Friday, February 27, 2009

Other people's adventures

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Good tidings!


The bright-eyed bike courier
Brings tidings of good weather
From the streets below

This, and the joyous cloud of
Smokers on Peter Street
Buskers reclaiming corners
The way I'm moved by shiny green plummage
Even on a lowly grey pigeon
Must surely be signs of spring.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Values


I can pick out a harmony to anything
Bad eyesight, good aim
Geographical memory, a necessity
Honed by a non-existent sense of direction
Get lost traipsing among the unknown
But always find my way back to the pigeon coop

I saw a man on Jeopardy who could talk backwards
Made me think how
Katie has a funny face for every occasion
And Dad doesn’t wear a watch
But always knows what time it is

We’re a whole world filled with precious little gifts
That can’t make us a dime
Hidden talents
Displayed on the shelves of our bookcases
Like kitschy yard sale junk.



I'm getting published! My poem 510 King will appear in "a forthcoming issue" of The Antigonish Review!

Monday, February 23, 2009

The Lady Vicarious


Sometimes books are sunglasses
Various weights of frames and rainbow shades
Through which to see the world
Whole days bathed in the conjuring of conversation
Coloured by feats of timeless character

Gleam of crystallized wisdom
Encased in four-hundred pages like ancient rock
Still fresh with insight
Centuries later.

Friday, February 20, 2009

TGIF


By this point, I just want to go home
Spirit fallen below the waterline like a
Mid-summer dry spell; brush fire eminent
Neurotransmitters in a traffic jam
Words too clumsy to shuffle into sentences
Worn out like the sole of your favourite sneakers
Or the plastic horns on New Years Eve that won’t sound
After too many drunken, forceful blows

This drooping plant needs water
A good read and piano key therapy
Steaming tea or a stiff drink
Before it can put out any more flowers

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Judgy Judgerson


People are all different, they have different ways
Seems obvious when you write it all out
Yet we all have to keep muttering it
Under our breaths, quick, to remember
Like a phone number carried in your mouth, delicate

Sometimes I’m envious of my dog
Who, in her vacant wisdom, can sit
Nose pressed to the window
And just watch
Accepting
Watch us all make an hundrd stuppid mis-takes
Silent, not one critical syllable
Man’s best friend.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Hamster wheel


Remember the time I had labyrinthitis
And thought it was vertigo?
Anxiety inflamed the dizzy spells
Wrist red from my elastic band bracelet
Snapped each time I thought about doctors
Old trick from a wise friend
Not the first time I mistook
A minor virus for a chronic condition
I am one big psychosomatic mess

Prone to obsession
My mind likes to run ‘round and ‘round
An idea like a hamster wheel
One it gets going fast enough, the ride doesn’t stop

Take comfort, the carousel ponies go up and down
For every day I am red-wrist worried
There is another, like this day
With only spark and sweetness
Replayed like the one mixed tape on a family road trip.


This is my 100th poem in four months. Wild.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Love at Main Street Station


I've spent the last three years
Wandering thrift store aisles
Catch my eye on gold framed photos
Finger teacups, soap dishes
Fall hopelessly in love with armoires and floral sofas
Only to turn my back on them, heartbroken
Amass sugar bowls and salt shakers
Fill my parents' basement with chandeliers, Christmas tree
Trimmings for a house I don't have yet
Starry-eyed sparrow picking nest-grass

I knew our house would be filled, inevitably
With quaint, quirky charms
But never dared to dream it would be so charming itself.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Big day


Mind blinking like a fast-forward projector
Can never sleep in on exciting mornings
Let alone potentially life-altering ones

Toss and turn on the creaky, worn davenport
Visions of oak baseboards and stained glass windows
House inspections and mortgage payments
Lump in my side, lump in my throat
Musing on paint colours is twelve cups of coffee
Putting yourself to sleep with porn, heavy metal

At nine-thirty I give up
Stop listening to the twitch of your toes as you sleep
Go upstairs, become one with the manic sunlight.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Nourish, satisfy

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Why don't you do what you dream, Bastian?

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Mistress Minute book


Job description: feeder of bureaucracy
Groomer of red tape and technicality
Writer of the dull, gold-letter burgundy books
Not even corporate accountants want to read

I won’t perch long on this branch
Just enough to gather my breath
Wait out the storm
I’ll spread my wings just in time
To avoid the bolts of lightning
From the pedantic gods of regulation.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Ink power


Mom wants to take a cheese grater
To Katie’s tattoo
Private and paltry as it is

She says it’s a shame to mar the body
Dad says she’ll regret it
Katie says everyone needs something to regret

I shrug, mouth closed tight
Not a line or stud on my body
No eye shadow or lipstick, even
But I understand, share
The lust for manifesto

My body is too brief and finite
I want to scribble myself
Across the whole damn world
Catch the eye of Fame or God
Leave a breadcrumb path to my being.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Girltalk

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Love and hate


Life is beautiful, long, golden hair
I had as a child
Labour and pride of my mother
Inevitable collector of gum and tree sap
Brush as I might, some knots are too vast
Reach reluctantly for the shears
Cut great chunks of hair
And suffer the bald patches

You’re one knot that defies scissors
Any way you turn, you dig yourself deeper
Into the scalps of the ones you love
The only ones who can’t cut you out

You keep charging blindly toward
Death and vacancy
Snap your teeth at our words
Someday we may decide to
Give up; save our own sanity
Stop calling the mosquito away from the flame.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Unanimous sin

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Every answer has a price

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Old cat


This poem has been taken down temporarily.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Too many senses, not enough common


I get nervous at concerts and movie theatres
Anywhere I can't hear myself swallow
On train platforms and construction sites
When the quake of pavement rattles my chest
Drowns out the feel of my own heartbeat

Sometimes my insides shift, skin goes numb
And I have to scratch red marks across my neck
To keep my soul from slipping out of my body
Getting sucked forever away into the deep blue sky
Like strayed balloons I cried over as a child.

(I use the balloon simile too much, but I swear that's literally what I'm afraid of when my soul's trying to escape me.)

Misplaced/displaced


Waiting on leather couches near St. Andrew station
How do they get the trees to grow indoors?
Seems unnatural, perverted, blasphemous
Even with two-story sunlit glass walls
Chlorinated tap water from plastic watering cans
Air foggy with exhalation from a thousand preoccupied mouths
Drifting in and out like hornets from the nest
They are only pet trees, shadows of trees
Wind doesn't reach them and they house nothing
But dust and murmured, superficial echoes.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Pilgrimage

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Always be prepared

This poem has been taken down for submission to a publication. Apologies for the inconvenience.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Met in the middle


I painted my room pink
Knowing I’d be getting married soon
Moving out to live with a boy
This was my last chance for pink
My way of catching up on a girlhood
Filled with short hair and tree climbing
Not, to my mother’s woe, dolls and dresses

Our childhoods were mirrored, in a way
I was dashing Mom’s dreams of bows and Barbie
While you became the only son to turn down boy scouts

You know, it’s Super Bowl Sunday
Maybe you should take up watching sports
There's still time for a macho boyhood.

(I'm kidding, of course! Please don't start watching sports.)