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Poetry Magnum Opus
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  1. Before I wrote poetry I danced. I told stories with my hands.  You might say as a poet I still tell stories with my hands as they float across the keyboard.  I was recently prompted to write a blog about what kind of music made me want to get up and dance.  Here is my response.

    Storyteller

    Time has flown since
    humuhumunukunukuapuaha’a *
    swam from my fingertips
    as I danced
    the tales I was taught.
    These same hands
    built a business,
    showed horses how to trust
    and the babe
    in my arms how to love.

    Now spotted with age,
    my fingers float
    across a keyboard
    placing phrases on a page
    to tell my stories.
                    ~Judi Van Gorder

    I dance to the music in my soul. If it has a beat, I can move to it. I have been a dancer all of my life.

    My Mom said I danced before I could walk. By the age of 5 she put me in tap lessons, very popular in the 40s. I graduated to jazz and at the age of 7, the dance school offered a class in hula taught by a Hawaiian instructor. My Mom thought it would teach me grace and enrolled me, There were only 4 girls in our class, I was the youngest. Throughout my teens our little quartet toured with a troupe, dancing the hula and some Tahitian numbers. We were very popular and got pretty good.

    Many years later when I first opened my insurance agency, an older woman came into my office for insurance. She had just moved to California from Hawaii. When I asked her occupation she said "hula dancer". And of course, I responded, "I can hula". She shook her head and politely laughed at the blonde houli on the other side of the desk and nicely told me that to be a good hula dancer you need to begin training at a young age. At that, I stood, slipped off my heels, walked around the side of the desk and went into a vamp. She could only respond, "You can hula!". Yes, I can.

    A few years later while visiting the Island of Maui as a Soroptimist regional board member for an International Leadership Conference, other board members and myself were out for an evening and stopped at a nice bar for a drink after dinner. There were some locals at the bar, playing ukuleles and guitars and a woman from their group got up and began to hula. It happened to be a song I knew from when I was a kid so I took off my shoes and joined her. The local Hawaiians were delighted that I knew the dance and moved like a native. They wanted more and the woman and I obliged. My fellow board members were in awe and wanted to learn. Of course, I had to shake my head, politely laugh and nicely told them that to be a good hula dancer you need to begin training at a young age. *Wink*

    I may be old now, but my body knows how to move with grace and rhythm. I can still do the hula. I love to dance and don't need much encouragement to do so.

    graceful hands
    tell a story while hips sway
    in rhythm
              ~~jvg

    * Hawaii’s state fish shown through the hands of the hula dancer by extending the left hand, palm down and placing the right hand on top with thumbs protruding on each side. The hands then undulate while the thumbs rotate. “when the humuhumunukunukuapua’a come swimming by”  ♬

    Keep Writing!

    ~~Judi aka Tinker

  2. A short spell between carrying out necessities brought on by illness here at home. The future is still a blur, however it does not seem to be getting worse. You might say it's like watching sand flow in a damaged hour glass. The grains of time will be deterred from passing through in a steady stream. Every now and then one grain plugs it up. That's when you have to wait to see what, when, where, and how soon the natural flow of life will continue once more. The stepping stones of life become a bit less stable as the years pass by.

    Reference to my poem SNOW STORM and the recording that was made for me. It has been 3 years now, and the recording studio that made the recording is holding out for more dollars.. to proceed. I have taken the liberty to send it to another recording studio to see what they think, and how much they hold out for further production.

    I am going to leave again.. my physical presence is now needed once more. My days are no longer planned... they become a happening.

    Bless all of you until I get another fleeting moment. R. G. Jerore (YarnSpinner)

     

     

     

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