NaPoWriMo 2021 is over

 

Shades of Blue

                Thanks to Cristy Watson for the workshop

 

The deepest oceans, darkest seas

Your expressive eyes staring at bridesmaids

The last shirt you wore to the office

Those berries we bought by the roadside

Aunt Amy’s house trim on McKinnon Street

The sky on that day I met you, alone

A feeling after watching Forest Gump

The colour of the sheets on the bed where you told me

A dog, a flower, and a kind of chair in Allan Gardens

Raspberry popsicles bought on a whim

Your handkerchief found in the bottom drawer

The suitcase where I packed all your clothes

Crescent Beach in April when the tide is high

My heart until I forgive you for leaving me alone

 

© August 2018 & April 2021

Ode to Uncle Betty’s Diner

 

So called American fare on a famous Canadian street,

patio dining for Sunday brunch before the crowds.

 

Always eggs benedict, smothered with hollandaise,

so involved in conversation, I ate much too fast.

 

Dawdled over a second cup in the bright summer sun.

Not sure when we’ll both get here again: I live out west,

Jane back home to Ottawa. Not even a photo to remember.

 

© April 2021

The Essence of BC

 

Wolf Deer Coyote

Bear Raven Frog

Beaver Orca Seal

 

Ridge Mountain Valley

Erratic Drumlin Valley

Island Desert Plains

 

River Creek Stream

Bay Inlet Hot-springs

Lake Ocean Narrows

 

Redwood Douglas-fir Spruce

Birch Hawthorn Arbutus

Cedar Jackpine Hemlock

 

Capital Cities Towns

Villages Communities Localities

Reserves Landings Crossroads

 

© April 2021

About the Middle of NaPoWriMo

 Almost April 15th, so I thought I'd post a few recent poems.

Canada

North to the arctic circle onto a vast expanse of empty
East to the fiddle, lobster, Barrett’s Privateers
South to a ribbon of population stripping the nation bare
West to sea wolves, spirit bears, the raven, the orca 

© April 2021

Limitations

Like a person,

boundaries are visible though easily hidden,

permeable as a rain drop,

rigid like carrot cake until you attack it with a fork,

soft as snow but easily disturbed,

showing age harshly.

If only a vacuum preserved life

instead of inviting death.

Like boundaries,

people are invisible like glass,

a paradox of openings you can see through at 3pm,

yet the rain will wash away reflections to break free

into a river of limitations by 10.

© April 2021

Ucluelet

Black rock—white foam
Yellow sun—turquoise ocean 
Rough bark—soft mosses
Gentle breezes—gale-force winds
Stoney bench at low tide—crashing swells at high
Acres of untouched cedars—encroaching new modern architecture 

Stolen ancestral lands—pricey satirical splendour
Forgotten First Nations—millionaire American customers
Sitka spruce at 96 m, 600 years old—cell phone tower at 60 m, 2 years old
Arrive filled with anxiety—leave bathed in tranquility

© April 2021