Seeing the mug

Bette’s Ocean View Diner

I think of

my mother

Bette Hutchison Silver

 

I am the connection

of every member

of our family

to my mother

Bette Hutchison Silver (date 1996?)

I am becoming

the connection

to my father

 

Constructing that connection

began seven years ago

after my mother’s death

 

Discovering documents

hidden in her attic

 

Researching online

to write

a book

that is and is not

the story of my father

 

So remember

through me

you are connected

and ever shall be

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Greetings to all who read and follow this blog! I started it in 2011 in homage to my mother Bette Hutchison Silver.

Now I’m onto a new stage… and a new blog… www.familyandfiction.com about the process of researching writing and rewriting an historical novel based on events in my father’s life,  W. Lon Hutchison.

Tracking the Human: nobody’s a long time is the story of Lew, a teenage runaway from Oklahoma, who overcomes drug addiction, mental illness and family betrayal to become a successful entrepreneur.

I hope you will follow my new blog.

Thank you! Pamela Collett RN 2

Haiku walk during contour 556 biennial public art festival

Lake Burley Griffin

Canberra Australia

21 October 2018

 

pushing a stroller

upright man

Lake Burley Griffin, Canberra Australia

gazing at lake

companion

walks head down

 

circulating

tree fluff

from foreign trees

 

brown leaves

white fluff

floating

dull green lake

 

red shirt

red pants

green meadow

two men

far apart

 

sculpture

unmoving

landscape

changing

 

large boat

small lake

artificial

 

headless

floating

dead magpie

 

Trash assembled

people attracted

 

Snake in tree

hanging down

tempted

 

White floating fluff

brown slow moving stream

 

zig zag in stream

sacred submerged

 

zig zag above

sacred beneath

Sculpture

minimal

stream

reflected

 

Cat on a leash

owner trained

 

Long dress

high heels

out of step

by the lake

Why can’t I read

novels

prose

as I once did

Devouring stories

lives

characters

immersion

I open a book

and close it

then another

and close it

within minutes

 

Is it the fault of poets

such as Clive James

Where every word counts

causing

prose

novels

to fall flat?

 

Or Samuel Wagan Watson

Ali Cobby Eckermann

Eleanor Lerman

Kenneth Rexroth

Other poets

names forgotten

sitting on the shelf

to be read and reread

 

Emotions linger

Specific poems

unremembered

Poets’ words

pierce

shine

penetrate

Leaving novels flat

colourless

Spoiled by chance

or choice

 

Now and then

poetry escapes me

the terms foreign

the language English

the context unknown

unwanted

unseen

 

A sometimes thing

poetry’s direct hit

reaching the heart

Pelicans Tucacas Venezuela

 

 

 

 

24 Oct 2012

revised 11 July 2018

 

Sorting books

moving between

continents

Why do I choose

to keep poetry books?

Profound emotion

captured

in a few words

Like Chinese landscape

brush paintings

conveying

intense connection

with a few strokes

Sketch of Beach at  Tucacas, Venezuela

 

 

Silence Spoken

Poems and drawings by Pamela Collett

Available with a discount on http://www.lulu.com or

on Amazon or Barnes and Noble

with no discount.

Thank you for your interest.

A new blog coming soon about my novel

                                          Life Expectancy. 

Thank you for your generosity to let me read your poems and take delight in your photos and sketches.

 

You have the sensitivity and ability to catch the moment, in sparse words and sparse strokes.

 

I understand it is a joy to have  these gifts, like having a secret drawer in your desk.

 

Eva

Sweden

 

 

 

Silence Spoken is available at a discount on http://www.lulu.com

or full price on Amazon.

Thank you Eva and all the people who have given me feedback.

Much appreciated

29 June 2018

 

Carpet shampooing

brings change of venue

Moving furniture

to shampoo carpets

Spring cleaning in winter

to welcome VIP visitors

Son and daughter in law

coming from Kenya

Sitting in the kitchen

with my computer

Different outlook

than at my desk

 

Sometimes I ride the bus

to the Canberra CBD*

or the Kingston public library**

to write

Not for inspiration

but for change

of venue

of thought

If I set out to write

some place other

than at home

I am a writer

 

What has brought

the most change is

support from two women

in our writers’ group

AND writing the blog

Life Expectancy:

searching for reconciliation***

Reliving the time and travel

to research about my father’s life

 

Writing the blog

makes the story

the book

I am writing

Life Expectancy

come alive

I recognize

my own commitment

appreciate it

accept it

and will continue

My father W. Lon Hutchison as a young man                  
photograph with artificial colour added

———————————–

*Central Business District

**Kingston is a neighbourhood in Canberra, Australia

***Life Expectancy is the title of the fictional book I am writing, based on some events in my father’s life

Today 22 June is the birthday of my brother Lon, aka “little Lon” because he was Lon Jr. and he was over 10 years younger than me.

In June 1955, I was about to go away for 8 weeks for summer camp in northern Michigan.  I kept waiting and waiting for my mom to have this baby.  He was a month late and weighed almost 10 pounds.  Lon was born just before I was about to get on a train to go to camp.  I got to see him just once before I left.

Lon died 5 May 2014, in Mazatlan, Mexico.  While he was on his bicycle at a corner waiting for a traffic light to turn green,  a bus clipped him and knocked him down.  He died almost instantly.

I am thinking of you, Lon.  Your photo is on my  computer.

We miss you Lon.

My brother Lon Hutchison and me 2011

 

 

Poetry in motion

(on the bus in Canberra Australia)

 

Grey green rain

Winter grass

surviving

Fog shrouding

Black Mountain

Softening the

harshness of

Telstra tower

Bare tree limbs

reach up

Edging the lake

Ride ending

Get off

Go on

 

Reading Gary Snyder

Grey shale roof

Mountain over village

A few lines

Others go nowhere

Awareness sharpened

By thought and travel

Can we all be poets

If we keep moving?

 

 

 

Pain of cars upon cars

taking up tree space

Metallic invaders

destroying people and plants

Square standing building

Windows in shadow

Books upon books inside

protected forever

Will someone read them?

Why write if not read?

Why paint if not seen?

Why breathe if not loved?

      Lonna, Bette, and Pamela

Reverse

Rewind

Recall

Remember

 

Today is

my sister’s birthday

She would have been

Seventy-one

 

Somewhere

somehow

along the way

we lost touch

with each other

 

We grew up together

then grew apart

Now

she’s gone

 

But I will

remember

her birthday

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