Pellirojos Writing. Writing for Calgary, Alberta. Local Calgary servies.

Writing and Graphic as Artful Representation

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Pellirojos Writing Culture

Pellirojos Writing is birthed from a writing culture. Yes, we write, but those before us also wrote. Thus, here, we shall share a series of family writer quotes and sayings of former times, when entertainment included being familiar with quotes and poems.

Favorite Quotes

The former writers in this family were family historians going a long way back. My grandmother and her twin were both involved writers of family history - which included different aspects of the writing stages, including research in Europe. The women in the family were all active in family history. Not all writers going back worked in this realm. Some others were published and fairly well known. Thomas Hardy is one. Though in the medical realm, Sir Ben Brodie has published quite a few papers used in medical schools. His works were founding pieces in several areas of medicine. I just unpacked his picture and I am finding the right wall to put it on, so he is placed in an attractive spot with other relatives also framed alike.
The writing - some of it here is a good draft - and was yet edited a few more passes before being released.

Margaret's Prayer and Sayings

 Dear Father in Heaven
We thank thee for every good gift
For our homes and for our parents
For our food and everything that makes life happy
We ask thee to forgive our sins which we commit without thinking
Teach us to know thee and thy great love for us
Help one another boys
Should fortune on you shine
Remember when you gave a mite
That poverty is no crime
Though little be your offering boys
Give it with good will
And never push a man
When he is going down the hill.
(Unknown Source--Saying of Margaret Brodie: My Great-Grandmother)

This saying is interesting because my great-grandmother was a seamstress and could make her own aprons. However, in the great depression, women would come to the door and ask her if she would buy an apron to help them. She would always buy their aprons as a means of helping them out. An apron cost 25 cents.
There was a jolly miller
Who lived on the River Dee
He worked and sang
From morn till night
No lark so blithe as he
This was the burden of his son
That ever used to be
I care for nobody no not I
And nobody cares for me.
Saying of Margaret Brodie, Unknown Source

Why did I pick this saying? Her Dad James Wharton worked in a Mill! This mill was not only a mythical mill where her dad worked. It became the scene of many church picnics because it was a beautiful site. This became the meeting place for Margaret Brodie and her first love. They would go and meet at the mill. The topic of a mill became one of her favorite songs. For a time the Souris River ran dry and it seemed like when family visited it, the mill was a thing of times past. Today, the Souris River today is flooding.

Sir Ben Brodie 

Do not begin life expecting too much of it--no one can avoid his share of anxieties and difficulties. (1843, Sir Benjamin Brodie)

Mankind is bound to each other by mutually receiving and conferring benefits. As others will lean upon you, you must be content to lean upon them. (1843, Sir Benjamin Brodie)

After a long experience in this world, I have come to the conclusion that the true way of dealing with mankind is, as a general rule, to trust their good qualities rather than to the controlling of their bad ones. (1843, Sir Benjamin Brodie)

Sir Ben was Elna Brodie Niccolls Great Uncle. I am sorry. I don't know the proper terms for what that makes him to me. Elna did draft his story to put in the family history. I am considering taking those notes and reworking them into a piece of creative fiction. What I do find cool is that he got to go sit and converse with the king a couple hours a night. I would have loved that job.

Mother Theresa (not family)

Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat. (Mother Theresa)

I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.

(Somewhere I thought this was mine. It's not. It's just been here long enough for me to think so. When I find my reference, I will put Mother Theresa. However, I think I did one like it. So, I checked.)

D. Munro 

A mirage in desert debris
Evading soberness and truth
Romance is a mystery of youth.
Imagine for a moment
My friend, being enclosed in a
Small black room…for your beliefs…
Left in isolation till you have no feel for time…
And you escape…creating imaginary destinations
I would rather stay in the black hole…
For eternity…than to lose who I am.
Those who are happily married
Are young forever
They see not the greying hair
They see you at your first glance
They stay through infirmity
They know and love your afflicted soul.

This motorcar leaves a dark shadow
On the horizon a smudge beneath
The misty evening rainbow
Miles between us
Uncanny to witness the dark grey
Yet fateful poisoned perfume
Wafting across this treeless waylay
The wind a connector
To carry your fumes
To scent my horses' trail.

Friends are there to inspire
One to greatness inch by inch
Selflessly listening to
Silly ideas yet to be great discoveries

Everything I know
I know in part
The more I know
The more I realize
What I know
Is but a sliver
Of the wood
That makes the tree
Of a forest everglade
That is but one
Of all ecosystems
Which make the world
That is but one
Of all the planets
Which make the solar system
That is but one galaxy
Of innumerable galaxies
That makes the universe
I am finite and mortal.

Copyright Donna Munro.

A Herd of Clouds
Fluffy are the clouds so white
Calm and peaceful in the night
With the wind they are on the move
To another place to soothe
They look like icebergs way up there,
They do not seem to have any care
All they knows are the birds above,
Have they ever seen Noah's Dove?
Manmade planes much disturb
This beautifully calm and peaceful herd
Even though soon they may be gone
The pleasure of gazing at them lingers on
Would one be sad for a cloudy day?
How could one when the clouds look this way!
Wednesday, April 26, 1978

Copyright Donna Munro.

That's the thing to have
Centaurs, minotaurs,
And all that sort of thing
Animals that talk, horses with wings
Elves, fairies, and superhuman beings
Does life have to include these elements of fairy tales
to be a true fantasy?

Copyright Donna Munro.

