Procrastination is bad

It's been almost a month since I posted anything! I need to push myself to do this at once a week.

How It Ends

How it ends
depends on where you are
and who you are
and why the sky is blue.
I’ll hold your hand as we walk
toward the sunset of our life,
remembering the days we laughed,
the hours we cried,
the minutes we believed would never come,
the lives passed onto through genetic material,
each cell committed to a predefined course,
set down ages and eons ago when
the big bang went boom.

And every nucleus of every atom of every molecule
of every being alive within this moment
passes back to the first moment
where it all began.

And so it begins again …


© Catherine Woods 2018

Wake Up and Smell the Cedar

Today is Wednesday. The week is half gone and I’ve done nothing. The last date I see upon the page is from last week. I’m lazy, lazy, lazy. My head is filled with words and thoughts that do not make it to the masses. I want to cry out “All is not lost”, but no one will know if I do not open my mouth. I am afraid to speak in case you beat me down, crush me underfoot, laugh and walk away. So, I keep inside all the wonders I have seen in Squamish and Pender Island. I hold the tall majestic boreal cedars hidden from official government workers and suited business men who cash to throw about on trinkets that litter their monster homes on West Vancouver’s decreasing mountain paradises. What will be left for your grandchildren if you pave it all for Jaguars and Lamborghinis? I rest my case.


© Catherine Woods 2018

Inspiration comes in many forms

I went out purposely to arouse the muse. She didn't disappoint me.

At the Mic

Yes, I am afraid.
My voice will crack.
The words I speak
will sound as foreign
as the announcements on a train
in Bangkok or Taiwan

Yes, I am afraid.
My voice will crack
as I utter truths
and falsehoods held as truths,
within my mind;
clear it is in their own
not so clear out of this room.

Yes, I am afraid.
My voice will crack,
but I will force the words
out of my mouth
and onto this page
until I see the story
bloom as a rose in my garden,
taking over its allotted space,
choking out the weeds
of discontentment,
freeing the echoes of that
something that wrinkles
the lines of my life.

Yes, I am afraid.
My voice will crack.
It is me
naked on the page,
for all to see.


© Catherine Woods 2018

Blue

Thanks to Cristy

The deepest oceans, the darkest seas
Your haunting eyes staring at bridesmaids
The blouse you wore last Thursday
Berries bought by the roadside
Aunt Amy’s house on McKinnon Street
The sky on the day I met you
A feeling after watching Forest Gump
The colour of the sheets on the bed where you passed away
A dog, a flower, a kind of chair
Raspberry popsicles bought on a whim in 1994
The handkerchief I found in the bottom drawer
The suitcase where I packed all your clothes
 Crescent Beach in April when the tide is high
and I’ve forgiven you for leaving me alone


© Catherine Woods 2018

A prompt to write - a sign for all of us

For  the last few weeks, J-35 has been carrying her dead calf around the Salish Sea, displaying her grief and her love.

16 Days of Grief

         In honour of J-35

You gave her life and

then she died.

You held her up

for all to see,

to see your pain,

to know you cared,

to show that grief is not limited

to human beings

watching young children shot at their school

through no fault of their own

or young soldiers slaughtered on far-away fields,

fighting in an elusive war

thousands of miles away.

Your grief is as plain as the nose of my face.

Your grief is as true as the love I feel for my daughters who live.

Your grief is an open wound to the world who’s forgotten

that grief is a necessary aspect of life and

to ignore it is

to ignore breathing.

© Catherine Woods 2018

A Poetry Reading - Different this time

I went to a poetry reading at the beginning of May at FOLD in Brampton, Ontario. I wasn't impressed; I felt out of place; I felt old.

I went to a poetry reading a few weeks ago at the Vancouver Public Library. I was impressed; I felt challenged; I felt like I belonged.

Within a room of poets at VPL

Chairs with red seats
Persons of all shapes, sizes, colours
Talking
Discussing
Gazing at their smartphones
Waiting
Remembering
Keeping their spirits close
Holding their words inside
Still waiting
Then listening to poets
Speaking
Whispering
Laughing at real life
Vocalizing anguish
Recalling abuse and terror
Reliving horror upon horror upon        loss
Uttering words that mean so much
To them
To us
To everybody
To the infinite point of existence
Out there


© Catherine Woods 2018

Permission to write this all down - Open the door

It's been more than a month since I added to this. Yes, I procrastinated. But I'm back.

The door

A life
is a path
to follow,
a door
is a barrier
to continuance.
When I see,
I understand.
When I hear,
I open my heart.

Another door

I am at odds with life I cannot see before me.

It is not concrete, it is not black and white,

all is gray and hidden from my direct view.

The door is solid.

The future is inevitable.

My death is coming, I cannot stop my end.

The last door

Open the last door and see

the possibilities abound

and free thoughts and fears,

fly off unaccompanied,

to peace.

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