Welcome to wordcurrents

January 5, 2012 My new poems here to date: 1103


riverwriter

I intend to post here again more regularly this year. The Header photo is a view of the St. Lawrence River looking west from Stanley Island.


 


Stack O Poems

What 1024 poems, 56 reviews look like

“Days” (January 5) Our use of those ubiquitous phones and texting trains our brains to be autistic. Look up once in a while! #1103

“Fine” (November 29) Too many people around me are calmly cocooned in sadness. #1102

“Doorways” (November 13) Post-traumatic Stress in context. #1101

“Sing a Song of Suspense” (November 7) Meditation on the state of love in the world. #1100

“Review: Whispering Pines by Richard Sanger” (November 5) My review of GCTC’s world premier of this brilliant but seriously flawed Canadian play.

“Bone and Metal Ballet” (October 16) Bicyclists plus thoughtless drivers equals recipe for occasional disasters. #1099

“Point of no” (October 10) Is nature too much with us at this time of year? #1098

“Splish-Splash” (June 25) A modest proposal regarding the universal male practice of I. P. Standing #1097

“wait for it” (May 6) How does the weather affect your mood? #1096

“Don`t Mumble” (April 23) Not a how-to manual on figuring out what your old man is all about. #1095

“Waiting for the woe” (March 21) Prolonged waiting for biopsy test results for possible recurrence of cancer is worse than knowing the results. #1094

“Green” (March 11) A reaction to all the photos I have seen recently of flowers in bloom, even trees in bloom. We have ice and freezing rain here, people! #1093

“Getting to Know You” (March 6) My second piece on the Cat Wars in our house. #1092

“Writing with a cat on my lap” (February 27) My first piece on the Cat Wars in our house. #1091

“in her defense” (February 15) The mentally ill, while they have rights, should not be in charge of their own treatment. #1090

“That Story” (February 14) An appropriate poem for Valentine’s Day, I think. #1089

“these old poems” (February 12) Poetry can dig into old wounds or plant new seeds — you take your choice. #1088

“At a Window Looking Out” (January 29) What memory can do to an old guy. #1087

“Skin” (January 24) When I was a young university student, I wanted to look older. Guess what? I do. #1086

“subjective” (January 11) Why is it almost impossible to help the mentally ill? #1085

“Februaundry” (January 5) my mother hangs the laundry out on an extremely cold day #1084

Review: Vimy by Vern Thiessen (November 20) A play with a great deal to recommend it.

Review: Same Time Next Year by Bernard Slade (November 15) community theatre at its best

wordcurrents’ first advertisement (free plug) for the play Same Time Next Year

“Sweet tobacco fumes” (September 15 ) My first real summer job #1083

“The Silence of the Lotus Eaters” (September 9 ) A new poem, a social observation #1082

“Popular Posts” (June 19 ) I am amazed to discover that some of my posts have been viewed almost 10,000 times in the past two years.


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Posted in aaa | Tagged | Leave a comment

Days

Days weave themselves
into garments
we may not want.

Those three old girls still
snip our threads
whether we weave or knot.

Oblivious we live
head down, texting
absent friends.

Is it worth the coming
style faux-pas
in the coffin?

Lift your eyes;
study the cut of your fabric:
those scissor blades
still snip.

Posted in lotus eaters, Mild-mannered opinion, Poetry, thoughts below ground | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fine

You speak in code that no heart breaks.
How are you this sunny, windy day?

Fine

I know the day is fine, but you:
I cannot tell, you know.
Your Fine is impenetrable.

I can suspect that on your island
you feel wind cutting into tearducts.

What is this Fine, this wall of code
no intuition breaks?

I know I could suspect the worst:
torture it out of you
with more pain than you inflict on yourself.

Would your confession
extracted on the rack in this fine dungeon
you have sentenced yourself to
tell more than your iron mask hides?

I want to shake you out of your smeltered Fine:
give you some way to spring off that
waterboard that is your daily routine,
see you breathe two successive breaths
of sunny, windy oxygen.

But you are Fine you say.

There is flint in the essential silence
that puddles around your Fine—
some day that oil will ignite:
Fine will be Fire
but I will be on a different island.

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