until

Until
I can hold
All this in my hand, and
Not need someone to steady me
Until I can clearly enunciate
and stick to
Which meals I don't want off this menu
Until this train stops and lets me breathe
the Prairie air, fresh,
Flat lands all around
And I do not see desolation,
Only vistas
and horizons
Until then,
I will not find a way out of this velvet-strewn
chamber, and
all that i want will
remain a
dream.

I have knocked, rung,
Checked my dress,
Straightened my stockings,
Compared my attire
To the folks inside,
But the rosy glow through
The window
Doesn't reveal why you
Only wave
But don't open
the door.

lying snake

I stare out these
shuttered windows and you
don't see me
Can't hear my soundless screaming in this
Dark room
You walk by and
I am invisible, another part
of the scenery.
All of you pass, and sometimes stop,
Tap the glass, think
You know what I
Might be thinking,
Enjoy my antics.
Inside I am frantic,
Weeping for love lost,
Life without freedom,
Life without joy.
Another emo attraction in
this morbid zoo.

a visit home

And so, after touring on
Distant beaches,
Almost feeling the foreign sun
Kiss my skin, I
Crawl home and pull myself
Into your den,
Timid and
Tenuous, reluctant
To go back and yet
Warmed by the comfort
Of your familiar chest on my back,
Your arm's weight a
Gravity I've missed.

I know I can't stay here.
Let me sleep a minute more.

the cold

Today the hard sun tricked me
With his golden smile and I,
Beguiled, ran to his warmth
But found instead
A chill to the bones, a hard
Wind round my head.

Hopes of spring thus dashed,
I, spent, luxurious in
Disappointment and dread,
Sat and rested, against an
Oak, leafless, dead,

And wished for a blanket,
Thick and soft, a
Duvet filled with down,and
Bubble wrap, pulled round
To soundproof my rumbling
Heart and warm my cold, cold
Love, that,
Rejected by the sun,
Now lay in my belly,
Weighing a stationary tonne.

waves

Some days, a sophisticated
Stranger
Sneers at me in the mirror,
"Pathetic girl.

Romance is
Dead,
You killed it,
And there is no CPR now
That will bring you
Safe strong arms and
Flowers at work.

You leapt from that boat,
Drawn by the swell and call
Of the dangerous ocean,
So surf,
Or swim,
And stop complaining.

Or crawl to land and give up."

ferocious

The ferret explores by first
Filing what-is-food and
What-is-not-food, and
To this end, tastes
Everything
Bites everything,
Draws blood
Just to see.

Wise ferret.
Full moon, and now I
Explore,

Your fingers entwined in my hair,
Sharp teeth and
Fierce need, and
I submit
Again and
Again.

Master me.

Those leather and wooden snakes
That undulate like the real thing,
I am that stealthy.

Sliding up beside
Your regular tea and
Cell phone,
Slipping onto your key ring,
And then next to your morning alarm.

Soon, I will disappear and you will
Miss me
Everywhere.

This day is a quiet bead

I don't need to fall apart today,
I think I'll be ok, rolling hills on the chart,
Not sharp peaks and jagged valleys.

I will not invent a new way to explore my mind
And odds are I won't write a book
Perhaps my chief achievement today will be a really good
Cup of tea and to pat a friend on the back.

Every day does not have to be purple.

I won't count this as a day that slipped
Off the string and fell into the dust, losing its
Glitter forever. I will count this as a
Matte bead, spacing out the dazzling ones
to better show them off.

next day

Morning after,
and at work, the
Cold tea calms my cough.

I focus on the screen,
Absently touching
My neck and shoulders,
gently poking till
I find a sore spot,
A bruise.

Then I
Remember
In a rush that
Makes me smile,
Flush,
Close my eyes
For a split second.

The rain reminds me to get
Back to work.

November

Pulled into a ball, in the corner,
Lap opened only for the cat, who
Does not stay.
I pull it around me tighter, this
Loneliness, wear it
Like a scarf,
Like armour,
Like a cloaking device.

Look through me, I
Am not here.
All that I was is gone,
And this dustball that is left
Will soon tumble away
With the next inconsequential breeze.

these words

These words are blood
ripped from my veins
wrists spurting raw thoughts, not
enough to really drain me,
not real or deep enough to hurt,
but a great show, a
performance
designed to make you
look.

I whore my heart, my
thoughts, my
gift for a focused moment
of your precious
intention
an interlude of
your
attention.

