15 Second: It Feels Like Spring in July

15 Second Poem


It Feels  Like Spring in July

Write a bill and a half
weed spinach, cauliflower
and salad leafs
pick through nickers
throw it incarnate thoughts
as the wind and clouds
play chase
over the tower
I give thanks
and affirm
my able.

© theflautingharper

  https://youtu.be/u8RhvGPA3R0

15 Seconds: The Mayor's Walk

Walking guide dog Yeltsin in the mucky afternoon damp we call summer over the Mayor's Walk:

A spit a spat
big dog splat
foot here
foot there
forward
around the sphere
summer shimmers
through greys
on flowering bushes
circle, go
see, spot
give time to thought
then
let go.

The 15 video can be seen at:

The Mayor's Walk: https://youtu.be/8lwEitvKcj4

Today

'Your past is just a story. And once you realise this, it has no power over you.'

Today I say
today
today is the day
I say
today
to do today
today
is to do the day
like the day
deserves to be done
to be today
I say
present today
strong today
here today
to be
today

All starts with a wish

Wish First 

Music, words, the walk, the hands...

Admitted status: 'work in progress' 

From Cafe to Bar Tabac Satie 

love writing him 

his pace, walk, voices

Tarmac turns blackthorn blossom speckled green 

Underfoot the next dream 

Body: Health on seeing calves in a slaughter truck

(Hum to: Come All Ye Maidens Young and Fair...)

Meat it is a precious thing
and meat brings all things to my mind
meat with all it flavours
along with all its joys
meat brings all things to my mind.

Babies really
right, wrong,
snouts too small
wry words
cliches
stop my feet

Responsible
ownership
crates or not
I'll own my own
do my do
to own what I do
do what I own
see that:

Meat it is a precious thing
and meat brings all things to my mind
meat with all its flavours
along with all its joys
meat brings all things to my mind.

Home: Kitchen: Recipe Aubergine (Puree) Memories

a lemon is better, garlic crushed
nicer

Broad nails, sturdy hair

steady, solid, grounded.

Earth fragrant he cooks

cause I didn’t learn yet.

Patlıcan poor man’s meat

carrier of garlic and spices

mild, pale, flesh vessel

which when unsure,

sprinkled with salt draws

clear drops of unhindered

bitterness, anger

frustration.

Patlıcan is a love affair

the curve of a wrist

the sure supple

knife flick, slice

the boiling kettle

when coloured and soft

the oven

heating the room.

I: top, tail,

half, drizzle oil

in oven

wait…

chop garlic

mix olive oil

vinegar

salt

pepper, stir.

A lemon is better,

garlic crushed: nicer.

when coloured and soft

separate the skin

mix the flesh into: dressing

mix

crush for chunks

chop garlic

whizz for silk

Annem

I watched her

he smiles a line in his cheek

and it tastes

of Istanbul

not the nomad

not the stories:

of goats, sheep,

nights under stars

it tastes

good and alive

of travel

my kitchen

home.

my kitchen
home.

For Chloe: Memory wisdom

Don't really want to talk
not about that
last attempt
it's a thing

To have
the memory
the late afternoon sun

hitting the pavement

The walls
dinner kept
time spend, talking, dreaming:
too late

Are we meeting 

learning 

again from within?

It was too short 

for being that is.

Don't really want to talk
not about my mouth
it's a thing

the blessing
the curse
the late night whisper

hiding within

The soft flesh
the bite
my days being Dutch
teeth

Am I losing
rounding
rotting from within?

It looks too short
for wisdom that is

Rest in peace
I'll be thinking of you

Body: Grandmother's hair and Argan Oil

Dealz Aragon Oil hair treatment €1.49

My father always used to say:
'Be proud of your hair,
there aren't many with hair like us.'
Thin like a spiderweb's thread,
straight with a kink to the right,
light with an auburn hue
that made my grandmother money
before the war.

'The hairdresser paid her to sit
with her hair displayed in his window
as she read magazines and gossiped with her friends.'

Halfway through life
I'd have to agree.
The inherited hair
has served me well
and suits me fine.
But it does need love
so now and then.
Like now;
I've cut it
but not enough
and it keeps being hard to comb.

'Argan Oil,' the child suggests.
So when in Dealz trying to find
little bits to make me feel better
about life and it's challenges
I find a small bottle saying:

I wash, towel dry and then
massage...

Argan Oil, hair treatment.

