The glasscutter call of a chickadee breaks
open the day with continuous song
while I gulp coffee and serious list-make. Continue reading
Oaken and frozen
You don’t hear his command,
so he delivers a bitter reprimand
and takes you down with a hard smack.
He teaches you a lesson with a whack
to the knee, a stab in your low back. Continue reading
I’ll tell you
that belly swelling
moon silk skin
stretched so thin
a tiny hand waves
at you – you lunatic –
moonlit nirvana under
a blue moon, a wolf
Photo credit: Farmers’ Almanac
Just Jot It January: Fantastic
Warning – mature theme.
his body darkness and shock
therapy his unzipping zipper
the sound of an electric current
the top and bottom buttons of her Continue reading
Beaufort range, Vancouver Island, Canada
In my hometown,
on the west coast,
the mountains are big
and the people small –
in comparison. Continue reading
I never tire of a peachy sueded dawn,
the nap of clouds brushed back
to reveal the start of another
blue day. I never tire of a light jacket
and bare legs in these the dregs
I never tire of bean stalks crawling
up their twine canes, scarlet blooms
still blooming even though the bees
are long gone and the harvest past.
I never tire of begonias and impatiens
persistence beyond the autumn moon,
their flower heads spotlights among
ankle deep maple leaves jostling
in the unseasonably warm breeze.
Anorexic trees, limbs naked now,
remind me something is amiss
and sandals in the front hall
confirm this as do the mittens still
waiting for cold hands and the
down settled unfluffed in winter
parkas in the closet.
Outside the lilies revive and the
Rideau River flows unfrozen into the
ocean that rises in rebellion with
the blood of Arctic glaciers spilled
on our shores.
But I never tire of a peachy dawn
on my tropical island in the north.
Even in rain
blooms lean to light
even in rain
sing sun an ovation
even in rain
even in rain.
Dozens of alarm clocks squawk
– these darling starlings –
speak sun, speak beams,
speak corn snow soon to go,
squawk sun loaded bullets
to snow below – warning squawks fired.
Light flickers behind our shut eyes,
the Greek Chorus sings: yellow beaks
speak spring, speak spring! Awake!
We are here. We are here!
we rumble-clatter-rumble-clatter by
cracked grey barns
school buses in the yard
deer hobbyhorses support
turkeys forage orts Continue reading