Since I am
a shadow, though,
this will pass with
the night.

dark man

unexpected, a
message from another place,
rock tattoos, clark kent glasses
devastating smile.

surprised,with
intelligence, humour,
interest. I was an
understudy to this drama

watching terrible
horror films, his hand
grazed my thigh.
Like a mythic slavic count, like
a hero of countless harlequin novels,
he rose, commanded,
dark hair flowing over
vampire caresses.

I had forgotten
how it felt
to be
mastered, and
i surrendered.

after, I
nursed my
bruises with
wanton
pride, hoped
and feared
he would call again.

whispers

He will be
funny, in the unexpected way of
the alcoholic that made me
fall in love
and in the sweet, smart
sardonic way of the boy I love-hated
in grade five;
He will be strong, stable,
like the ex husband that was
my protector, even if
he never understood me
He will be sparks and fire and larger than life
Pyrotechnics like a concert that
Moves me beyond this quotidian
Veiled existence.
He will love me, madonna,
whore,
little child,
lost soul,
pragmatic nerd,
and
whatever lies beneath.

And he is nearly
here.

I know that the moon
and the flame on the candle
that dances in my breath
I know the inky cat staring me down
And the song I think of
That comes on the radio unexpectedly
These things don't mean that
You
Are
Waiting

But I know you are, I
See your shadow where
I've just looked
I see your silhouette behind
My closed eyes.

Yes, my love, I see your
coming in the eyes of the
Men I dally with now
And when you come to
Claim me, I'll be
Warm
And ready.

i can't

i can't admit even
to myself how you came
to inhabit that empty spot within
how even now when i
look inward, i see
you

i can't erase your scent
from my senses, your
touch from my memory

you took me further
than i'd gone before and
now i can't go back

i can't say any of this
to you, i can't break
the barrier i put up
but i can't move on

i know, i've tried but
he wasn't you.

alliterative angst

wallow and whine
wallow and whine
swallow and
I'll be fine

swallow the wine
swallow the whine
when will we
be fine?

wallow and wade
wallop and wail
whine winge
why
not.

gravity-weighted

across meadows
and tarmac she crept,
tied fast to the
relentless earth, shaded
by trees and skyscrapers,
bruised by the rocks she
trod upon, shins
lumped with
calcium from
being barked upon
so many benches and
curbs.

Her face was burned,
Neck stiff,
feet blistered.

Though she stumbled
often in her
heedlessness, she
never
never
looked down, never
once glanced away
from her lovers
boiling
yellow eye.

her destiny awaited.

all her days she trod on
seeking only a kiss
from the sky.

I, lesser mortal, tarried
near a tree with a
soldier, saw her pass by.
Deep inside, ashamed,
I felt faithless, and burned
as well for the
benediction of a kiss.

My soldier...
did not comply.

witchery

Soon the fire of
Self denial will
Burn down to
Ashes of tenacity.
Then I will have to
Burn candles
Throw salt
Draw on the strength
Of my familiar
And deep earth truth
To steady my hand
And not write your
Name.

what women know

(Usual caveat: no poem worth its salt is ever about only one person. Well, that's a lie, but this one isn't.)

You think it's the size,
The thrusting hard thighs,
That makes her moan
When you two are alone.

Caught up in your myth,
Your physical gift,
Only from skin and out
Is what it's about.

You're wrong, but then,
Like most men,
You cannot fathom how it can be
Erogenous to see
Vulnerability

You can't see the rest
Beneath her peaked breast,
For who thinks of emotion
With bodies in motion?

So she came to your bed
With sex in her head.
But why was it you she chose
When she wanted to take off her clothes?

My friend, what put her there
Was not just your hair,
Your hypnotic eyes,
Or your tumnescent prize

No--your pain and your need,
Weakness, and greed,
Your adolescent love of toys,
Your need to make noise.

The way you love your mother,
How you always need another.
Your talking and singing,
Are what keep her stringing
Along in your wake,
Expecting heartbreak,
But alive at your touch
Saying little, feeling much.

So bodies meet in a sacred communion
And sparks fly from your needs' union.

quark

You don't know you are magic.
Your insistence on science and dirt
Makes my teeth gnash.

Your essence rings the room large
Like a balloon in honey, sweet and
Orange and sticking to everything

And still, you keep your prosaic eyes
Down and insist on sinew and bone
And cellular degeneration.

What quark expresses your charisma?
What effect does the burning whisky have
On your spirit?

