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Summer Breeze Solstice at Motherbird 2014


Remembering Summer

introduction to our celebration of Summer and her work



Poetry Offerings

Summer Breeze Selections by Summer Breeze

Even the Air Stood Still by Linda Straub

Being a Gift by Ken Peters

Summer Returns and a Conversation  by Red Slider

To Another Teacher  by Dori Winkler

Summer's Eyes by Mark Andrew James Terry

Whose fault is it?  Make it go away! by Dandelion de La Rue

What matters is the chicken by Rebecca Buchanan

Today's Miracle by Frances H. Kakugawa

Sounds

Love is Something Jodey Bateman

Motherbird  Norman Tween (Road Dog-1)

Videos

Summer Reads by Summer Breeze

Tributes and Blathers

A Conversation with my Editrix  By Red Slider

Love Without Pain By Summer Breeze

Summer Breeze Solstice at Motherbird 2014


A Blue, Blue Sky  By Red Slider

 
 





 
 


 

CELEBRATING AN ENDLESS SUMMER




"FREE AND CLEAR"



"free and clear." Those were the last earth-bound words from Summer—

aka Summer Breeze, aka Edy Benjamin, aka Motherbird, Jalapeno Pepper, Moongate de Sentiens, Publisher, poet, editrix, Champion-of-the-Oppressed, Map-For-Lost-Poets, Rx for the wounded, soup-kitchen for the down-and out, mender-of-broken-wings and steward of Summer's Hill, friend, and just plain old good soul—

after she flew away on May 20th, 2014. As Summer might put it, "Those aka's, they're 'All Knowledgeable Associates' of mine, and I'm taking them with me."

Summer was all of her AKAs and more, always there no matter what the need or occasion. Now, she's "free & clear", but not quite. she left two of her aka's behind, just so we wouldn't forget —an oxygen bottle for our minds and a blue Bombay gin bottle for our hearts. On these pages, we can read her works or share our stories, poems and tributes and just be here, for and about our dear friend.

So we've put up these pages to celebrate a life that will never quite leave us. An endless summer that begins with this solstice of 2014 and goes on and on and on, the way Summers have always done. In the months and years ahead we will be collecting more of her works as well as adding more of your tributes, stories, poems, art, music, recollections, emails, and musings on Summer, as we receive them. So keep it coming, or as Summer might have said, "You have my permission,"


"FREE & CLEAR"



*send your copy, thoughts and good words to David M. Jackson, jacksdm@att.net

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To Another Teacher

by nori winkler

A Cool Night In October
My mind ticks over to
The silent psalm of your letter
Blending with the croaking prayers.
A kaleidoscope of celestial bodies
Panoramic landscapes and vast stretches of time
Perfectly projected from the stars in an intricate fractal pattern.
I submitted myself
Like a devotee packs his hopes into a parcel
And leaves it as a smouldering offering
Old as an atavistic trait.
Filling the spaces between "should" and "is"
Lies the sum of sorrows of an unsatisfied mind.
Did I confuse the messiah in the mirror
And rest, because he'd finally come?
You scrawled it on the walls of the fort
But the message was in your mother-tongue
So I took each brick to study the text
I was sick, and the wall was in ruins.
But the lightning flashes in the distance
And the fireflies reply in kind
And although that river will keep on flowing
I'll remain a hopeful cynic
And I'll smile when you come to mind.

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Even the Air Stood Still

by linda straub


There was no rush of wings,

rustle of leaves,

or bending of grass blades

to mark the moment of your passing.

The wind was only a shallow breath,

followed by a measured exhalation.

We song sparrows,

dreamers, and wordsmiths

embraced the stillness,

intently listening

for the murmurs

of your peaceful sleep.


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Being a Gift

 by ken peters

being a gift to the garden
she sang at planting
he danced at harvest
they watched it come and go



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Summer's Eyes

by mark andrew james terry


The deepest water colors black
and there her presence fills the void,
not docile-hewn or fossil-hued
but shaken for what's been destroyed
where legal lions track.   

That darkness shines in Summer's eyes,
no stranger to awakenings.
Somehow I know where her heart lies,
in reams of dreams of greater size
than stock imaginings.    

She saw the unseen tattered clothes
of those whose lives are harshly known,
the throw-aways of now-a-days,
the ones our laws can not condone
and corporately dispose.

The teenage mothers on the street,
the immigrants who've lost their hope,
the veterans that live defeat,
and all the others we mistreat
she threw a written rope.

Her eyes were dark, they knew the deep
and what they saw would make us weep
for what we sorely lack.

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Whose fault is it?  Make it go away!

by  dandelion de la rue


Itís not my fault Iím fat!  Itís Big Macís fault
And big Macís evil sidekick, Chocolate Shake
Theyíre plotting to
Destroy America
By making us too fat to fight.
Big Macís and chocolate shakes,
The axis of evil
Make them go away.
And weíll be fine.

