Day 29 and 30 - NaPoWriMo

Retirement

The hairdresser I’ve been using for the past twenty years
(give or take a year) has retired to cruise the world’s ocean
(while they’re still around), so I’m currently in the hunt
for a new one. Not as simple as ‘googling’ hairdressers in my area, and
saying she’s for me. When you have a favourite, she or he is like
a member of your family (like a bartender, someone you can spill
your darkest secrets to, knowing they never tell anyone you know
what you told them). When you lose them, you feel lost and out of sorts and
your hair just misbehaves (as if it knows you’re in-between stylists),
causing you to skip a meeting here or a party there, because you don’t
want to be seen looking as you do. Like you’re badly in need of a haircut.


© April 2019

Entry

To whom it may concern:

enclosed are 5 poems as entries for your contest.

I believe they fit the topic you outlined, in some small way,

they meet format you requested,

and fulfill the tasks as hand. I have been published once before,

about 8 years ago, in a very minor local chapbook-style magazine,

put out by local poets trying to build a press for inspired works,

and maybe win an award or 2. (I do not believe they have, won anything,

that is.) I appeared in consecutive issues, and then never again; 

not without trying by entering contest after contest from Canada, US, and 

even the UK. I hear I’m close, the judges say they like my style, but the polish 

is bright enough, the tone a little off. Maybe I need another course

in writing fundamentals. Maybe I need to just let go and write about

what matters most to me. I have a blog if you’re interested in 

reading that. I hope you’ll read the 5 enclosed and see a spark 

of creativity and want to see some more.

Thank you for your time and may your day be filled with words exceptional.

© April 2019 

Day 26, 27, and 28 - NaPoWriMo

Truth and Reconciliation

This land was not empty when the first explorers arrived,
but the indigenous people were ignored and pushed onto tiny plots of land.
Centuries of mistreatment and misunderstanding followed.
Children were taken from their homes,
their languages taken from their mouths,
their culture taken from themselves.
Recently a committee was set to document the history
and lasting impacts of the ‘residential schools’ in Canada.
The final report of 2015 detailed 94 ‘calls to action’ regarding reconciliation.
As of April 5, only 10 are complete.


© April 2019

bees

Without bees, there would be no almonds.

Fruits like apples, blueberries, and cherries would

also disappear. I do not like this future. I will plant

more black-eyed susans and marigolds. I will give

bees what they need: my respect.

© April 2019 

42

A number of a class made famous by a book. 

Not odd at all or part of a sequence made famous

by the ‘most talented mathematician of the Middle Ages’.

Its presence on a certain spider’s back should have signalled fear

to a certain high school student named Peter. Yes, its related; don’t’ panic.

On making your journey through death, answer all questions asked.

So, is it perfect? No, it is only 

a primary pseudoperfect number.

© April 2019

Day 24 and 25 - NaPoWriMo

Change

Stop by when you’re back in town
and we can get together to talk about old times,
reminisce about the weeks we hiked along
the Pacific Westcoast Trail, avoiding grizzles and coyotes,
cooking food over an open fire and sleeping out under the stars.

We saw the orcas beach and dive,
the bald eagles soar and retreat,
both waiting for stocks of krill and salmon
to fill their bellies and satisfy the young,
so they grow up and take their place among
earth’s favourite creatures.

Stop by when you’re back in town
and we can talk about the future,
how lives are changing,
yours, mine,
the orcas, and the eagles.


© April 2019

Again and Again

Oh yes! It’s come to that. Among the streets and roads so full of cars and buses, I see
the woman standing waiting for a lift. She’d tries to look so brave and self-secure, the woman
waiting patiently, the woman all alone, a ripe fruit poised for picking (up), the woman only trying to
just get by and feed her family. The woman starts to pace between the bus stop and the bagel store,
glancing at her watch again. Impatience simmers to the surface of her skin. I cross the road
ahead of her. I stand on guard. When two men walk in her direction, I call out and start to chat.
The woman gets the message I am passing onto her. We are women and we have each other’s back.
The men pass by. The woman sighs and smiles.


