Feeling the Friday Frolics

I begin, as I often do, without a clue as to what I am going to write. Trusting in the process, I let the words flow knowing, they will. They always do when I get out of my head and into my heart.

And my heart is saying, it’s Friday. Let’s enjoy a Friday Frolic,

And, because I met with my writing circle last night, I thought I’d share a poem I crafted. It’s one of those “I’m not sure where that came from but it’s fun!”

Which really does make for the best kind of writing experience. To just let go and let flow! Words. Images. Thoughts. Ideas.

The poem was inspired by a poem by Paige Lewis, I’m Not Faking My Astonishment, Honest, Every time we meet in the circle, our amazing guide, Ali Grimshaw, of the blog, Battery Flashlights, reads us a poem to trigger our creative responses.

Here’s what happened for me when I let “I’m Not Faking My Astonishment, Honest.” lead me into writing without knowing where my pen was going.

Thank you to my writing circle guides. You constantly inspire and excite me to keep on turning up, writing and exploring life through words and images..

I Don’t Know Where I’m Going
©2023 Louise Gallagher 

I took a trip
but didn’t know where I was going
and found myself lost 
how to get somewhere
I didn’t know
because I didn’t know
I wanted to go there.

Confused, I phoned a friend
but they hadn’t planned on my calling
while I was on my trip to nowhere
and were not home
so didn’t answer
leaving me even more confused
about where I wanted to plan to go.

Lost in planning how to get somewhere
I didn’t know where I was going
I gave up on getting anywhere
and stayed where I was
until I could think of 
a better plan.


From Where I Sit

From where I sit
face lit with the glow of my laptop screen
my fingers gliding across the keyboard
the soft chanting of Advent songs playing in the background
the steady welcoming hum of the furnace protecting me from the cold
lights flickering as cars cross the bridge carrying people into their day
misty air rising from the river flowing sluggishly between ice-clad banks
naked trees standing tall along its edges 
stretched out branches frozen into awkward shapes
like children frozen in a game of Freeze Tag on a hot summer’s day.
sun kissed clouds stretch out above the tree tops.
river mist rises in ethereal white wisps gracefully flowing like a river through the air

This is the beauty of my morning.
This is the world that surrounds me.
This is my morning light moving from darkness into day.

I watch the lights flicker, the river valiantly fight against becoming ice
hear the music full of voices chanting and violins humming
feel the warm air wafting from the furnace beneath my desk
from where I sit 
in awe 
of the sun 
lightening the dark surrounding nature’s delicate frozen dance 
as I sit 
in nature's bounty 
all my senses full of its breath-taking beauty

This day is soaked in wonder, awe and magic.
Let it flow. 

A Solstice Prayer

A Solstice Prayer
by Louise Gallagher
On this long dark night ending

dawn waits

pregnant with the promised shift

of the earth turning

on its axis

beginning again 

the journey

from darkness into light.

On this long dark night ending

may your heart hear

the earth tuning in

to the beat of your heart 

calling you back

into the light spreading out

across a distant horizon

awakening you

to the dreams that lay 

dormant in the darkness.

Still (an Advent poem)

We are on the edge of a winter blast descending. Just in time for Christmas!

Except, the promise is that by Christmas day, it will turn less frigid but not balmy.

It is the winter season here at the foot of the Canadian Rockies. Temperatures climb and plummet. Climb and plummet. And we adapt. And even in our adaptations we accept, grumbling is acceptable. Grumbling can be the norm.

Skies hang grey and sullen, clouding the sun like a teenager sulking in their room after being grounded.

Ice is slowly inching out from the river’s banks and gravel bars closing the gaps between land and water.

And the world waits.

My Saturday mood is full of anticipation. We are putting up the tree and decorating tomorrow evening. My youngest daughter, hopefully C.C.’s son and girlfriend and maybe even my sister and her husband will join in the festivities.

For me, this is Christmas. It’s not about the gifts. It’s about. gathering with those near and dear to us, creating memories, sharing meals and laughter and being part of something magical that embraces us in its beauty and joy.

In this Saturday morning mood, the muse visited and I heeded her call…

By Louise Gallagher ©2022

Almost still
held captive between a season
of bounty 
losing its strength
against winter ice
lined up like an army 
ready to advance
across the river’s flow
captured by winter
advancing with its relentless
Arctic breath.

Behind front doors
strung with festive boughs
and twinkling lights
we wait
the light will return to
winter burnished skies
held captive within
the longest night’s
turning back
towards the light.

In the depths
of long dark night of winter 
someone whispers 
a child is coming
and the world holds 
its collective breath
captive in the hope
this child
will bring love, peace and joy
for all the world
to know
winter passes,
spring thaws,
and summer blossoms
turn with the season’s passing
into autumn’s bounty.

The Circle of Life Carries On

The Circle of Life Carries On
by Louise Gallagher
“Help me! I’m falling,” called the leaf to the limb.

The limb whispered back, “You must let go and let Mother Nature catch you.”

“But it will be the end of me,” cried the leaf.

“Hang on or let go, your life will end,” said the limb. “It is nature’s way..”

Frightened, the leaf clung tighter to the limb 
as the autumn winds blew fierce.

