Chrysopoeia

You come from a land of drama. On Vancouver Island gardens and drunks share a word: Lush.  Its mountain peaks split the ski like axes and windstorms batter homes rougher than Viking invaders. Natural colour wails like a Saturday night, as unavoidable as a beach party in June.

Cedar

Maybe because the last time you lived there you were an adolescent it will always be a land of Romantic Comedy, Shakespearean tragedy, The Greatest Show on Earth. Nothing, nothing, nothing in moderation. Like the farmer’s field across from your old high school known province-wide for its hallucinogenic magic mushrooms. Every fall pickers arrived and kids skipped school to harvest organically grown highs until one kid totaled his brain on a bad batch of mushrooms. Drama. Continue reading

Advertisements

Peony

We kneel before her beauty,
dear equinox creature –
pressed to the earth,
seeking her scent
beneath peeking petticoats –
we feel glee, regaled.

She believes in eternity not
entropy, hectors the earth
– fertilize me! perpetually.
Yet, despite fealty,
she expires, petal by petal –
evanescent – earthward.