Paul and the Electric Boat with the Plastic Hull

Paul loved plastic things. He sat on plastic chairs, ate from plastic dishes, played with plastic toys, saw plastic flowers in vases, and touched plastic fruit in bowls. One day, when Paul was walking past a store, he saw an electric boat with a black plastic hull. He wanted it very much. The trouble was, however, that he had no money to buy it. He had already spent his allowance. What was he to do? In his toy room, Paul had a plastic factory. With it, he made himself plastic coins and a small plastic coin purse to carry them in. He took his purse, put the coins in, and went to the store. He tried to buy the electric boat with the black plastic hull. When he passed the money across the counter, the cashier knew Paul had given her shiny grey plastic coins. She asked Paul to come with her. She took his hand and she and he carried the electric boat to the back room, where she dialled a rotary phone. She called his parents. His parents both came down to the store. Luckily, it was Saturday. They bought Paul the boat. Paul was happy about that. He loved the electric motor whirring as it would move around a pond. Paul was sad too. His parents forbade him to ever make plastic things again, especially money. They took his plastic factory away. Paul had to focus on playing with the plastic things he had already made. He made a storage box one day and put into it all his plastic things: plastic chairs, plastic dishes, plastic toys, plastic flowers, and plastic fruit. However, he alway kept on top of his whole pile his special electric boat with a black plastic hull. After all, he used that the most. He loved it most of all. His favorite memory is running the boat around deep puddles just after it rained. Written 1976. Copyright Donna Munro.

Donna likes relationship movies that play with timelines and personal readiness and living with outcomes. Some of her creative abilities flow that direction. The following poem is Donna's and has within values of romantic love and performing feats of impossibility to win/seek that love. It is one of the reasons Donna loves the movie Pirates of the Caribbean and why Donna roots for Will's character in securing Elizabeth's hand in marriage.

Far Away Hope

My loved one has gone far away
Beyond the sunset and break of day
My hope to see his face has just
Diminished so does my spirit lust
For just a moment more to be
In the arms of the love-tethered he
If I could swim across the sea
To the isle of white sanded beach
I would to his home be carried thus
And in those tender hands be thrust
I'm left out in the midst you see
Of tempest storms of the worst degree
Now I sink beneath the sea
To the grave where seafarers plea
For the sin that they did choose
Over the life the righteous woos
Among the wrecks of ships been told
I lie a prisoner of love behold.
Would that I see his anger show
Deeper in the grave I would go
My spirit torments in love so drowned
Not relinquished but never found
My loved one has gone far away
Beyond the sunset and break of day.

Copyright Donna Munro.

A Whisper Under My Breath

You are a whisper
Just under my breath
But life goes on
In its normal pace
With the reality 
Of my nightmare inside
Beneath the surface
Of a pleasant lifestyle
You were there such
A short time ago
And even tho' I were
A hundred years old
I would not forget
My ordeal.
Though I had a happy life
And many grandchildren
On my lap
I would think of the ones
Left behind
Of the laughter
Of the little toes
That could have trod
Behind mine.
You are beyond the grasp
Of yesteryear
You exist somewhere
Yet you are so near
So much of you was me
During that short time
Did I breath my own breath
Or yours
Did I love myself
Or you
I often wonder where I was
Who I was
In those years
Myself I've found
Of late
I am happy and contented
Yet, I oft wonder
Why blossoming required
Being without you
Bearing no fruit
No life
And I do
As I did then
Write as a love laden fool
To the one
Who bore not a feather's
Doubt or worry
For the soft spoken
Grown-up child
He tenderly
Then cruelly shook awake.

Copyright Donna Munro.

The Unread Novel

Three years trundled by
From an infant to three years
How I have grown and changed
I know you are out there
Somewhere unreachable
Like the stars to impotent men
I saw your glimmer
In a February night dream
You were beautiful as before
You walked silently down the hall
I was in conversation with someone
But we were insidiously aware
You serenely approached
Carrying your books, your things
You stepped between us
Long enough to chance
A glance that pierced
My soul to its depth
And made it bleed
Melting three years
Of frost away.
Then I awoke
The dream was gone
No remembrance
Till during the day
In my busy routine
It re-surfaced
"I saw him."
It went to sleep.
Till three and I
For the first time
In ages picked up
A novel to read
And I remembered
Our first love
Was literature.
You were entranced
By pages of books
Which held you
As lovers do
You sought after
Mystery, action, and romance
In second hand bookstores
You will never read
To your soul's dismay
The mystery, action, and romance
The 300 page novel
Written in my heart
For you.
Copyright 2011
Donna Munro

Tu eres el hombre fantástico
Dos palomitos coo su cucú,
Mi corazón dejo de latir por un momento
Cuando comenzaste a desplegar tus plumas
En la danza del amor
Mi pelo se transformo en plumas blancas
Para unirme a tu danza
Tus movimientos me dan
Que tu querías que yo sea el tuyo
Y apenas controlabas la fuera de tu cuerpo
Mientras bailábamos
Nuestros cuerpos se comunicaban
Y tu magnetismo me atraía terriblemente
No podía controlar el deseo de bailar contigo
Tenia tanto miedo del fuego de tus ojos
Porque controlaban mis pensamientos
Quería parar la música
Para sentir el contacto de tu cuerpo
Y la harmonía de nuestros movimientos
Al final de la danza
Nos separamos sin saber
Si el destino nos había unido
Escrito por Caperucita Roja - 

Copyright Donna Munro.