Ugh - grey rainy days for days on end - and over my birthday too.  Ugh again.  This is one of those days when I wonder at the wisdom of leaving the warmth of Florida, and of California before that.  This too shall pass.

. . . and, finally, one that ends on a up note.

Originally written on 6Feb99, read numerous times in public, and appearing here in print for the first time.

Originally written on 19 August 1983, about a grey whale that stranded during our severe spring storms the previous March.  Numerous whales and other marine mammals were literally bashed against the rocks by the unusually strong storm-driven waves.

Originally written on 4 Feb 2006 at 11:57 PM.

This poem is very close to my heart, as I have been strongly morally opposed to whaling since childhood, and it was inspired by the following wrenching quote:

The methods have hardly evolved since Dr. Harry D. Lillie worked as a ship's doctor on a whaling expedition in the Antarctic in 1946:

"If we can imagine a horse having two or three explosive spears stuck into its stomach and being made to pull a butcher's truck through the streets of London while it pours blood in the gutter, we shall have an idea of the present method of killing. The gunners themselves admit that if whales could scream the industry would stop, for nobody would be able to stand it."

I recently read the wonderful book "Fluke, or I know Why the Winged Whale Sings" by Christopher Moore, in which , though it is a work of (mostly) humorous fiction, he recounts a factual occurrence of a mother whale attempting to protect her calf from the Japanese whaling ship pursuing them.  In Japan, whales are considered to be nothing more than fish, with therefore no moral reason not to hunt them to extinction, but her actions showed the whalers onboard the ship that she truly displayed a mammalian motherly love, and moved many of them to tears.  

There is still room for hope, but we have to act NOW, and drag our government officials into the 21st century kicking and screaming if need be.

When I started college, I majored in marine biology, and my primary interests then, as now, were whales and sharks.  

This poem, written on 6Feb99, was about a pregnant female California grey whale, Eschrichtius robustus, which had died at sea and washed ashore on the Palos Verdes Peninsula, in southernmost Los Angles County.  Although in life grey whales are dark to light grey, depending upon age and the amount of barnacles and sea lice encrustations on their skin, after death the outer skin sloughs off, revealing the blubber layer beneath, making the whale appear white to the casual observer.

Local residents were appalled by the stench, as whales' bodies are designed to retain heat and thus decompose rapidly, while biologists agreed that a spike in local bacterial levels in near-shore waters most likely contributed to the death of the whale and her calf.

My favorite scientific name for the grey whale, which I would like to see become California's state animal, is the obsolete Rhachianectes glaucus, which translates literally to "grey swimmer along rocky shores."  I can't think of a better description of these magnificent and loving animals.

Originally written on 13Apr99, following an article I read about the first breeding pairs of whooping cranes released in Kissimmee, Florida, near Orlando, of which one pair was successfully (at the time of the article) raising a clutch of hatchlings.

We saw occasional endangered sandhill cranes, where I lived in Pinellas County, where the entire county is a designated bird sanctuary, along with literally dozens of other rare and threatened bird species from wood storks and roseate spoonbills to bald eagles and ospreys.

Falun Gong is a meditative practice drawing on the ancient, complementary practices of Buddhism and Qi Gong.  

Beginning on 20 July 1999, the People's Republic of China began a program to eradicate Falun Gong and those practicing it, using primarily the methods of defamation, kidnapping, imprisonment, internment, torture and ****** to achieve their objective.  Literally millions of people have been targeted.  

This poem, which I wrote on 6/7 August 2014, was my response to learning of the ongoing murders of peaceful Falun Gong practitioners.

You can learn more, and possibly help, by checking out the website of the Friends of Falun Gong, here:

http://fofg.org/

Another lost poem found, this one written on 18 January 2013.

The fourth of four Haiku written about 3AM on 15 October before I went to sleep.

The third of four Haiku written about 3AM on 15 October before I went to sleep.

The second of four Haiku written about 3AM on 15 October before I went to sleep.

Written about 3AM on 15 October before I went to sleep.

Vortex and Hope were born in our barn on 20 September, or the night before, and greeted me that morning as I came to let them out of their stall for the day.

Vortex was named for a swirl marking on his forehead, and another of his side, as well as his tendency to be a constant whirlwind of activity.  He is also the dominant brother and afraid of nothing.

Hope is much calmer and quieter in general, and much less trusting of me, although  he is beginning to allow me to pet him from time to time.  But usually he runs like wildfire.  I'm having a ball with them both.  Kids.  ;-)

My thoughts and heart goes out to all affected by the flooding from Hurricane Joachim.  We've been getting the outer rain bands for days now, but this morning - finally - the sun broke through.  Rebuilding begins.

