What We Choose To Believe

As I awoke this morning I lay in bed contemplating many things of past and present. My

thoughts were somehow drawn to a very powerful and overwhelming experience I had during

a vacation trip I took with my family, my pregnant wife of that time and my son, to a place in

eastern Canada where a pilgrimage of over one million people witness something

extraordinary.

Nestled on the shoreline of the St. Lawrence River some twenty miles northeast of Quebec

City in the province of Quebec stands a monumental structure of congregated masses in

prayer, hymn, sanctuary, and historical accounting of healing and miracles. The Basilica of

Sainte-Anne de Beaupre stands in imposing Gothic architecture of high arching spires and

windows of stained glass grandeur, a major Roman Catholic shrine.

I had heard and read of this place. Although I do not espouse to embrace any particular faith

or religious conviction I attended Presbyterian and United churches in my early years and

have always had a sense of “understanding” or “belief” that there must be some higher being

or power or otherwise powerful entity that has brought this world and all its magnificent and

imperfect inhabitants to being.

And so it was that in the summer of ‘82 that we journeyed to the east coast of Canada, to

parts previously undiscovered by ourselves. On a gorgeous sunny morning after an

enchanting stay in the quaint and historic settlement village of old Quebec City, we turned

northeast along the St. Lawrence seaway to the tiny town of Sainte-Anne de Beaupre where

we witnessed the incredibly moving and inspiring shrine to the patron saint of Quebec, a place

where historic legend holds that those of infirmity, disability and debilitating illness or

otherwise impaired mobility entered upon its chapel and larger place of worship in braces,

crutches, with cane or in wheel chair, sick and disparate, seemingly lost and without hope. All

they had left was their faith, their salvation as it were. They crossed a threshold into a place

where dreams and possibilities, however seemingly remote or impossible, came true for

many…they walked out of the basilica without aid. Miracles and healing were borne of this

place.

No matter what we choose to believe you truly have to wonder…

For those of you who wish to share in this truly incredible experience, not necessarily to

discover the presence or absence of your own faith, I would urge you to take your own

personal pilgrimage to this amazing place of worship along the waters of the St. Lawrence…I

will never forget.

Find out more about the basilica here at Sainte-Anne de Beaupres

————————————————————

What We Choose To Believe

My ascent upon steps of basilican shrine

Where faith and its attentions rest in sacred walls

This towering cathedral of eminence draws

Silent force of enormity and confluence

Breaths exhaled shallow, quiet anticipation

My footfalls echoing the fervent pilgrimage

Of scores embracing belief in higher being

Before me emotions entangled, many questions

Unanswered, lo unfamiliar in Thy presence

Would I walk amoungst hallowed halls unanointed

With waters purified by your sanctity

My passage now into the chapel intensely

Amplifies the overwhelming complexity

Of Your word, Your promise, every deliverance

Of miracles and healing by Your graceful hand

Tears flow as overpowering consciousness streams

Eyes absorbing this divinity as bandage

A hanging monument of Holy interventions

Wheel chairs, crutches, canes and discarded braces

Hung as in witness to otherworldly devotions

They rose as in resurrection forever more

To walk again unaided, their blessed reward

For those of His choosing…and those who would believe

copyright 2009 Don MacIver;  All Rights Reserved

As I awoke this morning I lay in bed contemplating many things of past and present. My thoughts were somehow drawn to a very powerful and overwhelming experience I had during a vacation trip I took with my family, my pregnant wife of that time and my son, to a place in eastern Canada where a pilgrimage of over one million people witness something extraordinary.

Nestled on the shoreline of the St. Lawrence River some twenty miles northeast of Quebec City in the province of Quebec stands a monumental structure of congregated masses in prayer, hymn, sanctuary, and historical accounting of healing and miracles. The Basilica of  Sainte-Anne de Beaupre stands in imposing Gothic architecture of high arching spires and windows of stained glass grandeur, a major Roman Catholic shrine. I had heard and read of this place. Although I do not espouse to embrace any particular faith or religious conviction I attended Presbyterian and United churches in my early years and have always had a sense of “understanding” or “belief” that there must be some higher being or power or otherwise powerful entity that has brought this world and all its magnificent and imperfect inhabitants to being.

