sometimes I wonder (revisited)
Sometimes I wonderif she ever existed.
—found poem
Sometimes I wonder
if she ever existed.
Only a smile now
a gesture
copper hair flashing
she fades even in dreams
artist in the supermarket
She stands in the aisle like reverse Stendhal:frozen, her hand extended over the mound of apples.
Apples push into her like the fists of a lover
knocking at a locked door, urgent, juicy, plump.
It's always like this: fruit overwhelms, vegetables
scream longing; fresh trout imagines a sizzling grill,
beef lounges in a marinade, ready to sear.
She wants to paint, to cook, to knead warm
transit
Night. City street after rain.Early autumn leaves cling to the pavement
like wet hair on a waiting face.
Amber and blue incandescence
lies in pools for walking entrances,
performances and exits,
as the occasional soloist mimes
man walking alone on the street
concert
engine idle just beyond theancient boathouse
river calm and waiting silent
to the weed beds
and the spaces vast, beyond
ease the throttle slowly forward
hear the engine twist
inside the music
The part I sing in our quartethovers above or below the melody;
often it sounds like the French horn.
The Lead's note sounds familiar;
the Bass is the solid foundation;
the Tenor lilts above all, thrillingly;
my part, the Bari, fills it all in.
cocoon
Inside the silk threadsis what will come:
beautiful wings,
gleaming reds, yellows, blues,
curves and strength,
the freedom of flight
instead of plodding,
gnawing eating.
lotus eaters
This is the first in a series I started a while back. I should write a few more on this . . .everyone on the street was
somewhere else
listening to music
words from another time
another place
after
She used to purr when she leaped onto the bed;I prefer to think of her arrivals.
I could read her expressions through the fur:
glad to see me (and usually was):
relaxed eyelids, fur sleek off the face;
impatient with my stupidity:
Mauve and Gold
If a god were eating strawberriesWhen that sunset happened,
I know he'd stop in mid-bite
With red sweet juice dribbling
Down his chin onto his toga
And just stare and do a god-thing:
driving home
The sun set just before we turned west onto the roadthat curved into the pure black landscape silhouetted
against the absolutely clear tangerine and indigo sky.
As our headlights revealed and dismissed the familiar
meanderings of this riverside route and its clusters of cottages
On being mistaken for myself
Photos never lieexcept when they must,
with a minimum of mendacity,
tell welting whoppers
about how egregiously old
the old codger has become.
I have studied photos
taken years ago
that make me look
what was left
First they took away the all moneypoured it into the government trough
and they fed the war in Afganistan
but still that wasn't enough
so they crucified the artists
and they stood around and laughed
open
a few final leaves shilly-shally down
like late arrivals before curtain
who cannot find a seat but scurry
into the stands of dark maples
drawn down by rain that casts
tree trunks like dark heavily muscled (more…)
sweet apple
On the way out of the orchard store,
the scent of the apples seduces
until I give in and grab one of the cool
firm taut-skinned breasts from the bag
before I stash it in the trunk.
Yes, I said “breasts.” Eating an apple
is like suckling; the fruit is (more…)
dimensions of a face
faces are not snowflakes
in every one a thousand lives
He reminds me of so-and-so
you say, and capture the essence of the idea.
I have seen that one in a pulpit, on a bicycle in France, selling raffle tickets at the mall, untying his running shoes beside me at our lockers in high school, pinning back the ears of a heckler from the stage at a political rally in Toronto, serving tables at a deli in Montréal, begging for a handout at the corner of Pitt and Second, drunkenly embarrassing his family at a riverside restaurant in Summerstown, on the cover of (more…)
worm sentience
Outside, the rain and falling leaves
are portents of frost and snow;
inside, the colours drift in patterns,
scents and warmth comfort us.
Others glide by, guided by familiar
walls, paths remembered by habit,
sensing peace in (more…)
adamantium
The public health announcement
of the impending threat of a virus
was received by the adamantine population
like a reminder to file taxes:
impending, unpleasant, and remote.
The silence was tangible.
But a healthy child died:
then windows closed, and
the air grew still; electricity
gripped nerve ends (more…)
clicking on the play button starts the sound. You may adjust the volume by the sound control to the left. You may access a complete list of podcasts here. I shall add to this list as I add podcasts. I have recently improved my recording equipment; as a result the sound quality will improve. If you have any requests, please comment below the podcast list.
Blog about this Blog (1)
- Blogosphere (4)
- These are sites of interest to people wanting to know more about Cornwall Ontario, Canada (9)
- Creative writing (7)
- For writers (4)
- I Just Like 'Em (5)
- My ISP (1)
- poetry related (5)
- Relevant Sites (6)
- Site template (1)
- Sites I Manage (6)
- Useful (4)