The limb shook, the leaf fell and nature had its way.

Winter came followed by spring bursting 
with leaves unfolding. 

The circle of life carries on, unending.

It is the Season

It is the Season
©2022 Louise Gallagher

It is the season
of budding

new growth 

as downy feathers
on a gosling’s breast
of life

beneath sun-soaked days
stretched out

along the sands

of time
slipping effortlessly

from winter’s  grasp
erasing all memory
of long dark nights

for spring 
to awaken
with its promise

of life
circling back

into itself
again and again.

I Do Not Want To Read Of War…

I Do Not Want To Read Of War
©2022 Louise Gallagher

I do not want to read of war
I do not want to hear the stories
look at the photos
watch the videos
see the bodies
lying in the streets
the animals left behind and killed
the homes destroyed
the buildings demolished
I do not want to know of its power
to desecrate
and destroy
Dreams. Hope. Life.

I do not want to look away.

To look away is to deny
the horror of what is happening
to people
just like me
who live and work and love and play
who walk their dogs 
and hold the hands of the ones they love
and caress the faces of their children and grandchildren
who go to work
and drive to the grocery store
or walk to their favourite coffee shop 
to spend an hour or two visiting with friends.

I do not want to cry
for the fathers, sons and daughters
who put down the tools of their trades,
their studies and their work
to don battle dress and guns.
I do not want to weep 
for the children and their mothers 
and the elderly and disabled 
with whom they huddle
in bomb-shelters and barns and basements
waiting for release
waiting for a time when bombs
do not desecrate
and destroy
Dreams. Hope. Life.

But I must
look and see and bear witness
I must acknowledge
what is happening
so that I can hold
this hurting world
in arms and words and thoughts
that do not 
or destroy
Dreams. Hope. Life.

So that perhaps,
one day,
the children and their mothers
the grandparents and disabled,
the fathers, sons and daughters
can return
to rebuild their lives
in peace.

All That Remains…

Yesterday on FB, a friend shared a poem I wrote at the end of 2020.

I am always grateful when people share my words. I feel a big burst of joy and gratitude erupt within me. It fills my writer’s heart.

I am also glad when the sharing reminds me of what’s most important, of what matters, and what is possible.

The poem she shared was written in one of Ali Grimshaw’s writing circles, a space I regularly and gratefully share with five other women.

I am sharing it again today because while at the time, I hoped Covid would be gone last year, it still lingers. Over the past few days my eldest daughter, her husband and my grandchildren all came down with it. Several friends have succumbed to its thrall as has one of my husband’s business partners.

We continue to hold our circle tight. Limiting contact. Limiting exposure.

And still, the sun shines. The birds sing. The riveer flows, albeit through a narrow channel surrounded by ice. The trees stand sentinel, naked branches spread out as if reaching to touch the sky.

And life continues to flow full of adventures and opportunities, possibilities and new imaginings.

And through it all, this nasty little virus continues to cause illness and death, sorrow and grief.

And through it all, life continues to flow, full of births and deaths, offerings and takings, beginnings and endings.

And through it all, Love continues to call us home to where we belong.

to read the original post from December 31, 2020, click HERE.

Thank you Shannon for the reminder and the gift of your sharing.

From Me to You. Thank You.

I awoke this morning with gratitude filling my heart as I thought of all the beautiful comments and love I received yesterday.

It is hard to describe how your words and support fill my heart, lessening fear and worry and lighting up my day.

And so… I wrote this for all of you.

From Me to You
Louise Gallagher

If I have but one prayer
let it be, Thank You.

Thank you for the sunrises
and settings,
the clear skies and grey days.
Thank you for the moments
that fill my heart with joy
and the ones that push it to breaking
to all the beauty that surrounds me.

Thank you for the easy roads
and rough trails.
Thank you for the calm waters
and stormy seas.
Thank you for the love and laughter,
the pain, the sorrow and tears.

Thank you for all of it
for all of it is held
within the sacred nature
of this wondrous life
full of unfathomable mysteries
and inexplicable tragedies,
ripe with breath-taking moments of awe
and back-breaking moments of grief.

Thank you for all of it
for all of it is a gift
and within all of it
Love beats its steady tattoo
calling me to rise up
and dance and sing
and twirl about
and shout out loud,
I am grateful for each breath,
each moment of this life
and all who walk alongside me
and make the hard places softer
and the easy times more thrilling
and the worries and dark times lighter
and the joys and laughter brighter. 
Thank you. 

Life’s Untold Mysteries

Life's Untold Mysteries
by Louise Gallagher

Every day untold mysteries
to unfold
in soft gentle ripples
in grand sweeping gestures
in rippling currents of ecstasy
or raging waves of chaos
leading to new growth, new vistas, new opportunities.

We cannot live into the untold mysteries
of each moment
until we release
our hold
on what is blinding us
to their presence

To fly free
to dive
into life’s untold mysteries
we must let go.

It is never too late to let go.

Today’s poem is in response to a prompt at Eugi’s Causerie. The word prompt today is “Untold”.

Writing in response to a prompt is fun! I hope you try it.

Just click on over to Eugi’s place to participate, and to read how other’s have interpreted her prompt.

Special thanks to Lilli Ann for inspiring me to reply.