Happy New Year!

The old year now away has sped,
The new year now has entered,
Now let us now our fears downtred
And joyfully all appear,
Let's merry be this day,
And let us now both sport and play,
Hang grief, cast care away,
God send us a happy new year.

Traditional / sung to the tune of Greensleeves

LISTEN / To a dear friend struggling over the holidays

Ancient sugar maple stands majestic,

Her daughter at her side,

Both graceful in their icy finery,

A sparking gift from the winter fairy

Who, though unseen, 

Has been summoned by the whirling snow.

How is it

On this day

So close to dark of winter

My heart stands open in

Light-filled reverence?

Yet, lodged in the stone-heavy ache in my heart,

Shame ever readies her venom-laden claws,

Threatening in a thundering voice

To crush all wonder.

I don my armour,

Shield of Celtic courage,

Sword of phosphorescent gratitude,

And with the raging heart of Queen Boudicca,

I cast out all that is unlike love,

Cradle my bruised heart

In winter silence.

All sorrow is but a fleeting thing

For deep within the earth's

Radiant heart

The Great Alchemist works to fuel LIFE.

To you, my dear, I send a message.

Armed with the ferocity of mother love.

This warrior is

Ready to stand at your side,

Cut away what would strangle you whole.

But should you choose to wage this battle

On your own strength.

Do not forget,

Victory will come,

And Joy will return

In small steps.

Encouragement can be found in the tiniest things.

In the sweep of the wind through maple branches,

In the light in the eyes of a friend,

In the perfect symmetry which nature creates

To remind us that we are part of a great whole.

The Creator sings to you this day.

Be still. And listen.

Elizabeth Copeland / Dec. 2014

GRACE

On the day when the scar tissue burns at every turn
There is grace.

When the longing to be seen, 
to be heard, 
to be celebrated,
to be witnessed,
Rises up like a dervish spinning staccato prayers into the twilight
There is grace.

When the heart screams 'no more!'
And the howling in your belly 
Becomes the howling of the ages,
And you find you have no choice
But to bring up the poison seeds you swallowed so long ago.
There is grace.

I see you little one.
Spit the bitter seeds on to the ground.
Grind them under your heel and let the
Earth reclaim them. She will
Make medicine out of your poison.
Make beauty out of your suffering.

If you do this thing, the suffering will be great.
But then...ah then, you will know...

There is grace.

Elizabeth Copeland
Dec. 11, 2014

TSP: Hilary Mantel's Ten Observations About Writing

Tips on writing from one of my favourite authors.

TSP: Hilary Mantel's Ten Observations About Writing: In the 39th in a series of posts on 2014 books entered for The Story Prize, Hilary Mantel, author of   The Assassination of Margaret Thatc...

Apathy, Climate Change and the Canadian Public

There is an insanity afoot in our world. A terrifying insanity born of apathy.

In the face of hard science about the catastrophic effects of climate change, we continue to keep our collective heads buried in the sand, focusing instead on shortsighted solutions that rely on our addiction to fossil fuels.

In a recent speech at the World Bank, Mark Carney - former head of the Bank of Canada, and now the Bank of England – said, "Burning all the carbon that humans have discovered and banked for extraction might well end our civilization." 

Strong words from a banker, which, not surprisingly, did not make the front page of any mainstream media.

The recent report from the International Panel on Climate Change tells us that we are ill-prepared for risks from climate change which is about more than just a few bad storms.  It’s about the major social upheaval that will inevitably come when large populations are displaced because they no longer have access to clean air, water and unpolluted land.

We can blame the Harper Government, which admittedly has an abysmal track record re: the environment. We can blame big business that is putting profit before people. But ultimately we must take a hard look in the mirror. The Canadian public has become frighteningly apathetic, taking for granted rights people in the rest of the world are willing to die for. In so doing, we are complicit in the devolution of our democracy, and the desecration of our planet.

APOLOGIES!

BLOGGER has updated their program.
I am technologically challenged.
Add those two things up, and you get published posts that are repetitions of each other.
My apologies for filling up your email boxes. I think I have the hang of it now.
Elizabeth

Word Travels in Rexton - Nov. 12

Thanks to the Canada Council for supporting me to travel to Toronto for JAZZ.

