Brigittesumner's Blog

Seasons in Late Year Yet- A Villanelle

brigittesumner — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 17:21:40 +0000

seasons in late year yet
Leaves fall and fret and lay
In morning sun weak and wet
Their smell a musty late decay

The next season nature put away
Colour drained from skies that bled
As if there is a higher price to pay

Not the trees so strong in May
Where new life and old just met
Their smell a musty late decay

Hard soil later soggy clay
Skinny branches turning fat
As if there is a higher price to pay

Stillness, softness, whitish spray
Fondly, cushioned virgin beds
Their smell a musty late decay

Berries, red, nuts on a tray
Creatures and birds dying, dead
As if there is a higher price to pay
Their smell a musty late decay

Haiku 2

brigittesumner — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 08:23:22 +0000

Truth of the full moon

Jupiter straight behind her

And Uranus too

Haiku

brigittesumner — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 14:00:24 +0000

The dust invites me

To return to there once more

I decline for now

My word

brigittesumner — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 17:48:37 +0000

Where has the time gone? And where have I been? Life may not be the party that you had wished, but you might as well dance whilst you are here. Those words stuck in my mind all day. I am dancing, are you? Watch Mr. Holland’s Opus, that is along the same lines. Live your life. Now is the only time we have. It is not a dress rehearsal. Get off the fence. You don’t want to die with your song unsung. They become cliches. Like background noise, white noise. Or wallpaper. The vuvuzelas at the world cup. Did you order strawberries and cream? And did you get lemons instead? Make lemonade and enjoy. The way to the strawberries may be via the lemons. The purpose of life is to live. No more. No less either. Start today. I am.

Do as you are told

brigittesumner — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 10:32:23 +0000

Who has not heard that as a child? Children should be seen and not heard. From a child’s point of view that can be so damaging. From a parent’s point of view, it can be said in haste, irritation, in the unthinking adult way of distraction with something that in the eyes of the child is trivial and in the mind of the adult is all important. As a parent I know the importance of relationship struggles, uncertainties as a women who asks herself if she is still attractive in the eyes of her man, the financial skating by the skin of your teeth whilst building a business and balancing a household. Grown up problems that grown ups build into more importance than the child who stands behind you with the wilting flower that he snapped off by the head and carried in the sweaty palm of his hand just to show Mummy he loves her. Unnoticed treading on his little toes sticking out of the sandals that he outgrew two months ago. Annoyed with him for sneaking up on you, dismissing what is left of his crushed love, throwing the petals in the pedal bin, that swallows flower and love in an eagerness of a toothless crocodile. His little heart sinks and makes a life long decision then and there. Showing love to the woman that is most important is the most painful thing. Ever.

3rd world country decades ago, or….

brigittesumner — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 09:00:22 +0000

Once upon a time there was a lady. She was a lovely lady. Energetic, positive, happily married, and constantly on the lookout to improve her skills, help others and share her wisdom and expertise with those around her. Boring, you say? Thirteen in a dozen? So what? This lady lived in a country not so far away, a country priding itself on equal rights for all, technologically advanced, incredibly socially aware. In fact this country prides itself on being one of the forerunners in social awareness and the emancipation of its minority groups are literally second to none other in the world. The story that follows made me wonder what is going on. The lady above has cerebral palsy. In the past this was called spastic. People with cerebral palsy have muscles that do things that are not in control of their owners. There are various grades and I am no expert at it. What I do know is that this lady, let’s call her Alice, has the kind that makes her unable to walk, move her legs and many more muslces. This results in her having to go around in an electric wheelchair that she controls with just a few fingers. Most muscles in the arms and hand do not work to the same extent most peoples do either. Alice is a feisty lady, upbeat and has always held down jobs. She has a brain as sharp as a tack and has been a fantastic asset to many an organisation. The first time I met Alice was when she wheeled herself into a personal development seminar in Maui (that is on the other side of the world for her) beaming from ear to ear with her husband Robert in tow who also happens to have cerebral palsy, Robert can walk though. He wore a grin to match his wife’s. Their first language is not English, yet these two people made it across the world with their endearing smiles as passport and just leaving hordes of people stunned in their wake as they continued to travel around (I met this inspiring couple many times after in various locations on Earth). Both worked, saving their money to travel and learn. We kept in touch over the years. My latest conversation with Alice was a few weeks ago. She was made redundant about a year ago and just applied for a new job. She was made an offer on the following conditions: she gets grown up diapers/nappies and when she needs to go, she just let go and sits in this all day until she gets home. Wow! What an enlightened strategy! I was stunned. Which other potential workers did they propose this to? And who the hell would want to sit next to someone who’d emptied their bowels and bladder a few hours ago and was stewing in it? Get real, it may be time to name companies? Authorities? Countries? If you think this is pretty barbarian too, let me know! And Alice and Robert, keep shining. The world is with you and on your side…..