The heroin woke up today
Thinking, I must find a vein
Somewhere, and off he went
And slithered uninvited into
Someoneís blood.   just doing
Just what
It was born to do.
Itís not my fault
The heroin did it.
Make it go away
And weíll be fine.

The army woke up this morning
Thinking, time to have a war
And chose a random country
Somewhere else
And sent their bombs
And guns.
Itís not my fault.
If the army goes away,
We can have peace.
Make it go away
And weíll be fine.

The tv set woke up today
And said
He thought heíd hypnotize and mesmerize
For  thatís what he was born to do.
Wasting all my empty hours.
Itís not my fault
The tv made me watch it.
Make it go away
And my brain will be okay.

Prozak and Paxil
Woke up this morning
Thinking how much fun theyíd have
Zombifying brains
Convincing people
Wrong is right
And evil is reality.
Itís just what they
Were born to do.
Itís not my fault.
My doctor made me take it.

The gun woke up today
And said, I think Iíll kill
Itís just what I
Was born to do,
And setting off, he
Quickly found
A hapless trigger finger.
Itís not my fault.
The gun made me shoot,
Without the guns
Weíd all be safe.

The government is run
By naked clowns
Telling us theyíre wearing
Finely tailored suits.  We think theyíre
Nicely dressed
Because somebody said so.
Itís  not our fault
We see what isnít there.
Nothingís our fault, ever.
Treat the symptoms
Ignore the disease
Itís our Way.

Meanwhile:  (Lewis Carroll)
The walrus and the carpenter
Were walking hand in hand
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand
If only this were swept away
They said, it would be grand.

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What matters is the chicken

by rebecca buchanan

What matters is the chicken,
writhing body running in circles,
silenced by the blade of an ax,
razor sharp toenails, thick yellow-scaled feet
a delicacy, both to the people of Thailand
and to my grandmother, Dorothy Hutchison, Route 3, Webb City, Arkansas.

It is not about me at seven years old
hiding under the bed pushing my fingers into my ears
singing ďOh how I love Jesus, because he first loved me!Ē

It is not about the water boiling on the gas stove
or the fire that singes the feathers
not plucked clean by grandmaís thin-skinned bloody hands.

It is not about my grandpa whistling as he picks up the feathery head,
her beady eyes looking clear into Glory as she flies through the air
on her way to the riverís wake.

It is not about the grass carp
surprised by the meaty little nugget
landing inches from its tail.

It is not about the fried corn or the mashed potatoes
or the pickled beets or the deviled eggs.

What matters is the chicken.

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Today's Miracle

by frances h. kakugawa   


another summer breeze

   caresses my face

               suddenly I'm dancing, dancing...

             

                I look down

                              at my feet

                                             slightly off the ground

                                                            and know why

                                                                           I'm here...

 

                              summer breezes do that

                                             in the most unexpected places,

                                                            at most unexpected times...

 

                                             I kiss my summer breeze

                                                            before it swirls back

                                                                           to her home far away.

******************************************************************************

I tiptoe softly
in the silence of the house
how loud her silence.

 
    frances h. kakugawa

******************************************************************************





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Summer Breeze Selections

by summer breeze


THE SEED OF THE BURNING TREE

i stand knee deep in burning coals
waist high in bombs bursting light
eyes filled with poisonous gas
ears to the crackling wind

i kneel deep in daisy filled garden
soft breeze caressing my face
tear drops coursing the river
bird song in my ear

i lie on the ground hugging
holding least i fall further
than i can remember being
down in the deep deep well

i turn to face my Maker
i cry, ďo Maker face me!Ē
give me just one reason,
or take this cup.Ē

the crackling wind is silent
the air is sweet & pure
i see a tree in the garden
it burns but does not die

ďMy child, & you are my child
My love, and you are my love
You are the seed of the burning
Tree, and you and I are one.Ē

February 1, 2005  Artvilla.com


My Jake Poem

i wondered today thru the poems, Jake,
the ones i published, hard copy,
mine ó and others

not gonna speak here
about your poems
or the one that found me you

my meandering didnít start at the beginning
of publishing, iíve wondered there quite often,
perhaps i will again, but not now

quite near the beginning, mid í90′s
where my little ezine was born
i found interest of note,
mine
and others,
seventeen years post publishing,
clear as bell ringing
those that touched my heart again,
those remembered with hurt
i passed on by
passed by also
those
with neither

about one hour sufficed
to pause, to ponder,
to remember
my jake and all his facets
most important to me now

this day when i measured my life
as seventeen years a nurse
as twenty-four into poetics

bringing me around to Jake
my longest lasting understander
who never needed to ask me
for whom i write

tonight, my Jake,
i write for thee!

From Jalapeno Peppers March 9, 2012


(Please notice how the "i" is not capitalized but the "J" in Jake is. Need we say more?)



