Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Maritime Waltz

Last night my thoughts drove once again to Parlee Beach. Memory can be a wonderful thing. All of my senses are tuned in to the experience. I can smell the ocean, feel the sand between my toes. I close my eyes and I am there.

I hope you'll join me...

Maritime Waltz

Come dance with me
To the rhythm of the sea.
We'll savor the salty sprays.

Our hearts will swoon
At the sight of the moon
Adorned in her favorite rays.

Our love may die
With the dawn's first sigh.
"Forever" may fleeting be.

Still, take my hand
On the shifting sand.
Forever come dance with me.

Donna Carrick, December 5, 2011

Friday, November 11, 2011

Quiet of November

November brings its own moments of quiet reflection:


Lo, the sands of time
Speak to us of blood on beach.
Let us not forget.


Donna Carrick, November 11, 2011

Friday, October 28, 2011

October Songs -- by Donna Carrick

October is the perfect time for poetry.

The North country is in flux, it's mood changing daily -- even hourly. The sights, sounds and smells of a dying season fill our senses.

In Canada, these feelings may be even more acute. Some of us approach the snow and ice with trepidation, but overall there is a sense of resignation that brings a certain peace.

We want the world to pause, to hold its beauty for just a little longer. It's with this theme in mind that I offer these October Songs:


I will take this love
Wherever it may lead me,
As long as I have words...


October's passion:
splendor of red, orange, gold.
My love walks with me.


Precious solitude.
Autumn claims the heart of me,
whispers to my soul.


For awhile they held
deep cool breath of Fall -- in love --
and then she was gone.


I hope you will enjoy these pieces. Please feel free to visit again, stay awhile, and share your own thought on this season by commenting below.

Thank you,
Donna Carrick October 28, 2011

Sunday, October 16, 2011

This Time of Love and Laughter ~ Donna Carrick, Oct. 16/11

It goes... it goes so fast,
This time of love and laughter.
It flies on silver wings
Through skies of blue.

And though we try our best
To hold the smiles, the sunlight,
In twinkling of an eye
It fades to memory...

Quicksilver joy, comradeship,
Hands that we hold today.
Eyes that watch as moments
Soar by like coloured kites.

For nothing lasts but memory,
Sweet ghost of love gone by.

Donna Carrick
October 16, 2011

Sunday, September 25, 2011

As Summer Falls ~ Donna Carrick

Here we are on Sunday morning,
Last in September,
Sunlight tickling the yellow and red
Till it comes out of hiding
From within layers of weary green.

So summer falls at last
Into the glory of its past.

We watch in wonder as
Autumn hails itself
The one true ruler
Of the North.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

One day that changed the world....Lest we forget.

Like most adults, I woke today filled with memories of that other morning, ten years ago, almost to the moment.

It had been a period of loss for our family. First my mother, unexpectedly at the age of 69 in early 2000. Next a dear aunt, then another -- sisters of my mother. Then, on September 3, 2001, my husband Alex lost a beloved aunt, follwed the very next day, September 4, by his father, Donald Carrick.

We returned to work on the morning of Monday, September 11 after a week of funerals. Already saddened, but relieved, at least, to put the heaviest of our grief behind us and get back to our normal routines.

It was just past 9 am. My office phone rang. It was one of my staff, a young lady, calling to say she would be a little late. "But Donna," she added, "there's something wrong in New York City. I don't know what, but something's happened at The Towers."

I won't pretend her first words chilled me. I had no idea, after all, what they meant. But her next sentences gave me pause. "It's really scary," she said. "Everything here is too quiet. There are no planes in the air -- none."

I put the phone down. I work for a major media organization, and at that time we were still connected with Canwest at the 1450 Don Mills Road building. I ran from my office on the 2nd floor up a half flight toward the big news screen on the 3rd floor.

Within moments, almost 200 of my friends and co-workers had joined me. In absolute silence we watched the newsman as he struggled to make sense of the first impact. He, and we, thought it must have been an accident. He spoke in reverence, pausing to find the right words. Clearly it was not a typical news report. He was just a guy with a microphone and a camera, trying to tell the world what had happened.

And then, before our eyes, in one flash of horror, the unthinkable occurred. The second plane. As he spoke, facing the camera, behind his head we saw it pass, turn, and collide with the second tower.

And we all knew.

There was no cry of horror in our building. No stifled collective gasp -- no outrage spoken in words.

There was only a deep, unbroken silence as the knowledge flooded us.

During the days that followed our hearts broke time and again, with each new discovery, each fresh image that was presented to us. We were filled with an unprecedented grief, and a love for our brothers and sisters in New York City.

The phrase "Ground Zero" came into our language. But we know the damage of that day was not isolated to the towers. Not at all. Its impact ripples to this day through the hearts and minds of people everywhere. None are left untouched.

So here we are in Canada on a beautiful Toronto morning. What has changed in our world?

