Her visual art is included in private and corporate collections. She is the author of three solo collections of poetry; Side Effects, Life & Ledger and The Writer Seems Unaware…. publisher/editor of Hammered Out (a literary journal) and publisher/editor of Road Work Ahead (an anthology of images and poetry by Hamilton Poets). 

ROSEMARY GARSIDE

DEPRESSION – SOME MEMORIES

By Rosemary Garside

In olden days before modern drugs, many people with my condition (chemical imbalance) or (Manic-Depression) died by committing suicide during episodes of severe depression, or by fatigue and not eating during a manic attack.

With the introduction of modern drugs, good psychiatric care and follow up, much has been done to alleviate this problem and people with my condition can lead normal and productive lives, as long as they continue to take medicine and follow medical advice.  I did for a number of years.

Unfortunately, sometimes things go wrong and after a period of 10 years without an episode of my illness  (I had continued to take my medication), I had another “manic attack” and as a result had to be hospitalized. I was stabilized and in time, returned to work and hoped to continue in this way

In some cases, the drugs I was given did not agree with me and I felt worse than I did when just suffering from my mental condition.  I reported this to my medical advisors, however, the establishment I was attached to was not very sympathetic.  The nurses and doctors always appeared too busy to really find out what was happening.  I got this impression that they had made their minds up about what was the matter with me without me and my family being involved or consulted.  I really don’t think they listened or made notes of what my family said.  They had an idea in their heads and that was it!

The drug I was prescribed initially produced severe side effects, resulting in my losing my memory for four days, after a ‘manic attack”.  (That was a weird episode, I felt I had the flu but was manic also).  I was never questioned about this, it was dismissed as one of those things.  I was also thought to be an alcoholic and at times felt I knew the ‘Blood Department’ better than anywhere else in the hospital.  I forever seemed to need further “Blood Testing”.

During my 51^st year, I was in and out of the hospital on a number of occasions and in general got the impression that nobody quite knew what to do with me.

I felt that some people thought I was an alcoholic, some that I had organic problems and others that I was such a psychological mess, that I could not adjust to changes in my life.  I was told I was manipulative and that I felt unloved – all these to some extend had an element of truth to them and caused me much unhappiness, because I, too, was questioning what was the matter with me.  Personally, I felt awful.  I tried to do things but somehow couldn’t, my family tried to help me, but even them felt that I was a very poor mother and otherwise useless.  I dragged myself around, managing always to get dressed in the morning – obviously good upbringing.  I made it to church on Sunday and to a friend’s place on Thursday evening – very often this was an effort on many occasions. 

My other predominant dread was the thought of spending the next 20 odd years feeling like this.  I was 51, but in more ways than one, felt one hundred.  Life was frightening at that time.  I felt I was deteriorating and indeed might be becoming retarded, nobody explained to me why I was feeling the way I was, and I was left to speculate on my own.  I really was treated as if there was no hope for me.

In desperation I think, I tried to commit suicide, which I did on three occasions.  I honestly felt I couldn’t live the way I was.  I couldn’t write, because my hands trembled, my daughter had to sign cheques for me.  At times the walls of my apartment seemed to close in on me and I hated being there.  It took me three days to pack to go to England and that was all I had to do.  Even the effort of going out with friends was often too much.  I had to change.  Reading was difficult and I spent much of my time wondering if other people felt the same as me, that, and feeling guilty because of my inability to do things.

I did, however survive, and I’m glad I did.  I actually am not prone to contemplating suicidee and do in fact, find a great deal of enjoyment now in life.  Also I am a Christian and have found much strength in that.

I did not enjoy that period of my life.  Hopefully, with the excellent medical care I am now getting, I never will try again to commit suicide.

Thank you to:

Dr. S. Dziurdzy and the Henderson

The Rev Alan McPherson

The Rev. Bruce Herrod

My Family

My friends at church and elsewhere.

Originally published by:   P.T. Publishing

ASMA WARSI

Golden Years

Golden years!
What golden years?

Income reduced,
Health compromised.
Empty nest,
Living downsized.

Cholesterol pointing high,
Blood pressure on the rise,
Diabetes, arthritis,
Weakening  eyes.

Hearing impaired,
Wrinkled dry skin,
Every joint rattles,
Golden years begin.

Copyright (c)Asma Warsi 2011

We are one!