And so it was that in the summer of ‘82 that we journeyed to the east coast of Canada, to parts previously undiscovered by ourselves. On a gorgeous sunny morning after an enchanting stay in the quaint and historic settlement village of old Quebec City, we turned northeast along the St. Lawrence seaway to the tiny town of Sainte-Anne de Beaupre where we witnessed the incredibly moving and inspiring shrine to the patron saint of Quebec, a place where historic legend holds that those of infirmity, disability and debilitating illness or otherwise impaired mobility entered upon its chapel and larger place of worship in braces,  crutches, with cane or in wheel chair, sick and disparate, seemingly lost and without hope. All they had left was their faith, their salvation as it were. They crossed a threshold into a place where dreams and possibilities, however seemingly remote or impossible, came true for many…they walked out of the basilica without aid. Miracles and healing were borne of this place.

No matter what we choose to believe you truly have to wonder…

For those of you who wish to share in this truly incredible experience, not necessarily to discover the presence or absence of your own faith, I would urge you to take your own personal pilgrimage to this amazing place of worship along the waters of the St. Lawrence…I will never forget.

Find out more about the basilica here at Sainte-Anne de Beaupres

————————————————————

My ascent upon steps of basilican shrine

Where faith and its attentions rest in sacred walls

This towering cathedral of eminence draws

Silent force of enormity and confluence

Breaths exhaled shallow, quiet anticipation

My footfalls echoing the fervent pilgrimage

Of scores embracing belief in higher being

Before me emotions entangled, many questions

Unanswered, lo unfamiliar in Thy presence

Would I walk amoungst hallowed halls unanointed

With waters purified by your sanctity

My passage now into the chapel intensely

Amplifies the overwhelming complexity

Of Your word, Your promise, every deliverance

Of miracles and healing by Your graceful hand

Tears flow as overpowering consciousness streams

Eyes absorbing this divinity as bandage

A hanging monument of Holy interventions

Wheel chairs, crutches, canes and discarded braces

Hung as in witness to otherworldly devotions

They rose as in resurrection forever more

To walk again unaided, their blessed reward

For those of His choosing…and those who would believe

copyright 2009 Don MacIver;  All Rights Reserved

Her Name Was Ayana

Although the names in this poem are ficticious with respect to the accompanying photo here they nonetheless once belonged to beautiful young children of Ethiopia. Subject of this piece are the millions of hungered humanity who have perished out of starvation and its endemic disease. Pockets of African regions have been besieged by drought and poverty to the extent that human survival is precarious to fatal. Life hangs in the balance there as hungered mouths and outstretched hands want and beg for morsels of food and droplets of water. Drought, global inflation and armed conflict complicate an already desperate situation. International food aid has brought relief, largely from the US yet hunger remains for many a daily struggle to defeat the ever-present threat of death.

Tears and desperate prayers simply weren’t enough…to save Ayana.

—————————————————

Her eyes deeply set in hungered hollows
Soiled stringy hair strands so long ago bathed
Sad vacant stare weeping waterless tears
A smile forever lost, defeated dreams

Ayana birthed a child, name of Dahnay
Whose papa lays silent of malnutrition
Gripped by the plague, sweetest wanton gaze
Prayers for but few morsels he never consumed

Ayana layed Dahnay to rest this day
Emaciated remains, open grave
Scorching sun glaring unforgivingly
As baby lays silent, his mama sobs

Gripped by a poverty, living in slums
Injera flatbread their only staple
Their shelter a mud hut of single room
Earthen floors a place of broken slumber

On blistered foot walking many hours long
To market they carried sorghum and maize
Over parched grasses dry, infrequent rains
Relief by the droplet long ago seen

Bitterness replacing glimmers of hope
Distended ribs skeletal, starved remains
A toxic cocktail of pain, misery
Life’s eventuality, death’s redress

Look into Ayana’s eyes…if you can
Vacant by their witness, her soul bereft
Her heart once torn to pieces, dignity
Ravaged by failings of humanity

Baby Dahnay’s cries sadly unanswered
He clung to mama’s breast, his dying thirst
Left unsatiated, he’d look away
His lifeline to survival dried up, gone

Close your eyes now baby Dahnay, look away
From a life not of your choosing sadly
May your afterlife be more plentiful
Without hunger, pain, and rampant disease

Mama Ayana will be there for you
Where papa awaits, a family again
In happiness always you will all stay
By your hut where once you gathered in prayer

…may the hunger cease to exist some day

copyright 2009 Don MacIver;  All Rights Reserved

Taking Stock; A Writer’s Lament

Being a writer is often a lonely existence. Hour after hour spent tapping away at the keyboard. Deleting, editing, staring at an illuminated screen craving a brainstorm, a few more lines of meaningful content to enlighten and amaze.