Ten years have come...and gone. A heightened sense of security worldwide has restricted our freedoms in ways we might never have imagined. We've suffered suspicion... against our neighbours, from our neighbours. Friendships have grown, or have been set aside. Babies have been born, and loved ones have died.

But that moment, standing with hundreds of my co-workers, friends all, entrenched in the silent horror of first awareness, before even the newsman knew for sure.....

...that was a pivotal moment.

A moment that cannot be erased, nor can it be trivialized, nor should it ever be.

All that has come to pass since that day has been acted on an altered stage.

And now, ten years later, we still seek peace. Too elusive. Too vague a concept. Our global psyche too cluttered with offenses given and received, too filled with suspicion and hatred. Forgive us our trespasses, as we will forgive those who trepass....

Instead of a day committed to reliving that horror, as if anyone could or would ever forget, I pray we will dedicate this day to seeking peaceful solutions to our differences.

That's my fervent wish on this day, ten years to the moment later.

Donna Carrick
September 11, 2011

Sunday, September 4, 2011

September #haiku ~ by Donna Carrick

This one is in memory of the lives lost on September 11, 2001. Alex and I were returning to work that morning after a week of family funerals, relieved to finish a week of sorrow, only to learn the sorrow had hardly begun...

All around the world
Nature is the only sound.
Plowshares, swords at rest.

The following are inspired by the season as well as by our love of our Northern home:
Slow September rain,
tender as a memory.
Farewell summer love.
Grey September blues.
Half-forgotten melody.
Lyrics call for you.
Late summer shadow.
Memories of season gone,
passing with regret.
Wake to gentle rain.
Late summer, birds, cicadas.
Our North dressed in grey.
Yue liang lights our way.
Cool September harvest moon,
lantern in the sky.
A crystal moment,
subtle as a woman’s sigh.
Everything has changed.
Subtle September,
scarce a touch of autumn red,
in cool denial.

Friday, July 8, 2011

February the Fifth, by Derek Haines

February The FifthFebruary The Fifth by Derek Haines

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Delightfully quirky....

...insanely imaginitive...intensely insightful...just plain fun.

Derek Haines employs all of his impressive writing skills in this fantastic tale of February, Supreme Potentate of the Twelve Sun System of Gloth.

I'm grateful to Amazon Kindle, which offers a platform for exciting authors like Haines to reach out to readers globally. Haines uses an elegant narrative style in this tale of February's rise to Royalty. If you enjoy a strange and ecclectic story that is both beautifully crafted and "really out there", you will love this e-book.

Donna Carrick

author of The First Excellence

View all my reviews

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Making Peace with the Dancing Bears -- February 10, 2011

Like most writers, I’m an avid reader. Since my earliest days of “See Spot run!” I’ve been hooked on the written word. The masters of yesteryear have shaped my conscious thoughts in ways even I can not explain.

What is it that gives a book such majesty? What injects mere words with the ability to change us, enhance us and lift our lives into something infinitely more worthwhile than what we had before?

As a writer, I’ve pondered this question many times. Is it structure, plot, character, poetry – what is the one key ingredient of a truly great work?

Here’s the conclusion I’ve drawn: on its own, none of these elements will produce an outstanding book, although each is usually blended with technical skills in the best of literary works. Mere punctuation will not sprinkle a story with fairy dust. Poetry alone, thick with personal meaning but devoid of universal appeal, will not liberate our subconscious from the trappings of the mundane.

No. The only sure way for a writer to capture his readers is to harness the power of being comfortable with his voices. Beloved books all have one thing in common: they invite the reader to sit with the author and explore his innermost workings, that menagerie of thoughts and ideas, joys, sorrows and horrors that are unique to each of us.

A writer must reach deep into his psyche – soul, if you will – and pull out whatever icky mess he finds there. A well of experience, the mucky stew of the past, is the key ingredient of any work of art.

Sometimes, on a good day, we’ll look inside ourselves and find only joy. Those are the days when our stories will be at peace, when our minds become aviaries filled with colourful winged creatures who sing to us of golden moments in the sun.

The next day we might find ourselves staring into a black pit of snakes, our guts wrenching with anger, doubt and self-loathing. Then the villains in our minds will rule the day. The world will experience their wrath

Behold the poisonous power of the serpent! He, too, is part of this universe. He, too, deserves his moment in the bright light of understanding.

Only the brave can dive into this unknown territory, day after day, never sure what we will find. The compassionate among us can view each of our inner ‘animals’ with a touch of love and a river of understanding.

Most people are unable to face what lies within their minds. They are not comfortable with the voices – they shrink from the gnashing teeth, the bloody claws of their own demons.

But, of course, those people are not writers. We are a hardy lot. We’ve learned to live in peace with all aspects of ourselves.

When we hear the rumbling of the dancing bears, we do not run in fear. Nay, not at all. Instead, we writers don our finery and dance along, grinning and growling with the best of them!

Donna Carrick, February 10, 2011

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