I am producing a new chapbook titled "Between Two Acts" poems to accompany photographs of Paris at Natalie Knezic's show opening in London Ontario, November 13, 2011.
All photos by Natalie Knezic of London Ontario. Poems by me!
Very exciting!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Just More Wind
The wind makes the house creak like an old banjo being lifted from its case, singing old memories down chimneys, swirling up the dusty hearth. Autumn always arrives this way, in an instant without regard of any need for warmth. It strips a tree bare quickly, like an unfamiliar lover strips a woman that he doesn’t really love at all. In this way, one thing ends to let another begin. A crow sits on top of a telephone pole, feathers gusting in defiance of winter. She puts on the kettle and sighs as it hisses . Swirling up the dusty hearth, down chimneys she sings memories like an old banjo being lifted from its case. The wind makes the house creak. |
Friday, October 7, 2011
Oars Across (A Frightening Wind)
I
The wind scares me.
Oaring across the street it throws everything off.
A piece of glass teeters precariously.
They say your heart is beating far too fast
when I put my ear to the hollow of your chest it flutters
like a panicked bird after it has hit a plate glass window.
II
The sparrow lies in the mud, black eyes darting, felled, desiring flight.
A tiny mound of brown and grey billowing softly in the scary wind.
Is this what a heart attack looks like? Crumpled, grey?
Stopped short by sudden impact?
III
The clock turns 9:50 pm, you’re still at work -
IV
The wind outside is frightening.
They say it will die down tomorrow.
V
Your car rolls into the driveway faster than the wind.
I show you the bird rescued from the mud, it lies in the box, still, dumb.
Outside, curtains on the screen house come loose.
The wind is frightening.
Canvas flaps furiously against the bedroom window.
VI
Ten years from now, how will I pour the wine?
Alone in a tattered screen-house
I remember how a thin sheet of glass
stopped a free bird dead.
The wind scares me.
Oaring across the street it throws everything off.
A piece of glass teeters precariously.
They say your heart is beating far too fast
when I put my ear to the hollow of your chest it flutters
like a panicked bird after it has hit a plate glass window.
II
The sparrow lies in the mud, black eyes darting, felled, desiring flight.
A tiny mound of brown and grey billowing softly in the scary wind.
Is this what a heart attack looks like? Crumpled, grey?
Stopped short by sudden impact?
III
The clock turns 9:50 pm, you’re still at work -
IV
The wind outside is frightening.
They say it will die down tomorrow.
V
Your car rolls into the driveway faster than the wind.
I show you the bird rescued from the mud, it lies in the box, still, dumb.
Outside, curtains on the screen house come loose.
The wind is frightening.
Canvas flaps furiously against the bedroom window.
VI
Ten years from now, how will I pour the wine?
Alone in a tattered screen-house
I remember how a thin sheet of glass
stopped a free bird dead.
Monday, October 3, 2011
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