2017 is the year I hit my stride in writing poetry again. I was writing for Falls Poetry on Instagram, I was writing poems with Marie, and I felt like maybe I could actually be good at this thing. Here’s a sampling from that time.
- Spring Returns
- Little Kingdoms
- The Great Pacific Worry Patch
- Worthless Wings
- Second Hand Watch
- True North
- Magic City
- Homeward Bound
- Salt
- Mourning Light
- Masters of Autobiography
Spring Returns
The robins are back.
I saw them this morning
out the window while
I drank my coffee.
Later I’ll pull on my boots
tramp through the mud
out to the creek to
see if the herons have
returned to their nests
that have sat empty
in the bare trees,
anticipating their return.
I need further confirmation
that life may actually be
returning to this dead world.
March 11, 2017
Little Kingdoms
These little kingdoms
we create for ourselves,
these little spaces
we fill with treasures.
Only to watch the
treasures turn to trash,
only to watch
our kingdoms decay.
Kingdoms where we have
lived and loved, but
that are no longer ours
to walk through.
We always feel
that they exist as
they always did.
That piano there,
those cups here,
this ugly chair,
that potted plant –
will always remain
where they were
as if it’s still
our kingdom to
return to.
As if waiting for
us to open the door,
turn on the light,
and call it home.
April 5, 2017
The Great Pacific Worry Patch
Somewhere in the middle of the
ocean there is a great patch of
worries and wishes and dreams.
People stand on shores all over
the world, the waves gathered
at their feet, as they cast their
thoughts to the soulful sea,
hoping the current will carry
them elsewhere, perhaps to the
other side of the world, perhaps
to a power greater than themselves.
These worries and wishes and dreams
ride the waves like flotsam and jetsam,
until they rise and converge at the
farthest point from home.
The sea accepts these gifts,
but offers nothing in return.
Except, perhaps, a small
nautilus shell, rescued from
the sand and carried home
like a totem, to show that
we belong to the clan of
worriers and wishers and dreamers.
May 12, 2017
Worthless Wings
“What if I fall?
Oh, but darling, what if you fly?”
But, I won’t fucking fly.
I’ll get my damn wings pinned on wrong –
upside down or backwards.
I’ll jump at the wrong time
and hit every branch on the way down.
The wind will gust and tear my wings,
which I probably didn’t make strong enough.
I’ll fall to the ground in a broken heap.
I already know I’ll fuck up the jump –
and somehow the fall too.
Just let me stay in this nest.
I’m comfortable here, and safe.
Even if there isn’t a lot of room to move.
May 31, 2017
Second Hand Watch
The second hand stopped
on my second hand watch
and time ceased to matter.
The windmill melted red
beside a river long dead,
my reality started to shatter.
I choose to believe in lies,
exploding yellow skies,
and people who aren’t really there.
Cracks formed in my mind,
sanity, I began to find,
really wasn’t worth the fuss.
June 23, 2017
Somewhat inspired by the painting “The Windmill in Sunlight” by Piet Mondrian, 1908
True North
I am stardust,
but I don’t believe
the stars would claim me.
When called upon,
I’m not even sure
Polaris would guide me.
My compass spins freely,
neither magnetic nor true.
When you offered your light,
it spun to point to you, but
words aren’t
warm bodies
and bright lights are
sometimes only planes
There was no truth in
your brilliance,
only more fuel for my shame.
I always knew the universe
didn’t care that I was lost,
knew your words were just
sweet nothings you casually tossed
out to make me think I was more
than I know I am, but believe
what the stars say – I’m not worth it, and
while your words may deceive,
it’s your silence
that I know is true –
there’s nothing special in my stardust,
and no substance in you.
July 5, 2017
Magic City
Bring your camera!
Come to the Magic City!
To miss the wonders that
await would be a terrible pity.
There’s halls of illusion
here just to entertain –
Step in! Step up!
Take a time out from the pain.
You’ve heard of a fortune teller?
Ours sees the past in her dark ball.
You may not like what she reveals,
may not want to remember it at all.
If it’s nightmares that haunt you,
the Dream Keeper is the one.
He’ll take your dreams and a little bit more
until your memories come undone.
Don’t miss the Magic City!
Enter with sorrows and regrets,
we’ll read your mind and wipe it clean –
it’ll be the only day you can’t forget.
July 15, 2017
Homeward Bound
The scenery seems never changing,
yet I see the way time moves.
Where there was once blackened forest,
evidence of fire,
there is now only green growth.
Men insist on erecting plaques
to remember, the trees have
already forgotten the flames.
Progress is slow when we
insist we’ll never forget.
I left home at one end of this road
and arrived back home at the other,
in between I remembered the
fire ravaged trees and their ability
to let go of the past.
I accept the gifts of the road
that brings me home regardless
of the direction I travel,
helps me remember,
helps me to let go.
July 30, 2017
Salt
I thought maybe you could
spare the time to love me,
even if only here in the dark,
away from the flickering
fluorescents of the cafe.
Slip a little attention my way,
like the Canadian pennies
you try to sneak to the clerk,
just to get them out of your pocket.
A few sideways looks,
a sleight of hand night in my bed.
Instead I’m standing in an empty lot
of gravel and highway noise,
with prayers on my tongue
and amens stuck in my throat.
Not even a backward glance from you.
I won’t be unwanted change in your pocket.
I’ll remember to keep my prayers sacred,
my amens on time
for someone who looks back –
even at the risk of turning to salt.
August 5, 2017
Mourning Light
There’s such a rosy slant to the light this morning!
How it shows us the beauty of bare limbs.
How it brightens the room with a glow that
disregards our sadness at now empty spaces.
There’s such radiance to this light!
Refracted by the lens of mourning.
Light that brings to mind the grace of movement,
the grace in the stillness of a last liquid breath.
My arms don’t welcome death,
but I will hold it just the same.
Embracing bodies no longer needed,
grasping hands no longer holding on.
Witness to the last gasp of suffering,
until the morning light bathes a
fleeting soul who craves no more.
December 20, 2017
The morning after Kimi, our calico cat, died
Masters of Autobiography
We have become masters
of autobiography,
sharpening our pens on
the grit of our stories.
Seeking redemption
through confession
forgiveness through
anonymous eyes.
Selling out our
narrative for
the price of a heart –
a shot of dopamine
in exchange for blood.
Identity commodities
trading in popularity.
December 23, 2017