Anna Blake Godbout
Notes from the Ridge
I Won’t Leave You
This poem first appeared in Journey On : Beauty and Grit Along the Way published in 2012. It has since undergone revision and will appear in the upcoming poetry collection titled Winter’s Call.
I Won’t Leave You
You and I have many dusty roads still to walk together,
and blood red sunrises we have not seen
sitting side by side on a quiet beach.
There are many seashells
not picked up; memories not yet made.
We know the hope of a radiant summer morning,
and the deep peace of midnight stars.
We have laughter to remember, tears to brush away;
taking in the scent of rain on the wind and hay in a far off meadow.
In soft December while the snow falls draping the mountains,
we stroll alongside together, you clasping my hand,
as more colors appear…
leaving none behind.
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Celebrating the Leap
Yes, sometimes you just have to take the leap and I did just that. Five years ago this month-July 2012- my first poetry collection Journey On: Beauty and Grit Along the Way onto to independent book stores shelves, into personal libraries, and on to home night stands from Colorado to across the USA and onto England, Germany and Canada.
If someone had asked me 20, 30. 40 years ago if I would ever be a writer, a published award winning author, and founder/owner of my small imprint Mountain Tapestry Press, I would not have laugh at them. I would have said as I walked away, ” No, way. I hate writing anything let alone have any dreams of being be a writer.” It was a “dream” of building and loving a teaching career, being a wife, raising children, moving more times than I can count, singing, and gardening in between losing parents (at the age of 28-30 twenty months apart) and just “trying to do it all” more or less.
It all changed in 1997. The story is in the preface of Journey On. It was a self discovery of dreams I never knew I had. And in 2012 those dreams leapt into a new reality. A few years earlier Mountain Tapestry Press LLC was born. With the help and support from my family, we launched Mountain Tapestry Press to publish my work. I did not have the time or the years to wait to go the traditional publishing route. Working with incredible and professional editors and writers, I gained the confidence quickly to “just do it” and get my work out there.
Journey On was an instant leap once it was printed and in my hands. Building my wings in this adventure took lots of hard work, creativity, what ifs, try this, try that,and marketing ideas that blew in with such wonderful force! Readers, friends, relatives, fellow writers, numerous book signings all contributed to this hand basket of experiences and love of poetry book that once never existed. And it still exists today…five years after publication. Journey On still sells and the first edition is now out of print. An anniversary edition will be published with new and selected poems as well as a new cover by year’s end.
- First book signing for Journey On in 2012 at Covered Treasures Bookstore,Monument, Colorado
In 2015, it was time to make another leap; I kept “building my wings on the way down”. Another plunge into the world of self-publishing ( after pitching the book around) resulted in the publication of Bright Star of Palmer Lake. I knew who the perfect illustrator would be to create the scenes from my poem of the same title. “Bright Star of Palmer Lake” was published originally in Journey On. The 80th anniversary of the Palmer Lake Star shining on the mountainside was fast approaching. I called upon my publishing coach Mike Daniels, publishing advice from Doris Baker of Filter Press and the illustrator, Kay LaBella to bring thoughts, ideas and realities to make this book happen. And happen it did! In November of 2015, a beautifully illustrated hardcover poetry book was published and in my hands. Mountain Tapestry Press’ book designer Andy Jurka ( my son) pulled out all the stops to design and make deadlines to create this award winning book. Aaron Jurka also my son) a professional photographer took author photos as well as the Palmer Lake Star photos that were needed for inclusion in the book. Every detail was looked at over and over and off to the printer it went.
And in August 2016, another dream was fulfilled. Bright Star of Palmer Lake was award third place in poetry by the Colorado Independent Publishing Association (CIPA). If a leap did not happen, this would not have happened. Bright Star of Palmer r Lake sold out its first print run which necessitated another quick print run right in the middle of holiday book selling season. Another leap was taken the decision to do another print run. Bright Star of Palmer Lake is a lifelong gift to the Palmer Lake, Colorado community-a forever keepsake for all ages.
Our CIPA EVVY Award August 22, 2016
So, yes celebrating the leap is more than an anniversary. It is a culmination of dreamers never known, special people behind the scenes doing more than encouraging you to go on and not give up, readers who love your work and being humbled greatly by that, and the love of family and dear friends that support what you have come to believe in: your own heart, your words and your dreams. I have not landed yet anywhere. I am still building those wings. I will still smile and get misty eyed over a box of newly published books that are in the making. But my wings are stronger and more confident-and who knows where “on the way down” truly is?
Journey On: Beauty and Grit Along the Way and Bright Star of Palmer Lake are available on Amazon, Covered Treasures in Monument, CO and Finders Keepers in Palmer Lake, CO.
Coming Fall 2017: Winter’s Call New and Selected Poems by Anna Blake Godbout
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Late Morning in June
Late morning writing time…now just need to open up the journal a few more pages in. My writing inspiration this morning combines the summer sun, tea, a well worn journal and beyond these things lies gardens of flowers and a rugged mountainside. More gardening work awaits of course; it is ongoing throughout the summer. But moments need to be put aside to writing and that is not always easy to do. I do admit that. And as my tea tag above says, “be yourself” sits in the beginning of my journal, I aspire to that. For inside these written pages dating back to 2008, filled with thoughts, quotes, unedited poems, drawings…all allowing me to just…be myself.