That was a trick, because whisky is magic
too.

micro-poem 1

I'm never more lonely
Than when I'm with you.

nurse bear

Threadbare in spots? Certainly,
Since nurse bear has been on duty
For nearly 40 years.
That's a lot of wear on the fluff.

Offering kapok cuddles,
Soft tear-absorbant face-burying fur,
Love, no judgement, no recrimination.
Nurse bear has tended all comers
With equal gentle care.

Nurse bear, when do you lock the bathroom door,
Toss down some valium and soak in scented bubbles?
Buy yourself flowers, jewellery, Chinese silk pillows?
When do you have time to think your secret thoughts,
Crewel stitch your love onto a shield
You can use to repel the constant onslaught of others' need?

processed self in modern times

I am one pixel deep but as wide as a lake.
I am made of cork and mirrors and outtakes.

I barely exist except in a dimension of need
and facade.
My batteries are failing, my usb corrupted but
I have to go now, the 'Applause' sign is flashing and
That's my cue.

Quick, someone take a picture of a cat
With a Hitler moustache,
Show me the grotesqueries and pantomime of
So-called stars with no careers
Show me the human burlesque parade and teach
Me to contort my wants and speaking paths to
Fit in this digital box.

In the sternly seething flesh world --IRL LOL--
I am not your princess. I am not your slave.
We do not exist as these people. I do not
Know you, really.

Circuitry isn't even an analogy now, it is all
Post-concrete, post-threedee.
Tactility is so 2008.

We live in flashing lights, we live in TSX sound.

In the cave where my meditating body dwells, a
Rat gnaws my bones.

Process take one

Here it is raw, off the tip of my brain. I will percolate today. This format may be too restrictive for what I'm doing. It's not there yet.

The first sip from his amber eyes
was intoxicating, heat spread through her
And she wanted
More

Months in, drinking in his wit
And winning ways added sparkle,
And joy to her
Days

Months passed and the times between
The redhot joy spread like
Grey; Each hit still great, but not
Enough.

Soon, too soon, she trembled
In his absence, tried to recreate
A brittle flirtation with a
Substitute.

She wept to know his power,
And he, drunk with it, withheld
His caress to watch her
Beg.

All the sunshine fled her and
The dark clouds that flowed
In were more like
Smog

Finally, prostrated and empty,
She crawled away, beyond
Desire for escape, seeking
Ending.

Friends found the shell
Her once-bright eyes dulled
Propped against a tree
Lost.

Deprogramming, and withdrawal were
Long but at the end,
Harder, sadder, she was
Saved.

Mess? I? Ah.

Nothing about this hangs together yet, I'm still stretching for it instead of writing from within it. Damn you, WordsWorth, for making me think about process!! *shakes fist*


It will come.


****
I was a free woman when I walked in this place,
Worshipping only my independent will,
A woman of means, never mind how I got it,
Serving my own sweet whims, subject
To no man’s demands.

I entered as he was telling some tale,
Bullshit about water turning to whiskey, and
How women followed him, seeking his touch
To heal their ailing hearts. Libidos, I snorted,
Sailing past, still thinking I belonged to
Myself.

At the table, a friend introduced us.
I am not sure whether it started
When he first touched my hand or
When I looked up and got lost in his eyes, but
Suddenly broadsided by tenderness and
Unable to swallow for wanting to touch
His lips, I was lost.

The stories he tells, son of a god
Are they real? Is that his magic? I don’t
Know if he can raise the dead, except when
His amp is too loud, but he can perform miracles.
Why else do I find myself washing his feet
With my hair?

harmonize

He is disappointed that I won't
Harmonize, he
Waits at the backup vocals for
Me to chime in
But
I won't.

I won't harmonize until I
Float into his dark pupils and
Know that no sea monster awaits,
Know that I can show my
Heart and the beating
Will not cause a squall.

I rest mute.
I will not harmonize
Till I hear clearly
A voice with no lies,
Till I see
No harm
In his eyes.

The Merman

She fell in love with a merman,
It was foolish, she knows that now.
She was at first just captivated by his long green hair,
His noble brow.

He had every appearance of a man,
A fine man, above the water.
Below, his cold-blooded churning tail, his
Mystery was what caught her.

Day after day, to the shore she'd go,
And he would swim in to meet her.
They'd race, each in his element, and
Because the water made him fleeter
He'd often beat her,
And then feel bad, and
Treat her sweeter.

She listened, enthralled to all his tales
Of life as a prince of the ocean,
And if, when she spoke of life on land,
He seemed to recede farther from the sand,
She didn't catch the motion,
And she moved from infatuation to love,
And he accepted her promotion.

