Category Archives: poetry

Wanting to stay

Slovenly sleep, or so it seems….
in the lightening shades of darker dreams.
Delicious lucidity, floating the soul
over depths of disturbing finality.

Let us stay in this state, where spirit flies,
where youth has returned to our watery eyes.
Still granted our wisdom, our memory whole;
a vacation from earthly reality.

In the glow of the warmth, where the cold never bites,
a candy shop counter of spirit delights.
Release and forgiveness, that’s been our goal,
and the cure of the pain of our malady.

From under the eyebrows

As a young man, out with the raucous crowd of youth,
he’d followed their lead.
Made with the dirty giggles,
the snide remarks, the invented names, the donkey grins
whenever they came upon
the white-haired, the bent, the shambling, the cane-walkers.
Sheep that he was, he had followed and fit in.

Some returned the glances
from under salt & pepper brows.
May be the colour had washed some from their irises,
but they burned all the more brightly.
All the more knowingly.
A disturbing bane for the schooled bully.

The months of his donkey following
gave way to uncertainty,
and then to a budding courage
that was not the courage of the crowd.
Still a young man,
the stabbings of life made their wounds to him
too soon.
Loss, pain, emptiness, the hollowness of yearning.

And now, on this late day, his old leg does not work very well.
He grabs a fallen branch from the yard,
whittles it down a bit,
cuts it to just the right length for a prop,
and shambles uptown for a much needed haircut.

He has this peculiar feeling.
A kind of swelling, more like a welling.
A burgeoning anticipation.
There will, after all, be something more.

In his slow progress up the sidewalk,
he meets with counterparts out of his youth.
Cocks his head a little, gives them a glance,
without balefulness,
and they pass by with tremulous laughter.

The barber asks what’ll it be today?
He says neaten up the curls, trim the beard,
and (with a sly grin)
skip the eyebrows.

Animal crackers

a stork, a crane, a pelican
a leaping jumping gnu
a fish’s spiny skeleton
a pouchy kangaroo

a monkey, mink, and elephant
a cassowary too
but daisies are not relevant
the cattle will but chew

cats and bats and dragonflies
and porky pigs and cows
and things we can’t reclassify
until the time allows

the dog, the hog, the butterfly
the hornet with its sting
the moths that only flutter by
and don’t disturb a thing

majestic hawk and eagle
the horse and donkey too
the peacock is so regal
its rainbows of the hue

the lithe and speedy antelope
the spider and the ant
but don’t include the cantaloupe
upon this list, you can’t

the mouse, the louse, the chickadee
the octopus’s arms
the crickets chirping crickety
their song, with all its charms

the lizards lurking in the dark
the marmosets that jump
the woodpecker that pecks the bark
the camel with its hump

there’s more to come, ’tis just a few
and I forgot the fox
and many more, I’m telling you
won’t fit into the box.

Soup of the Evening

Like Dorothy ‘mongst the poppies

I cannot stay awake

I dream of old jalopies

And fuzzy birthday cake

I hear the voices calling

Get up, you lazy thing

But I cannot help but falling

My thoughts upon the wing

I’m spent, and not recovered

And now I’m catching up

My friendship with the covers

Has needed patching up

So, if you want to spoil my day

I’ll thank you very much

To leave me be, I’m miles away

‘Til Dorothy’s snowflakes touch.

If you like

If you like,
Let’s stroll in the snow
The flakes flittering
In the moonlit glow

Then at home,
Out the window,
The ice glittering.
Ah, what a show!

If you like,
We’ll put on a fire.
Or, whatever’s
Your heart’s desire.

It’s so cold
Out of doors
Warm my hands
I’ll warm yours

In winters of past
I’ve thought this is our last
The years, they go fleeting
So short, and so fast.

Still together are we
The die has been cast.
The time since our meeting
So full, and so vast.

Now, we are cozy
Your cheeks are so rosy
The cat takes its place on your lap

Christmas card dreaming
Outside, all is gleaming.
Let us both have a lovely nap.

If you like

Hand in hand

We awake from the blessed sleep
after death’s embrace.
Here, in Heaven’s womb,
we lie, we look.
Our breath upon each other
a perfume.

