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Annette Marie Hyder
Annette Marie Hyder is a freelance journalist, an author and a poet. She is the founder and curator of the international feminist project, "Facing Feminism: Feminists I Know." Her articles have appeared in print throughout the United States and internationally. Her most recent book is "The Real Reason the Queen Hated Snow" published by Twilight Times Books. She is currently happily at work on a novel of magical realism.
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Sunday Things: Full of Crow
Full Of Crow Press And Distribution is an umbrella literary/arts organization that includes Full Of Crow Online, Press, Distribution, Blink Ink, Fashion For Collapse, The Sphere, Crow Radio, and more.
From the Editors of Full of Crow:"We are looking for content that is bold and unapologetic, presented in thoughtful and purposeful ways. We like work that touches on the surreal, the mythic- enduring themes and images that are rooted in something deeply personal but connect to something transcending and universal. As many editors say, we know what it is when we see it."
Caw!
I have three pieces in the new issue of Full of Crow, spoil the day, shiny things, and earlier, then, now. The Full of Crow Winter Poetry Issue is live and you can see it here: Full of Crow Poetry, January 2012
Also, just for fun, check out this crow that likes to go sledding!Video courtesy of YouTube user penelopakristi from Russia
Link of interest:
Awesome post on the above sledding crow video by Alexis Madrigal at the Atlantic Monthly Magazine
Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2012
"A voice in the wilderness..."
By Annette Marie Hyder
The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. — Isaiah 40:3, King James Version (Cambridge Edition)
Your voice rushes in the reeds of our consciousness
your words, like thunder, warned of an approaching storm
promising not destruction but blessed relief.
See how your words have changed the landscape of this nation
how the green can't help but curl into being
in the most unlikely places. In a dry parched land
a nightingale still sings.
Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Martin Luther King Jr., quintessential spokesman for equality, calling for the crooked to be made straight and wrong to be made right. May your words always shine bright, burn in the hearts of those hearing and light the way for all.
Links of interest:
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2011
The Seattle Times Martin Luther King Jr. website
By Annette Marie Hyder
The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. — Isaiah 40:3, King James Version (Cambridge Edition)
Your voice rushes in the reeds of our consciousness
your words, like thunder, warned of an approaching storm
promising not destruction but blessed relief.
See how your words have changed the landscape of this nation
how the green can't help but curl into being
in the most unlikely places. In a dry parched land
a nightingale still sings.
Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Martin Luther King Jr., quintessential spokesman for equality, calling for the crooked to be made straight and wrong to be made right. May your words always shine bright, burn in the hearts of those hearing and light the way for all.
Links of interest:
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2011
The Seattle Times Martin Luther King Jr. website
Excerpt from The Seattle Times Martin Luther King Jr. Website:
"Martin Luther King Jr. has now been dead longer than he lived. But what an extraordinary life it was.
At 33, he was pressing the case of civil rights with President John Kennedy. At 34, he galvanized the nation with his "I Have a Dream" speech. At 35, he won the Nobel Peace Prize. At 39, he was assassinated, but he left a legacy of hope and inspiration that continues today.
This Web site, first created by The Seattle Times in 1996, contains the story of a remarkable man, images of a tumultuous time, and perspectives of politicians, academics, students and the many, ordinary citizens whose lives he touched. We invite you to explore it." Link
Red Shoes, Dolls, and Merrow Trees
By Annette Marie Hyder
Some day my impulsivity, my spontaneity, will be the storybook red shoes that dance my feet right off of me.
I am not the handless maiden, but I might as well just be, for all the grasp I have wearing gloves of naivety.
In the courtyard of my thoughts, a tree lined twisting maze, there is an Ariadne thread. I find it in your gaze.
Sometimes given context dolls are scary things; after all, they started out as idols and the kind of gods that let you carry them are likely full of pins.
I am more inclined to seek the benediction of your smile than look for hope in talismans or relics full of guile.
In a forest full of merrow trees there is the underwater sheen of moon kissed waves that lave the very heart of dream.
Some day my impulsivity, my spontaneity, will be the storybook red shoes that dance my feet right off of me.
I am not the handless maiden, but I might as well just be, for all the grasp I have wearing gloves of naivety.
In the courtyard of my thoughts, a tree lined twisting maze, there is an Ariadne thread. I find it in your gaze.
Sometimes given context dolls are scary things; after all, they started out as idols and the kind of gods that let you carry them are likely full of pins.
I am more inclined to seek the benediction of your smile than look for hope in talismans or relics full of guile.
In a forest full of merrow trees there is the underwater sheen of moon kissed waves that lave the very heart of dream.
The New Year Tree (a Branch of Yggdrasil)
By Annette Marie Hyder
New Year's Eve 2012
New Year's Eve is when the ground of time itself is magically primed and you can take all the bad and ill-will in your life, shape it into a seed and bury it.
What you are really doing is planting that seed and because of the nature of the confluence of the past and the present what will grow from that seed — if you bury it well — is not more of the same of that from whence it came. No, what you will get is The New Year Tree and on that tree are the flowers of possibility. These flowers and the fruits that spring from them are imbued with transformative promise for the future.