© April 2019

Day 23 - NaPoWriMo

Dimtistic

A loud cry of increasing volume directed at the party’s host,
when the ex-boyfriend arrives with his new wife.
Pieces of an heirloom platter, strewn around the buffet table,
after your nephew tried to reach across you to get the last deviled egg.
The pattern on the hand towels in the main floor bathroom
that were a wedding gift (ten years ago) from her least-favourite aunt.
What you hear when you put your ear to the youngest child’s bedroom door
(the youngest being 20 and still living at home though making good money
working as a dental hygienist in your brother practice in Kitsilano).
How you feel as you fall on the bed at 3am after all of guests have left,
and the house is still a mess, but you honestly just don’t care.


© April 2019

Day 21 and 22 - NaPoWriMo

The Beginning and the End

Out of the darkness,
there was light.
Out of the silence,
there was noise.
Out of the comfort,
there was cold.
Out of the nothingness,
there was too much everything.
If I feared my entry into this existence,
I do not remember.
My exit from this plain, however,
chills me to the bone, and
I will not go so easily.


© April 2019

Earth Day

They appeared in the northern skies at 8:19am EDT.
Seemingly friendly, their craft sat for hours waiting.
Crowds started to gather around the world expecting
a message, a sign, a warning, an explanation.
Suddenly, the ship verged off towards a small island
in the Pacific Ocean, with no inhabitants,
emptied years ago, so someone could conduct tests
(yes those kind, very hush hush).
A beam descended dropping a parcel on a strip of beach
where no human could see its landing.
The crowds slowly dispersed after the visitors left at 8:42pm PDT.
Social media was full of possibilities of who or what had arrived.
After a month the whole episode was forgotten.
Years later, scientists discovered an organism (they called it voom)
in the world’s water supply, but couldn’t explain what it was
or how it got there. However, the earth was healing
and they were extremely happy.


© April 2019

Day 20 NaPoWriMo

Thirty-Four

  After Kate Braid and Emily Carr

Trees rush
time races by
as minutes become days,
days become years.
You and I are not changed much,
possibly older, wiser,
certainly sillier, healthier.
To a paradise of pink
we are together after moving,
after children,
after retirement of one,
not surprised to see each day begin
with thoughts of how the other one is feeling,
when we’ll be in the same city,
where our next adventure will take us into the
deep woods.


© April 2019

Day 19 - NaPoWriMo

Us

A letter, a word, a sentence,
continuous lines of text, running on and
on into the night so silent.
When tomorrow seems only
a possibility, in which the probable outcome will be
that I can see your face again and know
your love for me is still inside. That which is part of me
is part of you and together we shall
enter the future, not looking back, not expecting to win
a million dollars or a Fiat Spider, just karma;
like me finding my ring after losing it last week
in yoga class. Yes, it is the same karma
that put your first job interview
outside my door, and I knew then what took you weeks
to discover; we were meant to be together,
year after year.


© April 2019

Day 18 - NaPoWriMo

All the Houses I Have Lived In

After Lucia Berlin’s ‘The Trouble with All the Houses I’ve Lived In’

wartime stark white bungalow
three quickie moves then a brand-new bungalow next door to a school
brand-new two-story with a gorgeous view, stayed six months
corner lot on a busy street, discovered AM radio
purple shag carpet, discovered boys
dreary townhouse in the middle of nowhere
former monastery lands, strange roof style that kept upstairs very warm in summer
university housing, multi-level, rotating cast of characters
first condo with my first dog, no style, stayed six months
second condo with a better view, discovered love and true friendship
first home as a couple, brand-new brick façade with no grass the first year
a ‘Vancouver’ special (not my style at all, rushed purchase)
two-storey on a large lot on a cul-de-sac, longest I’ve lived anywhere in my life


© April 2019

Day 17 - NaPoWriMo

West Coast Springtime 

Chickadees start to fee-bee just past sunrise
to welcome in the day. Robins and starlings
bathe in a neighbouring pond. Flickers
poke the lawns for grubs and worms.
Crows and Stellar’s jays round out the chorus.