I am just a year shy of turning 50 and like many people in the middle age years I am taking stock of what I have accomplished, personally, my career and my writing. I have not yet made the break to full-time writing and continue to work toward a fulfilling career. Striking a balance between personal life, career aspirations and the creative writing side is a constant juggle.

There is so much in life that greatly influences writing. As an author of poetry I look to my senses and observations about those things that occur around me…and around the globe. I draw from the happiness, the sadness, the elation, the anxiety, the remorse, the indecision, love, anger, mourning, conflict, bloodshed, addiction, illness, virtually everything and everywhere that this earth is and evolves around.

I take pride in my writings and seek to author works that are honest, engaging, insightful, pleasing to read with the hope that the reader takes with them something of value whether it be a greater sense of satisfaction, belonging, understanding, emphathy…the poetry and my articles are there for the reader’s own interpretation, their own experience.

Poetry is life itself to me. It can reflect upon any life situation, fantasy, or perception of any given subject. It seems that actual personal experiences are the best subject matter for a writer to embellish upon as it has more merit, a greater sense of connection for the reader. Real experiences, especially those that are commonly shared and experienced by the greater percentage of the population the world over, have the greatest credibility and overall meaning for the reader.

Writing poetry has evolved through the decades, centuries. It has changed with sensibilities and situations day by day as life around the globe changes. Although many of us who author poetry aspire to embrace writing styles of the past we also may accept the changing forms of poetry that are penned to this day. The medias that transcribe and reproduce the written word today are so vastly different than those of years past, and so vastly different they will surely be decades from now.

The media of today is becoming more and more interactive, more socially relevant. We have computers, the internet, email, blogs, websites, online articles, instant messaging, social networking, and online diaries. By simple choice and a few clicks we can make highly personal journals available for either a select group of readers or a general public audience. We can upload photos of events that shape our lives. We are becoming connected to a massive reading audience, sharing intimate thoughts with a cyber audience hooked on the technologies and audio-visual experiences now offered with the internet medium.

And so it is that as writers we are able to make immediate publication around the globe those inspired words tapped out on the keyboard. Some of us are strictly sharing for personal reasons while others amoung us aspire some degree of notoriety and commercial success from our written efforts. Writing is after all a first love for so many of us. The opportunity to share in print the cherished words we pen is priceless.

The measure of writing success is not a question of quantity, rather it is recognized by its quality. The readers of today want and need not only fictional adventure but they also crave the drama of real life. Touch readers’ minds, souls, hearts and your objectives as a writer will have been achieved.

To your writing success!

copyright 2007, Don MacIver

She Lives…In Memory

Four years ago marked the end of her beloved life, sadly, after a three-year battle with Alzheimer’s Disease ravaged her mind, aged her once tireless body, left her without resolve or initiative as each new day dawned, seized her with a daunting fear that gripped her emotions like a vice.

Three years prior, Mom went about her every day with love, affection, tireless caring for her family and her home, total independence to come and go as life dictated. The kettle sung a high-pitched whistle marking the start of a new day as water came to a furious bubble on the stove. Fresh coffee was about to be brewed for yawning early risers struggling to bring the day into focus.

Dad’s silent gaze at Mom that morning was somehow different, seemingly saddened and alarming. When Dad fell silent I could sense imminent concern, frustration, perhaps safeguarding unspoken news that he preferred never to have to share. I became nervous.

As mom went about her daily routine in the kitchen, then stepped out briefly to water the colourful splendour of floral display that she so painstakingly planted and cared for each year along the patio, Dad motioned for us to draw quietly near. What he proceeded to tell us was not entirely surprising, but nonetheless painful to hear, absorb and accept as a new reality…Mom had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.

Although we desperately wanted to believe that another explanation would be forthcoming about Mom’s disposition, the reality was that several of her siblings had suffered the same fate and eventually would succumb to this ravaging illness that has now become so prevalent in our family, our community and around the globe.