Sent to Frances Kakugawa,  April 12, 2006

*******************

i think you were the one who picked me up
when my slave back broke down
gave me wings and sent me flying
and i was crying 'i don't want to leave you'
you smiled again with loveliness and promised
'our roads will meet again'

-- June, 2011



Be Happy Donít Worry

of course hell is on earth and no where else
see all the fires of hate burning brightly
is was
a spring of hope and seeding
it was
a summer of promise and hoeing
almost autumn
but not quite
these seven last days of summer
quite outrageous in human time
bottled-up anger is bound to burst
what doesnít kill makes us strong
what is out of our control
is out of our control
there is also a time
to be the observer
the chronicler
the counter of tears
falling
falling
till
the last tear drop falls


Published at Artvilla September 13, 2012


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Summer Reads

by summer breeze

This selection represents the Solstice of our Motherbird selections at You Tube. These are simply works in progress. We may change the videos so link to the playlist....This page will update when we add videos to our Playlist at YouTube
This playlist will play two videos:
Summer Breeze Reads Sea Carnies by Daisy Sidewinder
Summer Breeze Reads In Our Image by Ken Peters

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Motherbird

by Jake and Road Dog-1

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Love is Something

Jodey Bateman


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Conversations With My Editrix

Inspiration on a Light Summer Breeze --
(or, never argue with a Motherbird. She always
knows which way the wind blows.)

One summer evening Summer wrote:

      i remember they were promised
      promised to go to the holy land
      if only they'd stop fighting
      especially fighting over "the holy land"
      does that mean
      a land is only holy if there is constant bloody war over
      who owns it
      who's god is the "real" god
      oh
      my
      God
      how
      bloody you must look
      after all these thousands of years
      a God with a red suit on
      imagine that...er, er...
      What's His name again?

...and continued the next morning:

      i was wearing my lame shoes when i emailed last
      then [the night before] i had coffee
      put together a cronic ology
      of a few minutes before night had fallen
      printed them out for my lucky me morning visitor
      who made me join him in his belly laughing
       at Red Breeze & Sumer Slider

      to t'wit:

red wrote:

     It's not a 'His'; it's a 'Her', and her name is 'Ms. Claws' (red suit and all) - jeesh, Summer, this is the 21st century!

summer wrote:

      ok yeah i heard
      something about going from patrichoal to matriorchal
      i jus' didn' join cause i'd been there be 4
      holdin' out for neither/nor

red wrote:

      ok, how about meteorarchical?
      We come in like shooting stars,
      make a big splash in the desert and people can come for centuries,
      look into our craters and say, "I wonder who made that hole?"

summer wrote:

     you ever been in a sand splash?
      can you imagine how beautiful the desert will be this year
      with all the rain fall this winter

      36 days and counting down

red wrote:

      All us little meteors
      sliding down
      among the rain drops,
      streaming blues and reds
      and greens, our sleds
      shining off the liquid sky,
      brief flashes of delight
      whose soul and only mission
      is to scream
      "wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
      and bury our heads in mother earth
      to the delight of pilgrims passing by
      on their annual moment of respite
      from their dreary human lives,
      to spend a moment staring up
      at the gardens of the sky.

summer wrote:

     may i have your pretty permission to blog this exchange?
      well if not anyhoo, the best is already mine
     printed and tucked into my 'bare essentials saving file'

Red writes:

"anyhoo" means "anyhoo, I will do it
whether you say anyhoo-yes or anyhoo-no,
'cause I know what's best
whether you do, or not.

of course she had my permission.
She'd have posted it anyway,
 just to make me look good
in her company.


[from an email conversation between Summer Breeze and Red Slider, February 2010.]

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Love Without Pain

summer breeze


she saved the last dance for him
       & that was Bardo day one
the only question asked
       is how we treated one another
there is no psychic pain if there is no love
       who creates pain just to feel
             SOMETHING
ask the abused neglected child
       who becomes the abused neglected adult
those who are loved the least are thus able
        to love the most
        or hate the most
100% of energy will be spent
        fast or slow
there is a Beyond
        observing this play
applauding all efforts of evolution


all out full loving with no return
       in sight
no matter, not to worry
       attributes of love flow willingly
love is an action, not a noun
       Ghandi etc showed us how
even when they slay the saviours
       the music never ends
the last dance always begins
       in any final hour
of Day One


From Moongate de Homo Sentiens Vol IV Issue #8 May 1998


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Summer Returns

by red slider


Forensic archeologists call them "shock cocoons", places they find objects and people who were saved or preserved for future generations in the midst of some castrophe —a Vesuvius, or Japanese tsunami, or Twin Towers— that utterly destroyed everything around them. When I got the news of Summer's passing it was a complete shock. All I could think to do was prepare this little shock cocoon for the days and years ahead, to keep her as I knew her, in my heart.

Fly home now, motherbird,
Though it may take awhile.
There are so many candles on this night
Where you will stop and chat along the way,
 To say the things that made us laugh
Or weep or scratch our heads and try
To handle what you said or did--some
Completely passed us by. Fly now,
Motherbird, fly home at last
Into the light of a blue, blue sky



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


 

Love is Something

Jodey Bateman


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