A 50ml bottle for €1.49 seems like a good deal(z)
and as per the instructions
I wash
towel dry
and then massage
the Argan Oil
into my hair.
Not from the scalp outward
but from those dodgy ends in.

The comb glides,
the hair shines.
And I smile as my friend
compliments me on how well it looks.
'So healthy, so shiny.
Who do you go to?
What did you do?
My colouring alone is costing me a fortune!'

I leave her ramble
my hair has no hairdresser friend
who wants to display it in his window.
I've got a little bottle
and a budget of under a cup of coffee.

I'm proud of my Recession Kitchen hair
as would my grandmother be.

Family: Gratitude, On: walk mind and thinking feet

feel from feeling

I love walking, doing, movement ... I like to think of life as a place of constant change. Walking helps me to see, to know, to connect and to flow. Doing makes me see solutions and find answers. Movement helps me to keep perspective.

I am blessed in many ways, I have luck galore and the Universe trends to smile when I'm around. Too often I take all of the above for granted and so I hereby would like to express my gratitude, for all of it: the opportunities, the chances, the caring, the love, the wonderful helpers, mentors, teachers, angels, saints, ghosts, fairies, gut, the random, the hope, the success, the diversions, the signs, all that and all that doesn't come to mind straight away... Thank you!

The Promise

Walk mind over heels

Walk mind over heels
through thought wishes
thinking thank words
thanking, thank you

Do daily
do from
freedom felt
feel from
feeling, felt belong

Adventure
follow get
follow do
follow wish
follow thought
follow felt

make all mine
take all get
let legs and
and thinking footsteps
run
so felt
thought
wish and do
get adventure
as advertised.

legs and thinking footsteps

Food: Tagliatelli Carbonara, Italian comfort

I see: 

no egg

no egg I say...

The egg makes it

when taken

set aside 

I see: no egg, no egg I say

waiting

Just after the Tagliatelli

waded through mushroom

creamy flesh

silken soaked 

in heated cream.

Al dente cooked dough

crunchy salted fat

succulent coated

black pepper pig

and the egg

stirred at last

the end

into it

before consumption 

even serving

after fire

is cooking like heating

is comfort like no other

the egg 

the egg I say

makes it.

Body: Health Bother Hospital

I get to take a day off from my life.
I get a hospital bed,
a 12 hour fast,
full anesthesia,
tea toast and an army of people
wheeling me,

So I get a day off to contemplate

prodding me,
asking me questions.

Pain is what started this,
sharp, strong and getting worse over time.
I'm not used to complaints
so I do and say nothing
get on with my life
until one morning
there is no energy
to get up.

A string of dates for:
blood, urine, ultrasounds
and physical examinations
come up with nothing
but there are words:
cancer, hysterectomy,
ovaries, polyps,
meno-pause, HRT
they ring loud and clear.

So I get to take a day off
to contemplate what is, was, will be,
won't, might, could and maybe
already is.
A day to be aware of how mortal I am.

A day to be aware of how mortal I am

Family: Kittens opening eyes

Growing fast

meoing

scratching

Searching 

sleeping again.

All the same 

and oh so different

huddled,

growing.

And then

tiny and blue

open eyes

doubled in size

ready for the next

stage:

scramble
amble: life.

Family: Good Friday, Easter is on it's way and the Matthäus Passion (Excerpts 1 to 9)

Good Friday
Before I forget:
eggs, sugar, sunshine
and Bach.

Never a lover of St John
it is St Matthew I crave.
His turn of phrase
the way he shows not tells.
.
Childhood memories:
songs, chorales, standing, arias,
sitting, singing, sleeping, listening.

Mrs Toonder repeating again and again:
Open up
open your mouth
Wide
Relax
Project
Stand still...
and watch the conductor.
He will be there,
waiting.

And Bach he too
moving from chorale to aria
melismatic counterpoint
speaking to us
always clear
always precise
two hours and more.

Erbarme Dich
Blute Nur
Over and over
every year.
I sit and listen
hum, sing along, feel, learn,
know, remember.

Easter is here.




This 1994 dramatized version of the Matthew Passion has been my favorite for some time. Rather than the big Amsterdam's Concert Gebouw setting we sung at as children it is small the soloists partaking in the chorales but no children's choir. Unfortunately the full version doesn't seem to be available anymore. But here are the excerpts which are wonderful... ... Enjoy|!