The very things that mom cherished and took such pride in would slowly be taken away from her, that being pride, confidence, independence, fond memories of recent and distant past occasions that she held dear. And worst of all…no longer able to recognize family and friends aside from some confused sense of awareness that those people were somehow connected.

Photos in the many weathered photo albums that captured special and memorable moments were met with a wondering gaze, a blank and questioning stare, a lack of interest or….connection. The most difficult, heart-wrenching moment was when Mom first failed to recognize her own son standing next to her in the living room amidst a backdrop of framed family pictures carefully arranged on the fireplace mantle…still, no recognition, only confusion and apparent separation from all that just a short time ago was so familiar.

Her children always clung to Mom’s support and friendship when the going got tough. No matter how difficult the circumstance, no matter how wayward our course had ever been, she was always there for her entire family. Her hand was always extended, her words kind and reassuring, her wisdom endearing. And then all of a sudden our roles reversed, her fears intense and the pain lingering behind clouded and saddened eyes told a story of loss unspeakable to a son standing before her, holding her to calm a troubled mind.

Three years later, as we stepped into a silent hospital room, private…and final, mom laying motionless and finally at peaceful rest, lost to an illness she surely did not deserve, a son sat in tears, in despair, with his own sense of great loss. Her hand held gently, her hair touched one last time, her image savoured with a prayer that wherever she may then be she would be free of pain, fear, confusion…looking down upon us from a much more deserving place.

Perhaps Mom is once again blessed with memories…and recognition as she watches us from where she now sits, in comfort and happiness, watching over her family…as she always has, the way it still should be.

Love always,

Your son.

copyright 2007 Don MacIver

Cause Without Conscience

I don’t often detract from my usual writings of things poetic and related articling but from time to time I am stricken by horrific events unfolding around the globe. The situation in the middle east is beyond comprehension.

My wish is to share my poetry works and related writings in this space however at times I feel compelled to expound about things political, military, religious or otherwise that I often feel such a deep sense of sadness, loss and frustration over. Although I do not necessarily espouse to support any particular viewpoint on the atrocities that occur across the globe and the attempted means to resolve same, I still can’t help but feel a growing sense of anger and defeat for humanity in general.

That being said I remain an optimist that some day people of war-torn, terrorist-ravaged, impoverished, drug and crime-ridden and hungry nations will rise again. Whether that will take superhuman resolve, faith, unfathomable will, extraordinary military might or otherwise, surely some day people will learn the simple concept that conflict and differences can be resolved without taking up arms, without suicide bombings, or terrorist attacks which remain a threat abroad and at home.

Some time ago I wrote the following piece, amoung others, in the hopes that it may help make a difference in the way human beings deal with their neighbors across borders and those within their own community. If anything I write impacts or somehow influences even one sole on this blessed earth to deal with problems without force, without hate, then that is a start toward something better…one day at a time.

CAUSE WITHOUT CONSCIENCE

 

The strike of the terrorist, death for a cause, lost life of the innocent, without conscience or pause.

 

 

 

A school lays in ruins after the siege

 

The life of young children targets for cause

 

Grief-stricken families gather to mourn

 

Their blessed ones lost, a battle not won

 

 

Blood-stained partitions, a motionless child

 

Cradled in arms of a mother despaired

 

Senseless, perverse this slaughter is staged

 

Snuffing out life without guilt, without pause

 

 

On a hill high above the battlefield stands

 

Tiny white crosses atop shallow graves

 

An uneasy stillness looms in the air

 

Cease this madness, no more killing and fear

 

 

copyright 2004 by Don MacIver

A Place of Shelter, Not A Home

Living on the street has evolved, once perhaps out of necessity, a destitute existence, a war of survival. Now life on a park bench or storefront step is that and much more. Perspective taints this curious and sad picture, everything from a lifestyle choice to a pathetic, freestyle social annoyance to be disdained much more easily than regarded with any sense of empathy or unconditional acceptance. To reflect here immune of prejudice would perhaps be a great falsehood.

Having never had first hand experience I can only anticipate with some trepidation the experience, the hunger, the fear that pervades on the streets today.

Feelings of emptiness, cast out alone, nothing but the street to call their home. Hungry, disillusioned, the elements feared, life on a doorstep, a prisoner to the cold….