The flowers morph right before your eyes from trembling bud to globed fruit swinging on the vine
and though the fruit that hangs the lowest looks good to the eye you should climb that tree to reach the "pears", "apples" and "figs" that nestle near the sky.
Embrace the tree, feel its rough bark against your sensitive skin, shimmy up the trunk pulling yourself up by the lower hanging branches (they are silver overlaying gold and the glittery dust off them coats and shimmers your skin). Once you have a perch, it is like most other things, a matter of doing the same thing again and again and again (life itself being a series of subsets of recurring patterns and repeating routines) but with more skill, agility and grace as you learn/move up the tree.
There are inscriptions on the leaves that make them look like banners bearing mottos or the fortunes from Chinese fortunes cookies rustling in the wind; they say things like, "Pluck the fruits of refreshment and enjoy them as you climb.", "May your way shine with the beauty of movement." and "To err is human, to fall angelic."
Bees bright with gold against their black sides hum from their hive while the bold squirrel named Ratatoskr watches you climb.
Each level up offers a clearer view from your place upon the tree. There are hammocks swinging in the breeze, woven from the softest feathers; you can watch sunrise and sunset from your perch upon the tree. The moon will personally come by and serenade you. Birds flutter and a snake whispers through the leaves beckoning for you to stop climbing, to come and take your ease.
Nothing wrong with that — if that is what you want. But the way to the top, although it becomes treacherous, is lofty and proud; a ladder to the heavens. I'll see you in the clouds.
Happy New Year!
New Year's Eve 2012
New Year's Eve is when the ground of time itself is magically primed and you can take all the bad and ill-will in your life, shape it into a seed and bury it.
What you are really doing is planting that seed and because of the nature of the confluence of the past and the present what will grow from that seed — if you bury it well — is not more of the same of that from whence it came. No, what you will get is The New Year Tree and on that tree are the flowers of possibility. These flowers and the fruits that spring from them are imbued with transformative promise for the future.
The flowers morph right before your eyes from trembling bud to globed fruit swinging on the vine
and though the fruit that hangs the lowest looks good to the eye you should climb that tree to reach the "pears", "apples" and "figs" that nestle near the sky.
Embrace the tree, feel its rough bark against your sensitive skin, shimmy up the trunk pulling yourself up by the lower hanging branches (they are silver overlaying gold and the glittery dust off them coats and shimmers your skin). Once you have a perch, it is like most other things, a matter of doing the same thing again and again and again (life itself being a series of subsets of recurring patterns and repeating routines) but with more skill, agility and grace as you learn/move up the tree.
There are inscriptions on the leaves that make them look like banners bearing mottos or the fortunes from Chinese fortunes cookies rustling in the wind; they say things like, "Pluck the fruits of refreshment and enjoy them as you climb.", "May your way shine with the beauty of movement." and "To err is human, to fall angelic."
Bees bright with gold against their black sides hum from their hive while the bold squirrel named Ratatoskr watches you climb.
Each level up offers a clearer view from your place upon the tree. There are hammocks swinging in the breeze, woven from the softest feathers; you can watch sunrise and sunset from your perch upon the tree. The moon will personally come by and serenade you. Birds flutter and a snake whispers through the leaves beckoning for you to stop climbing, to come and take your ease.
Nothing wrong with that — if that is what you want. But the way to the top, although it becomes treacherous, is lofty and proud; a ladder to the heavens. I'll see you in the clouds.
Happy New Year!
Sunday Things: Life goes on
Forced bulb Amaryllis kits for sale in St. Paul, Minnesota
Irrepressible, irrefutable, irresistible life
Life goes on. Under the neon lights of a big box store and in the midst of the rush and crush of shoppers, these flowers, meant to be bought for someone to nurture into blooming, just went ahead and bloomed on their own. They were not going to wait around on a shelf for someone to recognize their potential for beauty. So without their intended audience, participation from a human agent or favorable circumstances, life blossomed.
These flowers
Annette Marie Hyder
stretch their necks
like elegant flower swans
ruffle their feather petals
and sing
in their quiet way
of the beauty of life.
Links of interest:
University of Minnesota: Forcing Bulbs for Indoor Beauty in Winter
How to get your Amaryllis to Flower
Headdress of Days
Annette Marie Hyder
(Thanksgiving 2011)
It seems to me that I wear the days
as a sort of crown
or a headdress, a headdress of feathers
where the feathers of greatest beauty and significance
are loved ones
and the beaded ornamentation
multi-colored and brilliant
is made up of the many acts of kindness
large and small
that have been hand sewn and finger knotted in.
The length of this headdress does not, paradoxically,
increase with each day but rather with each new thing
that I have to be thankful for.
These new things are the feathers
that fan out from the top and cascade down.
And so it is that I am measuring time
not with minutes and seconds
but in gratitude
as feathers sweep my steps,
lay a hush on my surroundings
and whisper
hallelujah
as I go.
