childhood, Ireland, European travel, Australia, Cairns horse racing,, journaling, Poetry, reflection, travel, women, women's stories

Day 14 ProlificPulse Mo Po: poem of wanderlust and adventure.


photo by Danny b-unsplash

It’s True © arlene s bice

At birth it was obvious to Mom
this is the one whose destiny is
to soar, to seek, to blossom with
travel; an adventure gene glowed
like a brilliant star shining within
you will mingle with others, it said
of different ethnic customs, beliefs
you will taste foods of many people
create friendships; gather knowledge
you will form friendships from afar

it’s true, it began early in life, a joy
it remains deep in my heart still
it’s restlessness, a wandering mind
feet itchy with sand-filled shoes
a thirst for ever more, again, again

writing it down may bring content
there, I did that, been there, next?

dreams, Poetry, reflection, travel

Day 3 Prolific Pulse Po Mo Challenge: a poem that captures the essence of a favorite song.

photo thanks Alexander Mils@unsplash

Dreams Made, Hearts Bade© arlene s bice

My promises to you were filled
many rivers I’ve crossed
some more than a mile, some less
follow you I have; made my own way, too
loved the world seen, now mere memories
double rainbows appeared, brilliantly
you’ve taken me around the bend
my friend, Moon River to me.

family, genealogy, travel, women's stories

More Researching My Name ©- arlene s bice

Photo by Ryan Searle on Unsplash
I tried possible spellings. Really, how many ways can I spell my four letter name? Byse, Bise, Bicé with an accent, Von Bicen (?) von Bisen (?) with no success.
I traveled to the UK a few times and once, after visiting Hay on Wye first, I drove through Cornwall stopping at Fowey. With Daphne du Maurier’s home in mind I pulled off the road onto the one that led down, down, down to the Channel. Whoa!!!! The road was so steep I felt like I would tumble head over heels, or trunk over engine. I spotted a street to my right that was kind of level and wrenched the steering wheel to get onto it. When I reached another street, it led back up to the main road, I took it. The engine of my rental with the gear shift on the left, was grinding all the way to the top! Whew!! I made it. What was I thinking?
I pulled off the road and looked down at the beautiful town where I yearned to go. I’d read about it but couldn’t see any other way to get to it. Other people must drive that road down, but I couldn’t make myself drive it. I gazed until I had enough and drove further west to Truro and Redruth when I decided I had enough and backtracked. I really should have found a place nearby to stay but didn’t. Oh regrets. This was Bice country and there were many connections to follow that I was unaware of. It was still early internet days. At least I was here and at least I discovered where my Bice family came from.
Finally when the internet came into everyday homes and Bingo! I sent out the plea and received a whole bevy of replies from Cornwall, England. “C’mon over! We have a history of Bices and tons of Bices still living here!” said the emails. I didn’t get back. As usual in my life, I seem to live it in reverse. Yet I found my heritage! Thanks to the internet, I learned that we (Bice folk) in our country, fought in the Revolutionary War. . .against England, that is so American.

Poetry, reflection, travel

A Poem I Wrote Many Years Ago About Italy

Image by Peter H from Pixabay 

(Inspired by Dun Aengus by David Whyte)

(Publ. in Life & Labyrinth and Simply Put)

ITALY –© arlene s bice

And when you go,

try to go before the season

when tourists fill every place.

They take the soul of place away.

See Italy as its people have,

from centuries ago to the present.

Join them with colorful pottery pitchers

of wine on each table alongside baskets of

bread yet warm, with the scent of hot oven-baking

still floating from the kitchen to your table to your nose

to whet your appetite.

Walk the narrow cobbled streets

where the clatter of horses’ hooves fill

your ears even though that time is a long way

passed. Throw open a casement window in your

castle bedroom to sweep your eyes over clay tiled

roofs to the mountains in the distance. Mountains that

pierce clouds as you do, driving down the mountain, the

road carrying you through the cloud slowly that it lays

on your shoulders, imbeds itself into your pores, mouth

and your brain.

Soak in sounds of the squeeze-box;

a strolling soprano sings with all his being

as you stroll along the canals of Venice holding

hands most sensuously not ignoring strangers, but

saving them for the trattoria, where everyone shares a

moment or announced event; they will cheer your good news.

Drink in the crisp, clear water

spouting out of the mountain, like

champagne surging from a wedding fountain.

Place a small offering in the roadside box with the

Madonna, even though you aren’t Catholic, never will

be & don’t believe that stuff. Do it anyway, be Italian

while you are here.

Drive along the Costera Azura

not falling off the mountain into the

azure blue water like you expect to do

at the next sharp turn where you meet a bus

coming the other way. Italians have been driving

this road for centuries and do fall off crashing onto the

rocks below, but you won’t. You have too much to take

home to hold onto when there are only memories to make

you smile with inner glow; you once lived with a joyful heart in Italy.  

book review, horse racing, Ireland, European travel, Australia, Cairns horse racing,, travel

New review (glowing)on Running with the Horses

I’m thrilled to share this glowing review with you:

The wide-ranging destinations — and atmospheres — of this latest literary journey of Arlene Bice’s were already inviting to me as I embarked on this book. I knew from previous experience that her memoir journeys always include what attracts and fascinates me: history, culture, human nature, discovery, synchronicity and, most especially, the mysterious and mystical.

The varied experience that has shaped her life, which she has approached with an open heart, gives her the gift of observing and listening with a kind and respectful wonder. This delighted curiosity helps immerse me in scenes and imparts a wonderful sense of place that feels both real and timeless.

I savored the vicarious travel here on several continents — destinations like Ireland and Australia, the Canadian wilderness, along with the down-to-earth perspective from bus rides with the locals to the ruins of Tulum, Mexico, or the landscapes of Tahiti.