Written this morning as I was gathering strength to face the hungry hoard.  ;-)

Ah, the joys of technology, which is wonderful - when it works.  ;-)

Written just now, in honor of our baby goat brothers, born 20 September in our barn.  They are beyond cute - and absolutely hilarious!  I am enchanted.

Written last night, more correctly early this morning, when I was smart enough to go to bed but unable to actually shut down my mind to sleep.

I wrote this as I went to bed last night, around 3 AM, and at least three large owls were calling to one another.  One was very close, another a bit farther away, and a third I could barely hear; if there were others, they were beyond my range of hearing.  The frogs, crickets and other sounds of the woods gave the background for the sound tapestry.  

Interestingly, as I finished the poem, the owls apparently moved on, as if they had done their job.  ;-)  We have a number of different species in our woods, and I'm not certain which these were, but they were clearly larger owls.

Written 28 Sept 2015, All rights reserved.

Written in June 1999, and read in public on occasion, though it appears here in print for the first time.

Another poem I had forgotten about, written for a close friend a few months after learning of his death, during a period of abject grief.
Written 28 December 2002.

A poem I had forgotten about, written for a close friend a few months after learning of his death, during a period of abject grief.
Written 28 December 2002.

Originally written 14 April 1999; posted today in response to a poem and subsequent conversation with Bill Hughes.

I have read this poem in public, but this is the first time it appears in print.

Written in June 2000, a counterpoint to my poem of the conflagration witnessed at the hands of a wildfire in the Santa Monica Mountains.  

I have read this in public on multiple occasions.

I thought I had posted this before, but apparently not: I am posting it now as a native Californian, for all those affected by the terrible wildfires this year and every year, with love, prayer and hopes for the safety of all.

I wrote this poem in January 2001, but it refers to a trip back to California that I took with my then-husband in 1994, and to the two separate wildfires I drove into unknowingly in the late 1970s; the first in Topanga Canyon, and the second in Malibu.  It is the second fire that is described in the poem, and although I traveled with my dog frequently, she wasn't actually with me that day - but the rabbit and fox really were.

Dzienkuja, pronounced roughly jen-KOO-ya, is the Polish word meaning "Thank you," and is the name of the rabbit.

I originally bought her, a pedigreed Satin, along with two French Angora males, but now she is the only one left, and a solitary rabbit is a lonely rabbit.

Seven lines of seven syllables each.  Just worked out that way.

Life intervenes.

Written on her birthday for my friend Rocky, whom I've known since I was six, and who remains a valued friend to this day.

Happy Birthday, Rocky.

Thank you for your friendship, for being a great example when I needed one, and for helping to make me a much better person than I would have been had I not known you.  I love you.

For Hello Poetry user "Jeff Buckley":

While I agree that musician Jeff Buckley's lyrics are poetic, and often reach the level of true poetry, here is one of his actual poems, never set nor intended to be set to music.  

It is a ****** good poem,  touching on a number of subjects near and dear to my heart, which strongly resonates with me.

For the record, I have come only recently to the music of Jeff Buckley, within the past year, through my wonderful and musically adept husband Marek.  Buckley's music has moved me far more than that of most other singer/songwriters, save only for Steven Wilson, Mariusz Duda and Nick Drake.  He and I shared a lot of influences in common, from old 1920s blues and jazz, to pop standards, French music, classical and early British rock and progressive rock.  His first and only studio album released during his lifetime, "Grace," is not to be missed.

Sadly, he drowned at the age of 30, accidentally or otherwise, robbing us all of his incredible gift.  Not only was he an amazing songwriter, but a fine guitarist and, most of all, an incredible vocalist.  He had not only an amazing vocal range, but as mentioned a widely divergent source of influences, lending to some truly transcendent music and lyrics.  

RIP Jeff Buckley.  You are sorely missed.

For those interested in seeing his performance of the poem, which shows what a humble guy he was, you can find it here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duoujUI--Mo

My mom was born on 19 July 1927, and died on 21 Sept 2014.  
Most of what I am today I owe to her.

My ode to one of the most healing elixirs on the planet, popularized by herbalist Rosemary Gladstar in her books for well over 35 years.  Having loved the stuff for years, I just made my first half-gallon batch on July 4th - my personal Independence Day from mainstream medicine.

