Do you know what this is?

In this digital age, I'm an antique — and not in that retro, vintage, hipster-chick-cool kind of way. Case in point: I don't text, don't like cell phones, and prefer to write with that old-fashioned apparatus called a hand.

The image you see here is a datebook, also known as a day planner. Remember those? It's a portable calendar, on paper, with spaces to write your appointments, deadlines and important events (my birthday, for instance). This datebook is especially nice because it features art and poems by over 30 women, and includes a poem by me.

The 2013 Women Artists Datebook is published by the Syracuse Cultural Workers, a progressive publisher committed to peace, sustainability, social justice, feminism and multiculturalism (or, more simply, they dig peace, love & understanding), and can be purchased here.

And because I am perhaps one of the few people left hoarding paper, the Women Artists Datebook may now be a rare (and collectible?) gem. Due to declining sales, the publisher has reduced the print run, and is reconsidering future versions.

This seems an excellent time to celebrate the old ways with a new datebook. Support the arts, write by hand!

Thankful Thursday: Late November Light

It's Thankful Thursday! Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise. Please join me in a weekly pause to appreciate the people, places & things that bring joy.

After food, feasting and family, I study light. The way sun dodges and glows, the way the season calls for new illumination. Days shorten, light hangs at a heavy tilt. Just a bit more, I plead. Praise what little there's left, writes Barbara Crooker. And I do.

Praise Song

Praise the light of late November,

the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.

Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;

though they are clothed in night, they do not

despair. Praise what little there's left:

the small boats of milkweed pods, husks, hulls,

shells, the architecture of trees. Praise the meadow

of dried weeds: yarrow, goldenrod, chicory,

the remains of summer. Praise the blue sky

that hasn't cracked yet. Praise the sun slipping down

behind the beechnuts, praise the quilt of leaves

that covers the grass: Scarlet Oak, Sweet Gum,

Sugar Maple. Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy

fallen world; it's all we have, and it's never enough.

— Barbara Crooker
from Radiance

It's Thankful Thursday. What are you thankful for today?

Love that Line!

He was
somewhere
in his forties,
closing fast
on chubby.

— The Typist
by Michael Knight

Feast of Words: Dessert!

The Feast of Words continues. Today we move into dessert, and the fullness of reflection. Like a good meal, gratitude fills and slows to show us all we have, hold, love.

Today's poem is from Allyson Whipple.

"I wrote this poem," she explains, "after a friend brought me some mangoes and taught me how to remove the pits in a way that would not damage them, so that they could be planted. I spent much of 2012 dealing with the loss of a good friend, and the simple act of paring a mango and then preparing the seed for planting was a sort of lightbulb moment, realizing the way good things endured. From the destruction of a piece of fruit came nourishment for myself, as well as the potential for a new mango tree. . . the poem comes from a grateful spirit — grateful for a friend, for fruit, for the reminder of what endures."

You bring me mangoes

and you bring me mango pits

you never make promises,
but in your smooth hands,
there is potential for sustenance,
nourishment,
for roots –

there is a reminder
that life goes on after
skin is cut
flesh is eaten,

that a future exists;
that something beautiful
endures after loss

— Allyson Whipple

Our annual Feast of Words celebrates the power of gratitude through words. Thank you — friends, family, readers & writers, for offering your heart, your words. Thank you for taking the time to savor and share.

With gratitude,

Drew

Let's Eat!

Yowza! It's a Thanks Giving Feast of Words.

When I called for thankful-themed writing, I had no idea the response would be so rich. I'm delighted with the offerings, and happy to be surrounded by friends old and new, near and far. Let's feast!

We'll start with a piece by singer-songwriter Jo Jo Russell Krajick, who explains that Ryan Road "is a private dirt lane traversing a farm near Rhinebeck, NY."

Walking Private Ryan

I never walk alone down this quiet road lined with ivy choked oaks,
Some hollowed out apartment houses for squirrelly creatures
Who dart and peak and stare and hide and live
And remind me whose neighborhood this road traverses.  

I never walk alone as the road is crowded with other friends and acquaintances
Who fly overhead and swoop thru branches or creep thru the grasses
Or cluster for warmth in the rolling fields with their tagged ears,
Some thousand pounds of stately flesh and hooves posing blankly in the breeze.  

I never walk alone for I am kept company by my ever-present thoughts
Though moments before confounded, disturbed and annoyed,
Now tagging along serenely and full of youth and vitality
Like an innocent child of the world skipping along clueless, happy.  

I never walk alone over the intimately familiar winding pathway,
A thread whose length is long enough to mend the small tears in my daily fabric,
Whose width and breadth and panorama open my eyes to the skies,
The landscape, the earth and the endless possibilities of my life before me.    

 — Jo Jo Russell Krajick

Let's continue, with a poem by Senitila McKinley, director of Seashore Family Literacy, and an artist whose latest work is creating colorful paper mache bowls.

making common bowls

delivered flowers today

to the living and the dead

food as well to the hungry

there is no place for me to eat

the table heaps of my own creations

you would call it messy

I am lonely, mess is now my best friend 

I am grateful that I can find joy

in turning old papers into bowls.

Please pull up a chair and join in the feast. Share your poems, paragraphs, prayers and praises in the comments section below, or send by email to dcm@drewmyron.com.

In this feast of words, more is the merry. We could be feasting all week!