Wall paper in my bowels

brigittesumner — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 08:23:04 +0000

This morning I remembered that my grandmother died of paralysis of the bowels. Having a delicious Danish breakfast, I was well aware that for more than the last 24 hours my diet had consisted of gluten, gluten and more gluten. Now, my bowels don’t mind a bit of gluten here and there as long as it is interspersed with a large amount of non-gluten. The gluten happily mixes whatever else is there and makes for a porridge that becomes unmovable. Like wall paper glue that dries. A bit like feeding a cement mixer more solids than the liquids and then wondering why it stops working. A client of way back when ended up with a gut that literally came out of his body. Not through any orifice, mind you but visibly through the wall of the abdominal cavity. When he walked past you, it seemed that his shirt was overstuffed with tennis balls.During the war my grandmother coped with four small children on her own. Her husband went into hiding as there was danger of having to fight for the Germans. Not an option. Their youngest was two when the war started, the eldest only nine. My mother.When my grandfather returned from his place in the south, he had to be fed a diet of white bread soaked in milk in order to allow his stomach ulcers to heal. The children were still only seven to fourteen. Two years later she died. I never met her. This morning I felt very close to her whilst eating my Danish breakfast.

Full Moon

brigittesumner — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 17:08:40 +0000

He dragged himself through a pool of green slime. His feet heavy on the kitchen floor. Slime forming puddles behind him, witnesses to where he had been. That night it was full moon. Strange things would happen during full moon. This one was special, full moon in pisces. Potent, intense and magnifying whatever human emotion was present at least a thousandfold. Midwives and cops knew about it. Always, full moon would present itself with great extremes in human behaviour. Doubt could give birth to faith. Some moons stronger than others. Studying the phenomenon could give an excuse for the maladjusted to go overboard. If even the ‘normal’ act weird, where does that leave the ‘abnormal?’ Hence his slimy feet. His penetrating gaze. His gurgling bowels. His ulcerating gums. His weeping eyes. His death wish, together with many other wishes that cannot be committed to words even. He wondered about himself, yet again comparing his insides to everyone else outsides. Another full moon over and done, respite until the next one?

Love in cold times

brigittesumner — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 09:08:36 +0000

How about love when love is difficult? ‘For better’ we have done and now it is time to go through ‘for worse’ ……I just heard that divorce figures, certainly in the UK are an all time low. Now that is not because we love each other more or better, but only for the simple reason that we cannot afford to get divorced, too expensive. Mmmm, that is one result of the recession, marriages and other ways of cohabitation that tie in financial resources, staying together. That is not what I mean though. I work with many a couple that would have been going ‘tara, I am out’ that is now reconsidering options.They are wondering if the grass is really a brighter shade of green or if that was only an illusion seen through the love-tinted glasses of lust, beg pardon, love? For worse doesn’t sound quite so romantic, but there comes a time during everyone’s life when up comes down, when positive gets negative, when light gets dark. Just simple dynamics of life, without yang, no yin. Cycles of life, following on from the cycles in nature. Seasons, that follow one another with regularity. Who do we think we are that natural cycles would bypass us, who, let’s face it, are really another species of mamal, however sophisticated we feel and behave. Still, our bodies consist for 70% of water, so we are just as effected by the powers of the moon and other planets as other bodies of water. Does love get easier when we know it is something that changes, rather than stays static? After all, a guarantee of something not changing can invariably be found in something dead. Who wants love to be dead?

Chinese New Year

brigittesumner — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 12:20:37 +0000

The Year of the Metal Tiger has brought shortage to the electricals. My dearly beloved after having been served a pancake with golden syrup and banana is now scratching his head whilst wandering through the house puzzled. He has turned all the appliances off and has resorted to unplug all that was plugged into sockets as well. As the heating system is also powered by electricity, it is gradually getting cooler. Good excuse to snuggle up again on this chilly Valentine’s Day. Not that we need an excuse other than wanting to be close at any temperature. I must admit that being close in the cold is more attractive that sticking together in the tropics, leaving patches of perspiration and rumpled clothes. Snow has yet again abated, but the chill is still in the air. Spring not yet here, that in between time, where it can snow again, and longing for warmer weather is still put on hold as longing forever gets so boring and desperate. So we get on with building, with what needs to be done. And today, a day to remember ancestors, to celebrate the accomplishments yet again, of the year before, as we did around Christmas time. Just in case we had not remembered them fully, yet another chance and opportunity to say ‘hey, that was great, we are grateful for what the year of the Ox brought’ and to phone a nephew who is always a year older on Valentine’s Day and now coinciding also with Chinese New Year. A son, waking, after a night of cheer on the tiles of the town, with a friend, tucked up in bed, laughter, banter of their antics. No doubt recounting stories, remembered possibly through the haze of young-manship. The odd flake of snow, now falling again. A long winter and longer still, looking forward what the Tiger Year will bring. Electricity perhaps? Power certainly.