Recently, three business people with few scruples and less common sense, having gotten the idea and initial recipe from a friend, who no doubt came by it through Rosemary Gladstar or one of her many proteges, decided to trademark the phrase "fire cider," claiming - dishonestly - that they had invented it, despite it having been around for decades - if not generations - under that name.  
Suddenly, lay herbalists all over the country had their listings removed from Etsy and other websites for intellectual property infringement, even though many of the said herbalists had been selling fire cider for far longer than the name had been trademarked.

Being something of a rebel myself, I have made and will continue to make Fire Cider using its original name, crediting Rosemary Gladstar as the original source - even though she herself acknowledges that it is far older than she, and even she learned about it from an older herbalist - and publicly thumb my nose at the cretins who trademarked the phrase, with the firm belief that they should be ashamed of themselves for trying to capitalize on OTHER PEOPLE'S WORK while claiming it as their own.

It is up to us, We the People, for keeping knowledge such as this free and available to the public at large.  Lives may well depend upon it.

For those who wish to learn how to make fire cider for yourselves, I direct you to the YouTube videos that Rosemary Gladstar and Mountain Rose Herbs have generously provided to the public for free.  
Herbalists in general are a generous lot, and she is one of the finest, along with Susun ****, both of whom were inspired by my personal favorite herbalist, the late British veterinarian and master herbalist Dr. Juliette di Bairicli-Levy.  
I recommend the work of all three herbalists highly.

For those with kids or animals, the books on herbalism by Dr. di Bairicli-Levy are invaluable, as she spent the better part of seventy years traveling the world and learning the herbal medicine traditions of people in every part of the world, initially as it pertained to their animals, but ultimately for use with humans as well.  
Her "Complete Herbal for the Dog and Cat" and "Complete Herbal for Barnyard Animals" (which includes dogs and cats, but in less detail) are must-have volumes for anyone with animals.  
She successfully ran a very busy animal clinic in London, England, where she was routinely curing even distemper and rabies cases - diseases that modern veterinary science still considers incurable today - and she was curing them in the 1930s.  
Do yourself - and your family - a favor, buy her books, and keep them at the ready, for whatever may come along.  You will be glad you did.

Fourth of four poems written this morning.
Brain-mind science has always fascinated me, especially since I have believed since childhood that the human mind is limitless; an idea with which science is just now starting to catch up.  ;-)

Third of four poems written this morning.
I decided to get out of my weekend blue funk by listening to the audiobook of Christopher Moore's inspired insanity, namely his book "The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove," which may well be the funniest book I've ever read.  
Naturally, having read the book around ten years ago, I completely forgot that the book opens with a suicide, which of course struck me as hilariously funny in context.  
Especially since depression - namely the depression gripping the whole town - figures prominently in the story.  
Yeah, I'm weird.  ;-)

Second of four poems written this morning.
Our place is bordered on our eastern side by the Calfkiller River.

First of four short poems written this morning.

The seventh of seven poems written this morning.

The sixth of seven poems written this morning.
Shout out to Explosions in the sky, the outstanding instrumental band from Texas.  Check them out if you don't know them.

The fifth of seven poems written this morning.

The fourth of seven poems written this morning.

The third of seven poems written this morning.

The second of seven poems written this morning.

First of seven poems written this morning.  I was in a seriously pissy mood yesterday and some of it bled over to morning.  I'm feeling better now.  ;-)

Three alternative Florida doctors, all targeted by the government, all dead within two weeks.

The first was Dr. Jedd Bradstreet, known for being one of the first doctors to connect routine childhood vaccines to childhood autism, after his own child was struck by autism following a routine vaccination.  He was found face down in a river with a shotgun blast to the chest.  Law enforcement concluded that the wound was self-inflicted.  Not surprisingly, his family, who insists that he was in good spirits and not depressed, strongly suspects foul play.

On Father's Day, June 21st, Dr. Bruce Hedendal DC Ph.D. was found dead in his car, with no obvious cause of death.  To date, there has STILL been no cause of death released.  He too was targeted by the government for successfully treating his patients with alternative means.

Finally, Dr. Theresa Sievers, a successful alternative doctor in Southwest Florida, was attacked in her own home and murdered, in an upscale neighborhood with very little crime.  She too was targeted by the government for successfully treating her patients using alternative means.  At least in her case law enforcement is being honest enough and calling her death a ******.

All three of these doctors left behind spouses and children, thriving practices and heartbroken patients, and apparently, died as a direct result of their commitment to treating their patients in the best and most effective method possible, while steering clear of the harmful petrochemical drugs currently favored by Big Medicine and Big Pharma.  

Inform yourselves.

The ninth of nine short poems written before I got out of bed this morning.
c.2015 Cori MacNaughton