(Thanksgiving 2011)
It seems to me that I wear the days
as a sort of crown
or a headdress, a headdress of feathers
where the feathers of greatest beauty and significance
are loved ones
and the beaded ornamentation
multi-colored and brilliant
is made up of the many acts of kindness
large and small
that have been hand sewn and finger knotted in.
The length of this headdress does not, paradoxically,
increase with each day but rather with each new thing
that I have to be thankful for.
These new things are the feathers
that fan out from the top and cascade down.
And so it is that I am measuring time
not with minutes and seconds
but in gratitude
as feathers sweep my steps,
lay a hush on my surroundings
and whisper
hallelujah
as I go.
Thickets
Annette Marie Hyder
You bring me words
sweet and succulent
hold them in the hands of your mind —
hands scratched by thorns
and with dirt beneath their nails.
Your mouth is a basket overflowing
with hand-picked berries just for me.
Your eyes show me flashes
of fur, of feathers
in the thickets of your thoughts.
Vines cover every branch
in sinuous, sensuous green.
You want me
to walk with you
in the wild wood.
I want those berries
your thorn-scratched hands
and your basket too.
You bring me words
sweet and succulent
hold them in the hands of your mind —
hands scratched by thorns
and with dirt beneath their nails.
Your mouth is a basket overflowing
with hand-picked berries just for me.
Your eyes show me flashes
of fur, of feathers
in the thickets of your thoughts.
Vines cover every branch
in sinuous, sensuous green.
You want me
to walk with you
in the wild wood.
I want those berries
your thorn-scratched hands
and your basket too.
Autumn Bridge
Annette Marie Hyder
The autumn forest
wet with rain
is a lucid dream
where all the colors
shine like glass
that has been polished
in the wind.
Every leaf is a door
that shakes and shudders
trembling to be opened
and behind which stand
all the trees of time
immemorial.
Fire and rain blend,
become a gateway
or a bridge
spanning from one season
to the next —
inviting one to cross.
The autumn forest
wet with rain
is a lucid dream
where all the colors
shine like glass
that has been polished
in the wind.
Every leaf is a door
that shakes and shudders
trembling to be opened
and behind which stand
all the trees of time
immemorial.
Fire and rain blend,
become a gateway
or a bridge
spanning from one season
to the next —
inviting one to cross.
Wanderers
Annette Marie Hyder
Tambourines sound in the air
as the trees shake their leaves
like Gypsies dancing
in red skirts and belly chains
winking with gold coins
copper medallions
and purple paste-cut gems
that tremble in the tempo of the wind
and the wind is the music that is the end
of the summer and the fortune teller's
crystal ball of winter to come
both rolled into one.
The seasons are wandering players
and carry their backdrops
scenery and props
from place to place
trace their winding footsteps
across wagon loaded years
colorful with the freight
of experience.
When the play is over and done
the show will yet go on
the theater of nature
will still be doing business
long after I am gone
happy
to have gotten a ticket.
Tambourines sound in the air
as the trees shake their leaves
like Gypsies dancing
in red skirts and belly chains
winking with gold coins
copper medallions
and purple paste-cut gems
that tremble in the tempo of the wind
and the wind is the music that is the end
of the summer and the fortune teller's
crystal ball of winter to come
both rolled into one.
The seasons are wandering players
and carry their backdrops
scenery and props
from place to place
trace their winding footsteps
across wagon loaded years
colorful with the freight
of experience.
When the play is over and done
the show will yet go on
the theater of nature
will still be doing business
long after I am gone
happy
to have gotten a ticket.
Sunday Things: Prayers on 9/11
Annette Marie Hyder
When I think of people around the world
in temples, mosques, cathedrals and fields
sending their prayers — like children running
up a mountain slope
like paper lanterns filled with flame
lifting against a dark sky
like joyous shouts and the most lowly of lamentations
braided into a Rapunzel braid or a flying carpet
with which to ascend the heavens
and see the breaths of so many exhaled in a wish for good
blowing out, not a million birthday candles but, a myriad acts of violence
it seems to me that the final word of such supplication
culminating into one bright spirit of morning
and the dawning of a new day
is Amen.
Links of interest:
Daily Herald Gallery: Honoring 9/11 around the world
CNN: World finds unique ways to mark 9/11 anniversary
Catholic Encyclopedia: Amen
When I think of people around the world
in temples, mosques, cathedrals and fields
sending their prayers — like children running
up a mountain slope
like paper lanterns filled with flame
lifting against a dark sky
like joyous shouts and the most lowly of lamentations
braided into a Rapunzel braid or a flying carpet
with which to ascend the heavens
and see the breaths of so many exhaled in a wish for good
blowing out, not a million birthday candles but, a myriad acts of violence
it seems to me that the final word of such supplication
culminating into one bright spirit of morning
and the dawning of a new day
is Amen.
Links of interest:
Daily Herald Gallery: Honoring 9/11 around the world
CNN: World finds unique ways to mark 9/11 anniversary
Catholic Encyclopedia: Amen