We hear, in gentleness,
a sighing soothing swell of song.
We smell grass, fresh after a rain.
We stand, with lightness of mind.

We see, on the green hillside,
a throng in white.
Some turn and beckon.
Into each others eyes we smile,
then run, without flagging,
hand in hand
into a welcome of open arms.

There is lilting laughter.
then a hush of anticipation.
from the horizon’s haze we hear
the Overtures,
sung by the sinless Seraphim.

We journey long, without tiring,
for we know what awaits
at the End of Ends.

Poisonous

Under the skin, something poisonous.
Like an acid flowing,
as if from the Alien monster.
Watch out for the dribbling!

Often now, there are thoughts that reflect
that menacing countenance.
A wrestling match
(With an Angel, or Devil?)

Tenderness, not likened with love,
Pain’s manifest in the body glove.
Sore to the touch, no matter where.
Could be from cooking to medium rare.

The chef is the spirit
that wallows in sorrow,
and all need to fear it,
’cause it swallows Tomorrow.

My Polar opposite

On a crowded woodland train up north,
‘Twas bound for Moosonee.
The coach was swaying back and forth,
And you gave your seat to me.
With upturned face and smiling glance
You rose so gracefully,
And I was happy for the chance
To rest my aching knee.
You stood apart from all the rest
And I felt myself a fool,
Embarrassed, though I did my best,
To hide my thoughts from you.
The man beside me muttered,
Then got up to meet his train.
My heart within me fluttered,
As you sat down once again
With far to go, through evening snow,
We spoke, ’til it was dawn.
Our banter going to and fro,
Our hesitation gone.
A deed I’d done, a wrong to mend,
And so I had gone forth,
Without expecting you, my friend,
A native of the north.
You told me things about your life;
How hardships made you grow.
And I saw that I had seen no strife,
Compared to what you know.
You were so very cheerful,
And made my spirits high.
And now I was so fearful
That our journey’s end was nigh.
You were so young, and I was old,
But felt that I must give
A gift to you, a cross of gold,
As you had long to live.
Now, at the end, we said goodbye.
You hugged me, through the tears.
And so, this Christmas Eve will I
Remember through the years.

 

My Mary

I wake up this morning
my heart is so full
I’ve made your long tresses
from the blackest of wool

your dark eyes a-shining
your cheeks rosy red
your lashes reclining
when I put you to bed

imbued with a smile
that’s just starting to show
and so graceful of motion
each movement I know

so spirit, enfold me
with all of your charms
my dearest, just hold me
in your motherly arms.

my marionette
my mannequin
my Mary

Buying tomorrow

Congratulations, Sir!……………..Sir!
You have bought into
your Third Century!

I am one hundred and ninety nine years young.
By virtue of my accidental genes,
and the continuance thereof,
I have bought into my fourth lifetime.
Tomorrow is my 200th birthday.

This will be my third Fading.
Tomorrow I will have the injection.
It will be into my spine.
It will hurt.
And then……………

In my first life, seventy two.
In my second, sixty three.
In this one, sixty four.
I have felt sudden violence, then blackness.
I have felt the slow ravages of disease and pain.
I have felt the time worn festering sadness
that makes one want to skitter quickly up that last hill
and jump into the uncertain void.

And now, this injection is peremptory.
They have enough of the serum.
They will not wait for the accidents and agonies.
I am to carry on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is tomorrow as I write.
The hurt has come, the sudden flush, the pinkish tears, the ringing ears.
The buzzing electrical feeling in the old nodes of pain.
Their cancellation.  Their outflowing down my cheeks in impossible cascades.
A warmth in the stomach pit.  A widening of crystallized vision.

They have left me, blessed in a white bed.
New clothes, shiny shoes, hot shower running.
In a room with curtains of knitted navy blue.
I sit up, then stand.  I do not part the curtains,
but instead I let the light of day love me,
filtering through the navy mesh,
like the snowy screen of an off-channel television.

In this glow, I test my first paces.
At the window, I part the drapes.
I see it is still early spring,
the low bushes and twiglets bent with ice.

There are crazy birds, darting, darting.
Seemingly directionless,
these messengers of mirth.
I smile, and lick a salty tear from my lip.

The birds.
To me now,
they are but flying seeds with button-like eyes.

The seeds of tomorrow.