Poetry Month - Day 11

The result of another exercise: writing from a photograph.

Reviving the Bay

Cold crashing splashes wash dry black mud, hiding

smoothed stones

and edible quahogs.

No buried treasure of gold sovereigns or pop cans or

milk bottles

for return appear.

Incessant destruction of towering cliffs

reveal the ancient sages

and distressing winds.

A solitary harbour seal wanders in from Atlantic waters

seeking shelter from forceful advances

and perhaps a chance to sleep.

© 1999 Surrey, BC

Tenth Day of April

I tried to expand my style. An exercise in using another's words to extend your own.

When time again resigns itself to fail

      Rekindle

      the violet to the very

      lady 's-slipper

      — W. C. Williams

Choose how to close this day and then begin to alter 

all the recipes for a setting sun, dip slowly into 

oranges and blues — clear out the shadows. 

Rekindle night by a fairy's wand

replacing snow with snow and rain with rain;

throughout the virgin meadows, grasses grow 

to reach beyond the stars — if light is thought 

and thought is brighter here; the violet to the 

very end wilts

in a passionate way, smiling through pain 

and time's most recent failure to recall the 

meaning of itself— a lady's slipper 

pause to cry.

[Copyright 1998]

April 9, 2016

I was busy today, so I'm late posting. An older thought today.

(You want a) Divorce

I grab your wrist

under never-ending dinosaur-movie skies.

I can’t take my eyes off of you.

Dancing in the dark of

crisp November nights,

hidden from others by pine cones,

I slap your face.

You want to end it.

It’s not your money I want,

it’s you.

As raindrops drown my heart,

your tears blend in and

I break down,

consummated in

pain.

[© 1999]

The Eighth of April

The weather here is gorgeous and has been for a few days. I find fine weather brings the muse out.

Box of Words

I’m sitting on a box words

that came out of my head,

all neatly printed on scraps of page

with lines crossed out and new words added haphazardly

to sentence ends and paragraph beginnings.

Some of the words are mine;

some belong to another woman who isn’t here

anymore. She left to travel the world,

in search of a happier life and fuller purse.

I miss her now and then, but her words of wisdom and hope

help me pass through with my restless days

and sleepless nights.

© April 2016

Day 7 of Poetry Month

I find I get my inspiration from everywhere. News, books, surroundings and life are all jumping-off points. The following came after visiting the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen classical garden. I found it a very spiritual location. 

Tea Ceremony

Ray and I

forgot the red linen tablecloth;

instead we used a pink and blue one

my mother had given us

when we moved in

together. His mother did not know

until, by accident,

his sister mentioned lunch, two weeks before,

and out of the bag it leapt.

She’s come

to tea to check out me, to see

if I can hit the mark.

(Ray say not to worry,

but I will, for he is proud

and wants his mother’s blessing even tough

he’s broken her most sacred law.)

Her standards will be higher

than the North Shore mountains.

If I don’t pass her tests,

life will go on

just as before,

but over time

the tea cup

will

slip

and be

brok-

      en.

[© Catherine 1999]

Day 6 of April 2016

I wrote this long ago. My last English relative had just died. Now I had no reason to go back. (But I have, more than once.)

Trains (of thought) to Victoria Station

The sun rises as I open my eyes for a trip around the world of my mind. Many stops will be shortened due to lack of funds; blood rushes to the brain as I stand on my head in a railway station lavatory. Tickets, who's got the tickets? I have, said the blind conductor, smiling as he walks away from the platform breaking into a hideous sidesplitting laughter heard all the way across the Atlantic. See you on the other side of hell, chirped the magpie priest as he doffed his miter with a two-foot blade of her Majesty's finest Wilkinson.

Perhaps prayers are in order; if sent by express post, they'll make it by Monday (only decades late for redemption) (only half­way to securing a rite of atonement) after the half-past four tea-time surrounding the Battenberg cakes left out for the paper-boy bringing by yesterday's news. Maybe if I just close me eyes, all the puzzle pieces will fall into place on the hardwood table left to me by my mother's uncle on her father's side; a present tied up with a striking red bow dripping sanity.

[1998]

Fifth Day of April

Today it's back to something older, not necessary really old. 

Tai Chi

delicate movements

                arms sweep by

weight transfers

                back to front

one hundred and five

                classical yang

raise

                hands

step

                out

stork cools its wings

                brush left knee

relax as your chi flows

                flows up your spine

                                flows through your arms

                                                flows as you pass it on

                                                                flows

                                                flows

                                flows

                flows

flows

© 2010 Surrey, BC