Huddled in the din of lamp post glare

Cold of the night grips of my bones

Fluid on fire rages deep in the lungs

Sickened, alone, desperate for sleep

Passers by vent disdain for my kind

Downward glances, grimace of hate

Vilify my being, cast me aside

Ignore my reality, turn away

Untouched by my hunger, void of guilt

Not a penny you spare from pockets deep

Angry avoidance, eye contact forbid

Apologetic without acceptance

A concrete doorstep, shelter awaits

The poor and forgotten, scourge of life

Raise not your hand, impoverished one

Unwelcome castaway, disappear

Tears well in eyes shadowed by pain

Defeat engulfs this forgotten soul

Death be my demon lurking near

I’m stricken, empty, resented, alone

 

The homeless community is increasing in numbers exponentially in many urban centres. The how and the why are complex questions that seem to beg answers. Perhaps with time and generous helpings of ingenuity and foresight resolve may be reached as to what, if anything, can be done to change this situation.

Copyright 2004 by Don MacIver

Thank You Dad

Fathers are many things to many people. As a father myself I have had plenty of time over the years to reflect upon what a father should be, or at least strive to be.

As a young and growing child we look up to our father, literally and figuratively. We see dad as being strong, capable and achieving, idealistic, contemplative, stern, authoritative, disciplinary, loving, understanding, sometimes confused or angered by our actions, giving of guidance…and so much more.

A parent is perceived in many different ways by their child, hopefully with love, admiration, respect and most of all perhaps…with great thanks.

We think back to our teenage years especially when we weren’t so sure of dad’s motives or intentions and our moodiness, anger, obstinacy and rejection of all things parental was at the forefront of our existence. Having had teenage kids of my own I now understand the many complexities and frustrations on both sides.

Fathers have, or perhaps should have, a great sense of anxiety and anticipation as they watch their children grow into young adults, struggling with their own sense of purpose, self-worth and accountabilities in the world around them.

Our local community, and indeed around the globe, has changed dramatically over the decades, in some ways more tolerant and in many respects much less tolerant. Social pressures of today seem monumental in size and complexity.

Fathers so often look back to the way things were when they were a child and struggle with understanding the choices and decisions of today. How do I, as a father, act or react upon a situation today that may have been handled so differently in years past? Will it be so difficult for my sons and my grandchildren in the years ahead?

Despite the many challenges in life today we should ever be thankful for all the goodness, love and caring that parents provide over the years through good and bad. After all, we as parents only want the very best for our children and hopefully we suitably convey that wish to our kids without prejudice.

And so it is with these few thoughts that I give pause to give love and thanks to my own father who has given so much of himself over the years to see that his family has had the very best that life can offer.

Father’s arm by shoulders reach

An outstretched hand he greets

Guiding, calming, reassures

Support in every sense

Firm to right a seeming wrong

A knowing glance, few words

Convey his presence, fortitude

So meaningful his ways

Lead us Dad towards a path

Your feet would surely walk

Thank you Dad for all you are

And we aspire to be

Love, Your Son

Friends around the globe, please join me to give thanks and admiration this Father’s Day.

Gaining Recognition; Posting Articles

Are you needing to establish or increase recognition in your writing genre? Posting articles on the internet is an increasingly popular and effective way to gain valuable recognition and also a great way to promote your website or online business endeavors.

Whether your writing genre is poetry, short story, novel or otherwise, one of the first steps to promoting your writing is by creating a website where you can post your original works and articles, graphic illustrations and other media that helps promote writing in general and more specifically showcase your own talent as an author. Other posts on this blog provide more detail regarding website hosting resources.

Once you have created a website (or even before doing so for that matter) you must go further by promoting that website, blog or ezine articles by posting links in online directories that relate specifically to your writing genre and themes. It’s not enough to simply create a wonderful website, loaded with high quality content and resource links etc. You then have to take the next critical step by promoting your writing and related web page links and that means some form of marketing online that will help generate interest and establish you as a worthy resource or expert in your field and generate increasing levels of traffic (website visitors) in order to gain that critical recognition.

Run a Google search such as “article directories” or search terms more theme-specific such as “poetry article directories” and you will obtain a vast number of search results linking to related websites. Get yourself listed in such directories as a good starting point to gaining that important exposure. Post your own articles to these listed websites from the directories.