Buy JAZZ from Quattro

My book, JAZZ - Nature's Improvisation, is now available through my publisher, Quattro Books.
http://www.quattrobooks.ca/books/jazz/

Book Launch / JAZZ -Nature's Improvisation

Nov. 5 at the Supermarket in Toronto!
http://us5.campaign-archive1.com/?u=7fd754a3d233dbb8e101b1585&id=9daac82109

Poetry in 'The Furious Gazelle'

Literary as Hell.
http://thefuriousgazelle.com/2014/06/10/poetry-by-elizabeth-copeland/

New Story published in Circa - A Journal of Historical Fiction

Venice 1541 - Is Paulo mad? Or divinely inspired?
http://circajournal.com/2014/10/13/il-vento-di-candela/

Tuning your Instrument


After a concert, a famous cellist was approached by an audience member. We’ll call him Peter.

Peter said to the cellist, “I’d give my life to be able to play like that!” 



The cellist replied, “I did”.



The cellist knew from an early age that to master the playing of his instrument, he had to practice. And practice specifically and consistently, every day, for decades. He knew that if he did that, maybe, just maybe, he could give voice to through the genius that lay within himself through the music of Mozart, Brahms and Beethoven. 

As human beings, we don’t have an instrument made of wood, or brass or a combination of hammers and strings. But we do have an instrument! It’s us – our voices, our minds, our bodies and our spirits. And like the cellist, if we want to be able to give voice to the genius within us, to allow the music of our hopes and dreams for ourselves and all of humanity humanity to shine - we have to practice with, and tune our instruments specifically and consistently.

What are you willing to practice on a daily basis to bring the very best of who you are to the world?

Another love poem - though this one is a bit edgier. Read and enjoy.

SEQUOIA 

A controlled burn—also known as back burning—clears everything in its path.

When wisely calculated, it can renew all through the brilliant ferocity of fire.

Trees dancing flaming insanity light up the night sky.

Everything old on the forest floor becomes fuel

for the carefree wanderlust of red and orange.

The night sky screams as billows of smoke set sail,

gray-black waves exhaling into the moon’s starlight ocean,

clouds jostling to hold their own against the hot-faced intruder.

*

Though I did not calculate well the burning that brought you to me

I did sniff the winds of change and following a wild impulse,

drew a ragged breath, lit a match, and threw it down.

Another match I threw, not caring what took fire.

Ragged breath turned to scorched sound,

white heat laying waste the shell of all

patient waiting, proper praying, false illuminating.

No pretty contemplation this,

only pure agony shrieking light.

Gasping on hands and knees, I choke and let go,

 vomiting strangled metaphors of freedom and beauty

and what it means to be at peace in this world.

Gutturally chanting, my voice erupts volcanic, demanding

that what was torn from me like stitches from a still raw wound be returned.

How it comes I care not.

But I swear by all that is wretched and holy that I will light the sky up

this time with my flesh and bone if the earth of my life does not

quake awake to pure flowering green

NOW.

Tongue burning, eyebrows singed, naked skin blistering,

I listen as the wind blows still.

What pain, age, and this wild night have not burned from me crackles and is gone.

Lying naked and alone, I sleep

and dream of you.

*

A controlled burn—also known as back burning—clears everything in its path.

When wisely calculated it can renew all through the brilliant ferocity of fire.

It is said that some seeds, like the seed of the great Sequoia,

remain dormant until broken down by fire.

This to tell you that such burning is purposeful.

This to tell you that grace exists.

Published in 'The Furious Gazelle' 06/14/2014

All those years

Dedicated to my love, Glenn.

ALL THOSE YEARS

All those years of knocking
On doors made of tin,
My knuckles bloody from the effort of looking.

All those years of twisting
Myself into pretzyl forms,
Perhaps if I look right, you will come.

All those years of stubborn determination,
My heart hammering in expectation,
Sobbing, then
Praying, then
Rising up, then
Falling face down in the mud.

Decades whirled past.
And I stopped knocking.
The empty space
I saved for you
Filled itself with the
Bittersweet joy of falling leaves, sounds of twilight, the soft kiss of the breeze on my skin.

I should have known,
Should have known that
You were stubborn too,
And would come in your own sweet time.

I watch you sleep,
Touch my lips to your brow,
Slip my arms around you, inhale your sweet smell, let my breath move in time with yours,
And know that

All those years conspired
To bring me home
To you.

Crossroads

Crossroads time.

Your skin shedding like a snake

with shadow and certainty coming to grips

with what is lost, and the terrible joy of what is now possible.

Look ahead

down the road

there, behind the great elm tree.

Do you see?

No, do not turn your eyes away

for the Beloved does not make sport for your entertainment.

Be still, be shiny as the winter sky.

Listen with your eyes.

I dare you.

E. Copeland ©2011