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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
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
It’s not my fault I’m fat!
It’s Big Mac’s fault
And big Mac’s evil sidekick, Chocolate Shake
They’re plotting to
Destroy America
By making us too fat to fight.
Big Mac’s and chocolate shakes,
The axis of evil
Make them go away.
And we’ll be fine.
The heroin woke up today
Thinking, I must find a vein
Somewhere, and off he went
And slithered uninvited into
Someone’s blood. just doing
Just what
It was born to do.
It’s not my fault
The heroin did it.
Make it go away
And we’ll 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.
It’s not my fault.
If the army goes away,
We can have peace.
Make it go away
And we’ll be fine.
The tv set woke up today
And said
He thought he’d hypnotize and mesmerize
For that’s what he was born to do.
Wasting all my empty hours.
It’s 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 they’d have
Zombifying brains
Convincing people
Wrong is right
And evil is reality.
It’s just what they
Were born to do.
It’s not my fault.
My doctor made me take it.
The gun woke up today
And said, I think I’ll kill
It’s just what I
Was born to do,
And setting off, he
Quickly found
A hapless trigger finger.
It’s not my fault.
The gun made me shoot,
Without the guns
We’d all be safe.
The government is run
By naked clowns
Telling us they’re wearing
Finely tailored suits. We think they’re
Nicely dressed
Because somebody said so.
It’s not our fault
We see what isn’t there.
Nothing’s our fault, ever.
Treat the symptoms
Ignore the disease
It’s 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 “Oh how I love Jesus, because he first loved
me!”
It is not about the water boiling on the gas stove
or the fire that singes the feathers
not plucked clean by grandma’s 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 river’s 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, “o Maker face me!”
give me just one reason,
or take this cup.”
the crackling wind is silent
the air is sweet & pure
i see a tree in the garden
it burns but does not die
“My 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.”
February
1, 2005 Artvilla.com
My Jake
Poem
i
wondered today thru the poems, Jake,
the ones i published, hard copy,
mine — and others
not gonna speak here
about your poems
or the one that found me you
my meandering didn’t start at the beginning
of publishing, i’ve wondered there quite often,
perhaps i will again, but not now
quite near the beginning, mid ’90′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 Don’t 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 doesn’t 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.]
****************************
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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Moongate
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