Foliage of greens and reds increase to hide
everyday paths and trails. Light peaks through
patchy rain clouds as I stroll through stony avenues
of west coast wonders. No ferns were planted here;
they just materialize from spores left by
raccoon, grizzly, and coyote, who breed nearby.

© April 2019 

Day 16 - NaPoWriMo

Purple

Passion and depression,
the story of my life since menopause.
One day full of pansy laughter and hope,
the next, a search for a mind-quieting lull
after a night of insomnia (again).
Purple rules my wardrobe
and my life. No thoughts for peaceful cares,
just a lonely five km walk along the dyke
to stem the unhappy string of knotted thoughts.
Dreams, when they come, are obtuse and unrewarding.
Hormones have their purposes, not only for the body,
but also for the mind. Now it’s tentative at best,
an arguing world at worst. Oh, to be five again,
and only see the day as a book, a bath, and a blanket
dragging on the floor.


© April 2019

Day 14 and 15 - NaPoWriMo

Cheese

yesterday
turkey with apple and Brie slices
(warmed up enough to melt slightly)

today
leftover pasta with fresh-grated Parmesan 
(or more correctly, Parmesan with pasta)

tomorrow 
mushroom quiche, full of shredded Mozzarella
(maybe I make this too often)

never ever
Kraft singles (wrapped in plastic) are not cheese!

© April 2019

Mother’s Kitchen

The lights were off. The curtains drawn.
Only the furnace purred away like Sam and Oliver
after a meal of canned salmon. The floors were spotless,
all chairs tucked under the pine table that held
today’s bouquet of daisies. Every day,
a different flower from the garden, cut with care,
trimmed with grace and love, fed with Grandmas’ secret mix
of filtered water and sugar. Another recipe passed on.
All cupboards neat. All drawers arranged as soldiers on parade.
Each tea towel hung just so, sterilized and bright as summer days
can be, with love and kisses planted on each photo on the wall of honour.
So quiet and so spotless, hardly ever used these days, by those
who, left behind mourn mother’s passing on, cannot bring themselves
to open up a drawer or search a pantry shelf for anything,
and not be moved to tears.
For she is gone, and she is irreplaceable.


© April 2019

Day 13 - NaPoWriMo

Normal Isn’t Normal Anymore

It’s cold.
It’s wet.
It’s April in Vancouver.
Cherry blossoms and magnolia petals
line the sidewalks and litter the lawns.
Tulips burst forth daily.
Maple branches begin to hide from view
as foliage renews in the Fraser River valley.
The calm before the summer storms in
with heavy heat and wildfires.
It’s the new normal (unfortunately).

© April 2019 

Day 11 and 12 - NaPoWriMo

Origin Story

Opening scene. A gorgeous autumn day on Ile Montréal.

Scene after scene of houses and schools across Canada,
From east to west,
then back east,
then back west again.
In all of them, the same girl, alone, off to the side.

Closing scene. A solitary Douglas fir, surrounded by boreal forest, waits for the signal
to speak.


© April 2019

Transported

If only I could go back to the day before you died,
so I could ask you why you didn’t tell me
when you got married.

If only I could go back to the day after Dad died,
so I could ask you to explain your statement
about leaving him.

If only I could go back to the day we moved for the umpteenth time,
so I could ask you and Dad what was wrong this time.

If only I could go back to the day you threw out my tarot cards,
so I could tell you to f*** o**

If only I could go back to the day I got my tattoo,
so I could take a photo of it and send to you in the past and
see your reaction.