House: That Spare Room, Making Space

There's nowhere for knees under the table

There's a table which can be used as a desk.
Who do I want to be?
Yes, clothes.
What do I want to be?
Notes from college.
How do I want to express me?
Baby-book, photo's. Unused instruments.

Spare mattresses: a couch.

Are you afraid?
CD's, paperwork, stacks upon stacks.

First, make space to get in and out.
No, no fear.
Room on the floor.
No need to search.
Spare mattresses: a couch.
Just say, sing, play.
Like in the old days.
Be.
There's nowhere for knees under the table.

The instruments like living together.
Let go of belief and known.
If I take some time.
Be open, intuitive.
To become all I think I can.
Feel the road.
In front of the unsorted clothes and paper.
Put feet down.
It's not can't, we just don't.


Move forward, walk.

The instruments like living tohgether

House: Spare Room

Spare Room

Hurdy-Gurdy in need of repair and memories

We have a spare room.

A room without belonging 

without purpose.

It was different at first.

When we moved here
it was a bedroom.

My bedroom.

North-facing small.

Uncomfortable with too much space
- Im a city girl after all -
I left the big room empty.

Luggage, clothes...

I grew into it.

The room, the house.

The big bedroom
with view
is now boudoir

There is carpet, curtains, space.

And the small room
is now filled with
leftovers from periods gone by
things kept, saved.

Luggage, clothes,
CD's, books, notes, bedding.

It needs a purpose,
something to do
that spare room.

That spare room of mine.

I'm a city girl after all

Body: Feet and the wonders of Olive and Jasmine essential oil

Feet

A bowl of warm water, Olive oil, Jasmine oil
and tired well worn feet :)

There is so little that can be said to do them justice.

I'm grateful to have them carry me, balance me, move me.

I like their shape but never really look. And when I do - look - like this morning, I feel bad for them, I owe them a treat.

There's nothing in the bathroom that looks like foot-anything so the kitchen it is.

I find:

Olive oil and a tiny bottle of Jasmine essential oil.


Olive Oil is perfect for feet because it is a nourishes the skin and has anti-inflammatory properties as well as anti microbial benefits. Meaning that if my feet have any problems like: dry or hardened skin, or open blisters it will soften, feed and heal them.

Jasmine Essential oil I choose because it is a cicatrisant, in other words it makes scars and stretch-marks while also being an anti-sceptic and especially good for dry and flakey skin. Another reason I'm attracted to it is because it also is an emmenagogue which means it can help with period regulation, onset of menopause and painful periods.

I mix a good slosh of Olive oil into water that is not too hot but nice and warm and add some five drops of the Jasmine essential oil. I sit with my feet in the warm water, smelling the Southern hemisphere, warm...

... ... ...

After their Olive and Jasmine essential oil bath, smiling,
smooth and clean 

When the water has cooled I clean my nails and cut them. The warm water has made the nails and cuticles soft and the pores are open.

I don't dry my feet but rather massage the oil into the always hungry feet and lower legs while still damp.

I have to say it was so easy, cost me nothing and felt great!

Family: Kittens! ...Mi-mi-ao Mammy!

Look there are kittens in the box!

...four ball of fluff have to go hunting...

I've been trying to get a good shot of them. It doesn't work. The corner that seemed just perfect - out of reach of Guide Dog Yeltsin, lodged between the piano and the harps - is too dark and just a little tight. So I'm left with nothing else to do but wait until they're big enough to climb out into the light.

For now it is screeches and screams when mammy moves. Tiny wails of despair as four balls of fluff have to go hunting for tit. Sometimes it isn't the mum moving but their brother-of-a-different-generation trying to squeeze in on the warmth. She's his mammy too. And if he could, he definitely would, even though he's too big a boy now which she lets him know all the time.

Three are just like their mammy and one is darker just like the different-generation-brother.

Truly, I never thought I'd enjoy seeing all that new life so much. It never was my thing. Yet here I am, oohing and aahing over the Wild Cat from Blarney Street being such an amazing parent. Patient, protective... ...she's different to how she normally is. She's given in to being a mum. Not because she chose but because nature demands it of her.

She's given in to being a mum

She turns onto her back so the little ones can reach better. She looks at me looking at her. I assure her it's ok. Much more so than it ever was for her mammy. Would she choose all of this if she could?

She squints at me and I tell her about where she's from, the spring she was born under the oil-burner and how she moved here with her brother, so she could have a better life. Because it's important to know where you're from.