I left behind my sweet memories,
And chose this land as mine.
I gave it my youth, my energy, my love,
And believed it will be mine.

I gave it two young generations,
To serve it and protect.
Conscientious, hardworking, educated,
Their duties they’ll never neglect.

Yes, I do have a little accent
But you would have had too.
If you had been the first generation
Or your parents were here new.

I look different but I am like you,
Don’t give me a derogatory name.
My accent, my colour, my unfamiliar attire,
Are not a matter of shame.

Building a mosaic, every brick counts,
Art has many strokes.
Many colours come together to form white light,
A song has many notes.

Copyright(c)AsmaWarsi2011

--

Asma Warsi

Asma Warsi is originally from Pakistan and has lived in Canada for almost forty years.  She received her M.Sc. from Pakistan.  She attended Seneca College in Toronto and received her Chemical Technician designation, She also studied TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) at York University. 

Her work experience has included working as a pharmaceutical lab techician, teaching English as a Second Language with the Toronto District School Board, and for twenty five years, she has been the editor and  publisher of the Ambition newspaper As a business woman, she ran a small print press for several years.

Asma writes poetry in both Urdu and English. She has performed her work in English at a poetry event.  She has also been invited to give a talk on the basics of Islam by the United Church which was well received. 

 She is a widow with four grown up children and eight grandchildren.

NORMA WEST LINDER

                                               Common Scents

                                                Walking my small dog

                                                across the nearby park

                                                the scent of dry cut grass

                                                in August sun

                                                drifts up, envelops me

                                                I close my eyes

                                                to travel back

                                                to Manitoulin days

                                                when I was ten

                                                --a tomboy then

                                                given free rein to roam

                                                the rustic countryside

                                                meadows of childhood

                                                Those heady days

                                                of endless summertime

                                                are always just a thought

                                                or two away

                                                I felt immortal then

                                                when all the world was new

                                                Now time is like a train

                                                that’s speeding up

                                                so every now and then

                                                it’s good to stop

                                                pull on the brakes

                                                and let a special scent

                                                bring back the past

                                                if only for a moment

                                                or  two   

                                                          

                                                Norma West Linder

    

                        

                                                      Norma West Linder and fiance James Dheal 

                                                                  BIO

            Norma West Linder was born in Toronto,  spent her childhood on Manitoulin Island, and teenage years in Muskoka.  She is a member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, PEN, The Ontario Poetry Society, The Canadian Federation of Poets, WIT (Writers in Transition)and Past President of the Sarnia Branch of the Canadian Authors Assoc. Linder is the author of 5 novels, 12 collections of poetry, a memoir of Manitoulin Island, a children’s book, and a biography of Pauline McGibbon.  For 24 years she was on the faculty of Lambton College in Sarnia, teaching English and Creative Writing.  For 7 years she wrote a monthly column for the Sarnia Observer.  He short stories have been published internationally and broadcast on the CBC.  Her poetry  has been published in Fiddlehead, White Wall Review, Room of One’s Own, Quills , Toward the Light, Prairie Journal, FreeFall Magazine, Mobius, and other periodicals.  In 2006 she compiled and edited Enchanted Crossroads for The Ontario Poetry Society. Her latest publications  are collections of poems entitled  When Angels Weep and Lovely as a Tree She has two daughters and a son.

ROSEMARY GARSIDE

An interesting article on Occupational Therapist and the work they do.

I would like to mention that for some reason the blog is not allowing people to leave comments.

If you have comments for any of the writers, please send them to me and I will send them to the writers.

Several people have told me this and I tried it out myself, and I could not leave a comment.

Very frustrating.

Wilma Seville

CONRAD DI DIODATO

"Spain haiku"

To parks and through dry city arches—
  Atocha train station

Doves of heaven or large lanky Grecos—
  lost in the Prado

White Franco tourism with the odd goatherd—
  Mijas

An old hippy trail straight to Marrakesh—
  Gibraltar

Gypsies shacked up in a sacred mountain—
  the Alhambra

Fat tourists or Boteros in Lisbon square—
  good morning!

Two leaves for bitter, one for sweet—
  rich man's fountain

Catalonian heat—
wind turbines stuck at 12:20

Conrad DiDiodato teaches high school English in Ontario and has published widely in both print and online magazines. He hosts an annual poetry reading in the beautiful Niagara Region.