You tried so hard to force me to fit into your idea of a daughter
that you missed living your life for yourself.

My life is mine to live as I see fit. Mistakes, warts, and all.


© April 2019

Day 10 - NaPoWriMo

Voicing Silence

I wander along the dyke in full sun, crisp breezes interrupt.
The tide is out, terns congregate to feed and fuss and familiarize.
Between Boundary Bay and the North Shore mountains,
most inhabitants, entranced by phones, miss the signals
of earthquakes building,
of orcas disappearing,
of waters invading,
of forests catching fire.
The land is screaming ‘save me’, yet
it is ignored.


© April 2019

Day 8 and 9 - NaPoWriMo

Lost

a drop of moisture
becomes a mighty river
when magic returns
to this parched earth and change
bullies again day after day


© April 2019

Weeds

green pushes through brown.
blue trickles from the heavens.
pink purple yellow
pokes through emerald and sage.
all colours shine through, haunting.


© April 2019

Day 7 - NaPoWriMo

Blossoms as Crumbs

The early April showers bring, with sunshine,
an idea of cherry blossoms to view. And coastal breezes
toss through branches newly decorated, now sparsely covered,
as petals stray across the grass as toast crumbs litter trays
that should both be cleaned more often. Maybe tomorrow.

© April 2019 

Day 6 - NaPoWriMo

Rising 

Golden orb rising
silent, like butterflies glide,
ever higher through
stars. Like eagles soar aloft,
glimmering iridescence.



© April 2019

Day 5 - NaPoWriMo

Eyes (No Sight)

I cannot see my end, only the path on which I walk
towards the future. There is no hint of pain,
no possibility of immortality, only death. Even if I close my eyes,
the end is real, however unwelcome and regretful.
It is beyond the end I want to see and those I leave behind,
to know that they’ll be safe and will not crumble
when I leave.

It is the river I want to cross, the mountain I want to climb,
the poetry I want to see in books in the hands of others
on a wintery day or a moonlight night sitting on a dock
by a lake I’ve only imagined calming my anxious mind
with an end I cannot see beyond. My eyes show me nothing,
except that I will be alone.

© April 2019

Day 4 - NaPoWriMo

Cake

He asks for a larger slice than I’d given him
I say he needs to watch his weight
He tells me he walked 20 kilometers the day before, geocaching
I shake my head and ask he if he’s checked his blood sugar lately
He laughs
I pause, turning my face towards him
He grins
I regard him questioningly
He sighs
I nod the way out of the kitchen
He puts down his fork and plate and strides into the bathroom
I rest my case (and eat my cake)

© April 2019 

Day 3 - NaPoWriMo

Another day, another attempt.

Flash

A glorious song by Queen for
a so-so B-movie
is now the background music
for a commercial for a new
mobile phone.

After movies and mobiles
are slivers in history, will Queen be remembered
for its choral extravaganzas
or its leader who opened the door to
a conversation about acceptance?


© April 2019 Catherine Woods

Day 2 - NoPoWriMo

Rain

I
An unexpected
dry March flows to a welcome
April spring shower.

II
Boreal forests
need rain, like you and I need
air; everlasting.

III
Clouds bring presents to
you and me and all who care;
celebrate, rejoice.


© April 2019

NaPoWriMo April 2019

It's April again. Time for me to put my thinking cap on and post every day.

Being Stardust

Thanks to Katie Mack

It is any night and you are stardust.
Yes, you are made of stars. Yes, you.
All the carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen that is in you,
that was all made in stars; atoms that a star forged inside itself
or at the moment of its unimaginably violent death, are in you.
Most of your atoms were forged in the Big Bang itself. And you
are the ashes of the Big Bang. At every imaginable level, you are
a creation of the Universe, vast and beautiful.
So if we start as ashes of the Big Bang, it only seems right
that we also end as ashes; to become that which we were.

To think most are missing out on all this wonder; that is so
their loss.


© 2018