An encounter on the subway

It was unexpected and brief and she'll never know it happened, but it did.

A Note for Charlotte

You sat next to me on the Yonge subway going northbound,
gabbing with a fellow student about classes and friends
and the future that seemed beyond understanding
right now. Excuse me for interrupting, but I just have to say
these words to you now as I’m reminded of my own experience
of that age and that time in my life. You won’t want to listen
to some oldie right now, but you will later, so I’ll pass on
this wisdom of my years.

Don’t rush through life blinded by gadgets and so-called
‘best buds’ who don’t have your best interests at heart.
You have time to see the whole world and make new friends.
Play that sonata, cry through that aria, embrace that minor chord.
Don’t waste your life and take that first scary step when you need to.
Don’t wait until conditions are right, ‘cause they’ll never be anywhere close.

Talk to someone who you trust about your dreams, your fears, and
your path as you see it. Your sisters are here to help you
expand, enfold, and explore.


© Catherine Woods 2018

Late May Results from Early May

Leave the Comfort Zone

Leave what is familiar
Go somewhere unknown, feel unsure and uneasy
Amazing how poor my life experience has been, it was all so quiet there
No hard times or military with guns walking the streets
Majority are fair, white except in cities where pockets of south Asian, Blacks, Chinese, Koreans
become Canadian, where “life is huge” said the writer,
“It’s good to be small” be defined by who you are,
not what you are

I am still finding me, even at my age
Not my mother or my father, but me
Not a doctor or a lawyer
Not stressed out or overloaded
The one who sews the of seeds of knowledge,
provides a shoulder to cry on, and
kicks you out the door when you’ve overstayed
in the comfort zone.


© Catherine Woods 2018

Listening to Poetry After a Beer

With instructions from Lamoi

Fuzzy head

Fuzzy sights

A clear sense of unreality

A wobbly sense of the actual size of the room

Photos on the walls 

reflect locations and people

from all around this planet

Words spoken by whitehead, asgari, 

reflect youth unexplored yet exploring their spaces permitted

from around their consciousness

A baby from Brampton

spoken word artists (not my cup of tea)

An arch from Afghanistan

Arabic -> transected -> not by anyone

A door in Johannesburg

Ramblings from inside the mind of a younger male/female/lesbian/bi/gay/transgendered/queer entity

Camera -> paper

Lens -> pencil

Write what is you. Read what is not.

Which can be said to be more real at framing an instant in time?

Such diversity of spirit

Such ethnicity of humanity

Dancing and singing and

Speaking words out loud

           be a better version of ourselves

           feel the better you

Isn’t it all a performance?

Isn’t it as perfect as poetry or photographs?

Isn’t it a moment to remember forever and ever?

Did the beer change my impression of the event?

We’ll never know.

© Catherine Woods 2018

Mother's Day 2018 - Five Years Back

I wrote this 5 years ago. It still applies. It will always apply.

Daughter’s Forgiveness

               On Mother’s Day 2013

So many wish their mothers well
Make them breakfast
Wash their cars
Paint their toenails
Wish them a happy, special day
Phone them long distance
Bring them coffee and Danish in bed
Do their laundry
Wash the dishes
Brew a cuppa tea
Fluff their pillows
Buy them a chrysanthemum.

But you’re not alive
So I can’t do the niceties
Or say kind words
Or hug
Or kiss
Only cry.

I miss you, Mom.

So on this Mother’s Day,
I’ll give you the only gift I can
My forgiveness
Of the things you didn’t say or do.
I love you.
I LOVE YOU.


© May 11, 2013

It's May but it's still okay to write poetry

I know it's May, but I can still write and post.

Notes on a Trip Downtown on the Subway in Toronto

busy rush hour morning
incessant voice speaking station names
past the heavy rush as no one standing
whirling through tunnels
train tracks clippity-clap, clippity-clap
one baby cries out
Doors will open on the right
Please stand clear of the doors
phones keep people looking inwards
trains stop in the middle of

nowhere, part of the way to somewhere
further than I wanted to go
back to 1982
when I was alone and lonely
I gave up trying to find someone
and then he appeared; and is still here
we still ride the subway into the past,
onto the future clippity-clap, clippity-clap

© 2018 Catherine Woods