Showing posts with label Random Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random Poems. Show all posts

Monday, 13 January 2020

13. Collision


I remove the slender instrument
from its elegant box
so glossy, so white
so flagrantly expensive
I feel its weight and sense its power
as I cradle it in my hands
 
I'm excited at first by its magic
as it transforms my scrawls into tidy text 
excited by the endless choices 
font size, thickness, color, brightness

I play and play until I feel a frown coming 
something is missing from these perfect markings
something is missing from this gleaming glass

it turns out I need the imperfections
I need the messy letters
I need my barely legible scrawl 
to think straight, just to think straight 

and so I slink back to the store
return the frivolous instrument
and pick up a boring ballpoint

Much more appreciative now 
of all the left-handed smudges 
that spill upon my dreams. 




Friday, 10 January 2020

10. One Big Photo Mess

cross-legged on the floor
sorting and sifting
through long days and short decades
of love and dreams
and babies and travel

old tattered photos
divide my mind and heart
as I toss or keep the blurred smile
as I toss or to keep the sharp frown

cross-legged on the floor
the tidiness of digital shines through 
much better to reminisce in bits and bytes
where no one has to deal.








Thursday, 9 January 2020

9. A Higher Perspective

Going back in time tonight
to my old life
to the one from the seventies
where I hung out at night
with Carl S. Berg and spliffs
and old tunes and a typewriter.

I used to think
they all worked together
to make me creative
forty years later
I figured out
they just worked together
to get me stoned. 


Wednesday, 8 January 2020

8. After Work

 — after work

I swap my corporate suit

for 

cotton jeans and an XL hoody

I slip off the pumps

and slip on

sensuous, bare feet

I trade in my keyboard 

for 

pistachio nuts and chilled Chardonnay

I close down the spreadsheet

and open up

a big, fat newspaper

I push aside the ergonomic chair

and sink in 

to my overstuffed second-hand couch 

sweetest of all

I rip off my goddamn bra

and

exhale, free at last

— after work


Tuesday, 7 January 2020

7. East side

discordant sounds on the east side

disenchanted folk on the downslide

a thin lady stops to examine the street

is she in, is she out, is she part of the scene

darkness is coming; she wonders what to do

taxis are screeching, she stays aside a few

in the park, on their turf, sipping red wine tonight

in the park, toking up just to jazz up the night

The thin lady hears the ping from her phone 

a text from her momma, she ain’t so alone

the thin lady grabs a ten o-clock bus

now there ain't no choice, there ain't no fuss

Back home, she tucks in her momma and babe

then she’s restless, she’s anxious, too wired to stay 

she looks out the window; there's nothin' to do

she stubs out a smoke and lights one anew

discordant sounds on the east side

disenchanted folk on the downslide. 



Monday, 6 January 2020

6. City Camping

The din of the traffic keeps humming and heaving
as I pitch my tent and try urban camping
horns blare loudly stomped on by sirens
cars whiz by driven by titans
incessant, demanding, aggressive, unbending
where does it start, when is it ending
I close my eyes and cup my ears
but the brakes keep screeching, the tires keep skidding

this is my night
there’ll be no real sleeping
this is my plight
I’ve got to stop thinking
I lie in my tent but flee in my mind
dying to escape —
the cold air above me, the gravel below me.

The only smart choice
is to run
run away
far away
to the other end of the bridge
to Stanley Park
where sounds are harmonious
tall cedars are glorious.

And, so I go hurriedly to fleeting dreams
where at last
eyelids close, breathing slows
In my bough of soft moss
my canopy of frost

All tucked in
nothing left to disturb
nothing left at all
but exquisite sleep.

My boyfriend and I were visiting West Vancouver one spring. Rather than spend money on a hotel, we decided to be clever, and bring a tent along. We used the internet to find a campground. When our GPS led us to the campsite, we discovered it was located directly under the north end of the Lion’s Gate Bridge, right beside a major mall. We realized the traffic would be non-stop but decided to stick it out, as it was ‘just one night.’ Lying in the tent, listening to endless noise made me crave what lay on the other side of the bridgethe ever peaceful, ever pristine Stanley Park.


Sunday, 5 January 2020

5. The Dark Place

The dark place
is not distant in the black night
it is here, within me
— but only sometimes
I cannot leave it
I cannot run from it
and, so I must be
here, where it is
— but only sometimes.

Saturday, 4 January 2020

4. My Eagle

He soars above the mountain cliffs
oblivious to the cooling autumn air
he roams in sweeping arcs
nudging billows floating by
he envelopes me with outstretched wings
and holds me close against the piercing wind
he watches as he glides nigh
and bestows upon me silent eyes

his visits are but few
— so that —
the wonder of these moments
does not slip away
unnoticed or unmarked
when he becomes my eagle
and I become his spirit.

One of my favorite places to be is in a kayak. One day, while I was silently paddling near Poets Cove on South Pender Island, I came upon an eagle perched upon a stump on the beach. He sat utterly still, watching me, not five feet away. I, too, sat utterly still and watched him. The longer we stared at each other, the more I felt connected to him. I like to think he felt just as connected to me.


Friday, 3 January 2020

3. Waiting


The plane touches down

a brief stop turns into a delay

then a longer delay

one by one, we trudge off

to airport land

YYC, YQR, YVR, whichever



We wait.


Adults stuck to leather chairs

Adults stuck to screens

I see babies among them

sucking thumbs

sucking fists

they don’t have agendas

they aren’t stuck yet

waiting.


I spot a boy

an old-fashioned boy

with a ball cap on backwards

with rumpled clothes draped over

skinny elbows and bony knees

he swings his legs back and forth

as steadies his cell and sends off a text



He seems a boy in between

a shade less free than the babies in slings

a shade more free than the zombies on screens

he is teetering

soon he’ll learn that he is waiting

waiting

to get back on a plane

so life will resume once again


Years ago, at the advent of the smart phone era, I ended up on a flight that had a long and unexpected stopover. It quickly became apparent that we weren’t going to be moving on so quickly. This rather long and unplanned delay seemed to have an interesting effect on the passengers. It was if their lives had genuinely stopped once the plane had stopped, and that their lives would start up again, when they were up in the air and moving towards their destinations. I sat in a chair, and wrote down what I witnessed.


Thursday, 2 January 2020

2. Wind

Like a high excitable wind

without course

I pause to enclose the moment
When before —
did a fallen leaf portend new life
did old tired words hold rich meaning
did a simple hug annul the complex

When was the last time —
that music so lightened a weary world
were purity and passion defined

Like a high excitable wind
on course
I release the moment
knowing so well the last time was
when I was last with you



Wednesday, 1 January 2020

1. Old Red Volvo

old red Volvo

living someone’s dream

a hundred thousand miles

            breaking trails

             with a friend

sharing sunsets

through the hills

 

old red Volvo

seeking philosophies

travelling the backroads

            quest of truth

            with a friend

stranger of life

telling tales

 

old humpback Volvo

haggard and weary

vagabond days eternal

            aimless machine

            faded friend

sharing trips

sharing dreams


This was the first poem I ever wrote. I wrote it to my Dad when I was thirteen or so, and gave it to him for Christmas. This was over fifty years ago. My Mom found it a few years back and gave it to me. My Dad had quite a special bond with this old car, and I tried to capture that bond in this very, old poem.