She licks a head and a belly, puts a paw over one and her tail over the other. For now, their only response is to drink, wail, sleep and crawl towards the warmth.

I'm looking forward to blue-eyed and climb-out-of-the-box kittens soon.

There's purring going on.

House: Kitchen, Moving away from the old

I don't like stuff much, and stuff on work surfaces
makes me ugh...

They say the kitchen is the centre of the home.

We lived in a 2 bedroom apartment in the Kinkerbuurt in Amsterdam.

The galley kitchen was separate from the other rooms. With in it just enough space for one person.

Mum.

There's nothing like doing the dishes to
make me feel good

Now the kitchen is mine.

Things are done a certain way.

When children, gardeners or others use it I can't help but be territorial.

Now, I've decided I'm letting go.

I'll clean up the mess and worry about it no more.

I'm not to do anything after anybody doing something in the kitchen ...

I'm moving my workspace upstairs.

The best feeling: clear and clean worktops

I do dishes, worktops, grill, stove, fridge and floor.

I look at it and feel good.

Wipe down cupboards.

Rinse the espresso pot.

I know how to have it like this always.

And finally a sink unobscured and clean!

I'm loving you kitchen!

I'm loving you like you've never been loved before.

I'm hugging and kissing you and making you feel good.

I'll clean tops of the cupboards, wash out shelves and under the sink.

I'll even clean the lamp and maybe give the extractor a wash and change...


You wait and see. This kitchen will stay pristine!

Family: Paddy's Day

The spuds are in
the robin taunts me
all morning.
In, out, in, out
here, there, gone.

We go for green 99's

all here to see, smile, celebrate

and wait for the parade.
I'm a Rover
Oh Danny Boy
The Tidy Towns

There's shamrock
stout and bodies.
Green, orange, white and gold
all here to see, smile, celebrate
the leaving of the snakes.

Mountain dew tea
drives out the day
like Patrick himself the snakes.
Another one gone forgot

the robin is here to stay.








Anja Bakker

Body: Spring has sprung and I see and feel my body!

    

I squint into it walking home.

There is light again.

I squint into it walking home.

Blue skies, birdsong,

In my mind's eye I stretch, bend

make possible

do, create 

enjoy, hold strong, am able.

But in this light I feel all.

I am strong, flexible, able

and there is light again

The neck betrays the crow in me

the woman waiting within

my grandmother's

elongated cheeks.

My shape betraying waning fertility

even if I like the comfort of covering my limbs

it has to be said is obvious.

There is light again.

I see the thinness of my skin

through the dust on the looking glass.

In my minds eye I pass through

deserts and mountainous lands

to fulfill dreams and potential.

through the dust on the looking glass

In my mind's eye...

potential and now, to do, to engage, to see, to not hide.

To deal with, to be kind yet persistent

strong without force.

To overcome every obstacle when possible

All in time.


And for now:

Do, did, done... ...

My neck betrays the crow in me

I am strong, flexible, able

and there is light again

a stretch

a little every day.

Anja Bakker

Leftover Bread - Forgotten Rice Bread

I like to be with just me for a while.
Not to think of others. I like not thinking of others.

Time takes a little to pitter patter into potter state.
A glass emptied. A book moved. A surface wiped.

Yesterdays rice in the fridge.
It sits there waiting to be rememberer knowing it has been forgotten.

With a little: yeast, flour, water...
and there is forgotten milk, black pepper, a little...

knead into a pliable, softness and leave.
Like the beginning of new life it needs time.

Wandering from room to room
following paw prints that lead in and out the window.

The cat fighting the fox.
The dog barking at them both.

Weaving in the cold as the dough won't rise.

Next morning with blood on the wall
battered but not beaten sleeping tom.

Time for pottering gone, the dough forgotten it in the bowl.
Bubbles! Let it rise again...?

In the bowl goes, rice-dough.
Up high. Then down low.

When I look again there is a crust, the bubbles are there too.
I turn it and find the loaf to be light. Lighter than I thought it would be...

It is like the breads I like, full and light, a little moist but with a good crust.

Ah, left over forgotten rice... ....thank you!

 


Do you ever bake bread with left overs?
Do you bake bread?
What happens when you bake?


I always have more questions  than answers and would like to hear from you and your Recession baking and cooking adventures.

Thank you for your interest and don't forget:

Leave a message, subscribe and enjoy...! Until next time :)


Anja Bakker