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My Mother’s Peonies: A Decades Long Journey
Peonies from the garden on the Ridge. The deep pink ones? Oh what a history they have! They are over 55 years old and originated from my mother’s garden back in my childhood yard in Cold Spring, NY. They were dug up in 1976 when my parents sold the house and replanted at our home in Fayetteville, NC until June 1978 when a PCS to Germany had us selling our home there. No way was I going to leave my childhood peonies in NC. They were dug up and replanted in my mother- in-law’s garden in Hackettstown, NJ. In 2007, my mother-in-law dug up and carried one peony plant on the plane to plant on my garden here in Palmer Lake. A few years ago, it was necessary to sell her home. And again, no way was I going to leave my mother’s peonies in NJ! Yes, I dug up a bunch of them and transplanted them here next to the lone peony that just grew and grew. It was a good thing because a visit to the NJ house two years ago showed all my mother- in-law’s gardens gone- including my mother’s 35 year old huge peony hedge. The legacy of my mother’s peonies from NY to NC to NJ to CO have traveled and survived. Gratitude and blessings? Numerous! Yes, it is quite a story. And Mom lives on in each bloom of hers…I cherish this legacy.
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Sun Dancer
Sun Dancer
The dawn moon quiets my mysterious wonder
into a deep palette of soft watercolors. Read More
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Late Afternoon in Early Winter
Early winter has descended upon us in Colorado. A November blizzard and more since then has brought us into a season of quiet and white sooner than expected. In a world outside of quiet snowfalls, it is joyful to walk among summer and autumn that once was.
The wood stove fire burns slowly,
warmth seeps into ridges of a red fleece blanket
that adorns my shivering shoulders.
Outside the snow softly falls,
swirls of silver and white cover
autumn into bare branched silence.
North winds howl,
white tailed deer scrape snow on their tongues
on a late afternoon in early winter.
Caught in high country silence,
I sit and wonder, will we ever dance together again,
one more time to embrace
the soft rustlings of our mountain love.
The late afternoon begins to dim;
Night fall trails and gives way to the gray violet of snowy dusk.
I listen for your voice to echo down the high country ridge;
a gesture of your long awaited return home.
Outside the mountain settles into an early winter,
the deer and I wait for December snows to end,
and the passes to clear,
to welcome the pale glimmer of morning.
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Remnant
A very special poem from my poetry collection Journey On: Beauty And Grit Along the Way. It was one of those poems that came to me so easily…I love when writing a poem can actually be almost effortless. This one was:
Remnant
You found me alone,
yearning for the summer’s moon
and encircled me like a wraparound porch.
Drawing me close, you took my pain and fears
and welcomed them in.
You came and stayed in my heart
giving love with yours.
You are gone, but your love remains,
like the remnant of an old soft blue sweater
hung nearby on a peg by the back door,
waiting for the wearer to return home.
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A Walk with the Clouds
Let us walk,
along the mountain coast
under clouds light as springtime air.
There are no cares from the pouring rain
that soak our way.
Skies of denim blue
nudged by the sea’s wind
remind us to leave behind
heartache and hurdle.
I take your laughter
and weave it with mine
as the sun warms our backs.
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Tech vs Serendipity
I found this quote on a blog from the New Yorker and wondered what others think of this. Not having everything electronically at your fingertips allows for a level of serendipity that I value and encourage in life, especially when traveling. I think with technology we�re allowed to have lives filled with convenience, but when the convenience takes away some of the joy from everyday circumstances, what are we really compromising?
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The Workbench
The Workbench
After the burial, I walk up to the old white clapboard house
and peer with cupped hands into a cobwebbed cellar window.
Inside the dank and musty interior,
I see my grandfather’s once vital workbench
ghostlike, scarcely lit by streaks of powdered April sunshine.
His step stool once too big for me,
seems to smile at me in the quiet.
I can hear his work shoes clomp down the cellar steps;
see his aged fingers flicking on the switch of a fluorescent light
rippling the darkness with blue white tint.
My grandfather gently picks through a muddle of
worn down wooden handled hammers,
screwdrivers spattered with drops of red and white,
scratched wrenches, gunmetal gray pliers mingle
with baby food jars filled with nails, wood screws, washers.
Tools with meaning only to him.
I miss him every time I think of the doll bed
he made for me one Christmas
out of old maple scraps from his Canadian woods.
I still believe Santa needed his help.
Clouds part to reveal patches of blue sky,
late winter snows are scraps of white on murky brown land.
With water-filled eyes, I set aside my memories,
wave a little girl goodbye to the workbench.
More smiles will come.
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I am greeting September with a quiet poem for my readers. The bustle of summer is now past. Here in Colorado our mornings begin with chilled autumn like temperatures. Spots of orange are appearing on the scrub oak and the aspens are tinged with golden on their tips of their leaves. So now make a cup of vanilla almond tea, settle in and read from the Journey On Collection Listening for My Name. I thank you for reading my words.
Listening for My Name
You returned with mysteries forgiven
a gentle cover of darkness surrounded
me with the wonder of anticipation.
You became yourself once more
someone long forgotten, this time promising
never to be lessened by fear again.
Inner stirrings beckoned for you
beneath my hidden need.
And then, you began to give
while I began to take with delicious breath.
Beyond the window pane the rains fell,
the thunder moved in from far off distances.
You gathered me in like fog clinging to a river,
refreshing sleep whispered this gift
as moonlight drifted through brushed away clouds.
In the quiet days and nights of winter to come,
I will turn to you,
and listen for my name.
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In these last days of August, I take a look back at a summer moment tracing the thread of beauty on a coastal road somewhere in New England…
Morning Migration
In the quiet tidal marsh,
along a coastal road lined
in Queen Anne’s Lace,
a lone heron dances
stirring the sanctuary
I dance too,
my legs wobbly, my steps small.
Golden light breaks upon my back,
and on the heron’s wing.
I turn beyond what is known
and see the lavender horizon in a tapestry
of muted light.
Here I have no fear,
for there is no one to see
my silent gratitude, full with grace.
The tidal marsh waits
like the sanctuary,
like the heron,
like all of us, for the light.
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