Just a few of these article directories or submission sites include Arcana Web, Articledirectories.info, Ezine@rticles.com, GoArticles.com, IdeaMarketers.com and UncoverTheNet.com .

Do you have to be an expert or writing genius to write articles online? Certainly not. Writing articles is simply an effective way to introduce yourself to a potential market for your published works and help establish you as a valuable resource for information or a product/service that people want. Write in your own words as much content-rich, quality information as you have knowledge of and readers will form their own opinion as to its worth and want to click on your web page links that will take them to your blog or website etc.

Above all else never infringe on someone else’s copyright by using another’s exact wording. Do research in advance as you will on websites but always use appropriate punctuation to denote quotations or direct extracts from an article or other copyrighted transcript and be sure to provide reference to the copyrighted author and even include a link back to the original author’s article to ensure that the copyright protection is duly observed. This in turn enhances your credibility as a valuable and credible resource.

Going back to the question of expertise, let’s put it this way…as you continue to write and publish your authored works you should continue to research for greater knowledge and skill level of your own and with time and dedication to your writing genre you will hopefully acquire all that comes with qualifying as an “expert”. Keep in mind that expertise is to some degree a subjective qualification which is often what is perceived by the reader and is influenced by their own level of novice or expertise.

Remember always that by posting written material on the internet you are in essence publishing your writing. The key factors in acceptance and demand for your writing will lay in its content and how you market your writing to generate that critical recognition and market share that you desire and deserve. Get your name and work out there to the masses on a regular basis by proven means and the rewards will hopefully follow.

There are numerous other means of marketing one’s product or service online and will be given further reference by other posts to this blog.

Success to all. Write on!

Editor’s Note: This blog is for those who enjoy literature including poetry. The comments feature is NOT for posting links to pornographic websites.

A Poet’s View; Imported Article Content!

Not long ago I started a blog here at WordPress and quickly came to prefer its features and functionality. Recently I decided to start up a second blog at WordPress and have imported all previous articles from the former blog site for sharing here at A Poet’s View. In the importing process some glitches have occurred that I have not had a chance to address as yet but the content is there all the same.

Writing poetry has become my greatest focus in recent years and the response from readers has been tremendous. So, it is without hesitation that I expand upon this newly created blog for poetry enthusiasts with the addition of my previous articles. There are quite a few archived articles as well so there is plenty to browse through here. Hopefully my articles will help those who aspire to write poetry, or other genres of writing for that matter, as one of the key factors in writing success is inspiration.

Stuck on where to begin with your new writing endeavors? Take a look through my articles here for some answers to questions that may have come up along the way.

To your writing success!

Don MacIver

An Introduction; A Poet’s View

Poetry is a great many things to its readers, an expression from the heart, a vision, an opinion, a reflection, an observation. Every conceivable emotion is expressed or felt through the reading or writing of poetry. It is deeply personal and yet conveys what many in the local community and globe-wide experience every day.

Here, I will reflect in my writings what I see, hear or feel from one day to the next. I write on a diverse range of themes, rarely allowing politics to enter into my verse, at least not intentionally. Perhaps response to my writing may reflect a political slant.

Although poetry has a select audience it is gaining in popularity. I love writers of yesteryear but seek to brand my own style to each composition. To share my thoughts here in this space is an opportunity, a challenge, a gift.

A little something from my collection for my second book, yet a work in progress, entitled “Touched By A Rose”:

A POET’S PLACE

Posessed by the grace of poetic mind, unparalleled thoughts one of a kind. Long to be cherished this online space, words gifted from poets in this magical place.

 

 

A gift of expression, on page life unfolds

Of style and elegance, pagentry, bold

Visions explored, reminiscent within

Life’s song in verse, words poetic begin

 

Tears from tragedy, sadness from loss

Two lovers quarrel, words in haste cross

Splendours of nature, beloved sounds

Places of wonder, true friendship found

 

Emotions poured out, our true feelings shared

Touching accounts, our heart and soul bared

For love of the poem, words crafted with grace

A beloved journey, this poet’s place

 

Copyright 2004 by Don MacIver

 

Come here once, come here often. It is the reader’s choice whether he or she returns at all. I hope you take with you something of value after you leave.

Cheers.

Don MacIver