You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘poem’ tag.
The earth is shifting, the skies are swirling with devastating energy, and the seas are mounting. The last few days, and as I write, storms are landing in the Eastern States and Canada, and here in BC we just had a large earth tremor. Thankfully no major damage nor injury. It seems like a good moment to boldly post a poem that has been sitting in my desk drawer for years. Shall I? I shall.
The Hidden Tempest
The sea sighed as
sailboats quietly played on her back.
A gentle game.
One of tolerance.
Her depths smirked at the efforts
to keep these toys moving about.
Trivial behavior!
An irritation to the sea.
Their sails did nothing to inspire her.
She heaved a second sigh.
And another one.
She started to rock.
The movements awakened
a quiet yearning.
She began to roll.
Distressed sails
hastily sought a safer bath.
But the sea wouldn’t wait.
She had had enough.
She had been subdued for too long
and shook her tides loose,
her primal song
arousing her hidden tempest.
She roared, kicked up her waves,
caressed the sky,
inviting it to dance.
(who could refuse the sea’s wild charms?)
They tangoed, teased, until
clouds intertwined their arms of wet,
the horizon no longer:
Waves snapped, sounds exploded, tornadoes whipped, currents got lost,
white, blue, grey mountains formed and died in a blink of an eye,
fish and birds frolicked in frenzied unions.
Suddenly
a pocket
of air
bullied
in,
separating
the
bond.
The sea satisfied with her powerful play,
pulled back her tendrils of storm
only to witness,
scattered sails who could not survive
her turbulent thirst.
Clouds over West Vancouver October 2012
I think we decided on twitter that it would be Saturday… but that was just yesterday.
So.
Here I am with a wee poem from last summer.
Air
Little sparrow
Gasping for air
Canary saying
Don’t go in there
Yellow dash
Yellow pile
Sparrow tips toes
Backward
Wings not yet
Clipped.
Yellow bird on our PEI land
This summer I was helping my parents make a significant change in their life. It was a very challenging time. To cope, I showed up at my journal nightly, wrote an entry and a poem. Not all were works of art, but as I briefly speak about on my website, I showed up. And, it was good for me.
In a bold move, here is one:
Dandelion
Murky tear
Dandelion
Staying staunch
Wind pressing
Shaking her
legs
Fuzzy head
Barely intact
Big whoosh
Seeds part
Doing what
They’re supposed to
Bare stem
Bleeds a
White speck
of juice.
A murky tear.
Recent Comments