Day 4 of Poetry Month

What happened in Paris on November 13, 2015 affected all of us. I'd been in Paris in April and it was vibrant and live. people were walking everywhere. Families were sitting in the park beside the Eiffel Tower having picnics. Then it all changed. I honestly don't know if I'll ever go to Paris again.

13 November 2015

Paris

 Injury

  Death

   Crisis

    Terrorists

     Fear

      Stadium

       Restaurant

        Concert

         Death

          Death

           Army

            Curfew

             Borders

              Suicide

               Death

                Confusion

                 Power

                  Loss

                   Staged

                    Bombs

                     Rifles

                      Death

                       Death

                        Death

                         Sorrow

                          Anger

                           Religion

                            Freedom

                             Forgiveness

                              Love

                               Solidarity

                                Paris

                                 Life

                                  Life

                                   Life

                                    Tomorrow?

© Catherine Woods November 2015

The Third Day (of Poetry Month)

The world today seems conflicted and at odds with itself. More than I ever remember it being before. So I worry about all of us.

Who says I am not coloured?
        for Maya

And this day too will pass

onto a blackened nightfall;

I see you from the inside out.

The skin to a cover only (not a brick wall;

not a locked door; not a

sentence of death) to keep the weather

from the heart and lungs.

Do you see me crawl?

I do not call for help

from any of you back-boys.

Must you shout the truth about

our destiny? Is it not yours also?

The mask you wear reflects the light

of all returning souls. It is the

brightness of our lives that gives

the heaven fruit. Not the

pigment of our skins.

I am as black

as white will

closet you.

[© Catherine 1999]

Day 2 of Poetry Month

I promised something older today. Here it is. I worked with Jason about eight years ago. The photograph may be available on his website.

Ambleside Fog (after photograph by Jason Cyr 11/02)

Under eerie darkened skies

she creeps

spinning her web of sweet deception

alone; she sees

the dawn of each new day’s reward.

The blades of grass left short by independent means,

left undisturbed by all but

fairy wings that flutter through as

whimsical lyrics, visible to only artists, paramours and thieves.

Her arias sweep away their misty past acquaintances,

and eye the stormy air ahead. She waits (as cats lives everlasting)

to dream and feel refreshed as warmth returns

her to her fabled resting place.

Among the clouds, she drifts for yet another chance

to live, to venture forth, to know her own existence.

[© 2002]

First day of April - Poetry Month

I'm going to post a new poem every day this April. Seriously!

Today's is relatively new. Tomorrow's will be older. I'll try to alternate throughout the month.

Say Goodbye 1

Standing alone at airport security, I wave at you

before you turn to leave me. In Canada, by myself.

You say you don’t fit in here. You say

you can’t live in my house with my dogs

and my furniture and my books and my past.

The creaky living room floor doesn’t remind you of a 2010 Christmas party.

The wall-to-wall bookshelves in the cozy den don’t wrap you like a warm Irish blanket.

The repetitive falling of leaves and hours of raking don’t bring back a childhood of memories

of mom and dad and the dogs, Buster and Cloe, on a crisp October Sunday.

You didn’t grow up in this home.

I brought you here hoping it would ease your pain,

but all I’ve done is pushed you away.

You didn’t ask me to go back with you.

You knew I’m not ready to leave.

Standing alone at the picture window in my old brick cocoon, I wave at children walking by.

© Catherine Woods March 2016

What I came up with so far today

Yesterday was not a really good day for me. I had a panic attack while driving. But I went to emerg to see if I'd had a heart attack. I hadn't. Then I got about 5 hours of sleep.

So here's what I want to tell everyone today, including me:

1. People I can change: myself. People I cannot change: everyone else.
2. Listen to someone else's POV every day and give their ideas the time they deserve.
3. We've lost the ability to listen. All we do these days is talk.
4. Words are power; spoken words are beyond power.
5. I care about everyone. No one cares about me. Everyone cares about me. 
6. Let your worst fears out, into the universe.
7. When you're sixty, you'll wish you'd listened better when you were twenty.
8. Living is hard, very hard.
9. Everyone deserves a hug. Here's yours. Pass it on.

In Honour of My Mother

I lost my mother seven years ago next month. I miss her every day.
This Mother's day is really no different than last year's or the year before, except for one thing.

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.

[copyright May 11, 2013]

Living in the Later Years

As with many other women my age, I'm learning to what it is to experience life. And it is not a walk in the park. It's hard. It's very hard. Sometimes it's **** hard.

I find writing helps. If it helps others so be it.

Menopausal Hell

I am older, but not dead.

Images are black and white, not grey or colours.

I’m barren, without seeds.

I come to grips with life

as it is now

as I find it staring me in the face,

nose to nose.

Words offer no comfort – no warm shoulder to cry on,

no great big hug.

Looking back, my life was full;

my spirit flew freely among the elements.

Nothing is hidden now,

everything is front and centre,

exposed.

[copyright April 14, 2012]