Of course, warm-blooded mammal she was,
She dreamt of lying in his arms,
And though her friend raised alarms,
Certain this would to lead harm,
All their warnings she did not heed
Blinded by her passion's need.

One day, they met at the usual rock,
And she, overwrought with longing,
As she had already drowned in his green eyes,
Dove in the deep water with a sense of belonging.

He shrugged and pulled her near to him,
And here, we must not judge, it seems to me.
He knew only that it was his birthright to swim
And his father was a cold-blooded creature of the sea.

He dove, with his love pulled tight to his chest, his
Powerful fin kicking behind,
And she, breathless in love and blind
Already, barely noticed the thickening gloom,
The pressure building in her lungs,
His bed would be her tomb, and yet
She inhaled the salt with no regret.

He was saddened, in his man-heart, but
Felt not a thing in his fishier parts.

Such a story needs a moral, and yet
I don't know what to say,
She knew what she was doing when she dove that day.
Perhaps the lesson is simply this,
Know he's a merman before you kiss.

Scripted

These are my words
and in the spaces
are the pieces of me that
broke off a long time ago
the scars
the scabs
the stories I can't
tell you
Although I wish I had
the words.

Around the punctuation
You'll see the curved places
Of my wanting
The echoes of my
Open arms.

And in the dots on the i's
And in the bowls of the o's
the exotic lures of wild
Orchid species, designed
Only to bring you to
Me.

heights

The most trite image:
"Hanging off a precipice,
Afraid to fall."

Honestly, ten thousand pop songs and
A million would-be minstrels have
Paved this path.

But then you took my hand,
And I was suddenly
Hanging in a strong breeze,
Gripping one slim bar beside
An airplane attached to
Nothing
Looking down 14,000 ft at
A squirming mass of snakes, spiders
and rejection.

How much faith do I need to let go?
How much courage?
Or should I just wait till I'm too tired
to hang on to these fears?

thinking too much

every time my
eyes close
one more scene flashes up
like projected vacation slides
you

Laughing
Dancing
Talking
Drinking

your eyes deep, dark, impenetrable
and my phone keeps
not ringing

For the word stringer with the greatest cache of beautiful beads

And so the sun stared down
Our backs, and we, hunched, focussed,
Counted out our beads, piled in glassy hives of
Beautiful colours,
Puce,
Amber,
Viridian,
Teal.

And so we strung a pattern, a story, with our
small glass beads.

But as always, he
Sat apart, slightly turned, and
Only when he revealed the final
Scintillating, labyrinthine pattern,
Only when his smile
Resonated in a thousand facets of light from
The resplendent rosary he held aloft,
Adorned with a myriad of stones,
Large, small, beautiful, all--

Only then
Did we acknowledge ourselves mere dilettantes.

tempus fugit and we are glad

Is there inherent quality in this, enough
That if infinity were an option and we,
And this, went
On and on, like
Movie vampires, living through aeons of change,
And remaining, ourselves, unchanged;
That this, and we, would still retain this
Golden sheen of beauty?

Or does the brevity of
Our lives lend them meaning, as
The philosophers and poets insist?
Does our struggle to make a ripple
In our moment
On the surface of the vastness of forever
Define us with honour, joy or value?

And
Even so, does the blink of
Time in which you and I are
Clasped like this,
Have a beauty that overlong held,
Would be stained by familiarity
And contempt, first
Verdigris and then
Tarnished to dirt?

and all the infinite stars

I was staring into the night sky
Thinking about the person I
am, the person I should be,
Who I was and who
I am with you, and it
Was like looking around a
Mirrored room with me
Retreating endlessly away
In all directions.

In a way it was odd, since
Usually I can only see
You.

I started thinking about all
the infinite stars in the sky,
And I could feel myself disappearing,
Shrinking to one of a billion grains of
Meaningless sand, and so

When you woke and asked me
Why I was crying,
That's why I said because
I miss the moon.

petals falling

Some would compare it to an
Onion, but I think, if I'm going
To cry I'd rather it be from the thorns,
So, like a rose, layered deep, our
Mutual and exclusive needs,
Stripped away as they are exposed,
Support, and security,
Acceptance for all this,
Silky hair, and sinewed muscle and an
Absolute lack of judgement.

(That
Is deliberately a dual-edged statement.)

Enough reflections of 'yes, me too' to balance the
'really? ... no, really?' moments, and then
parental echoes and tests we invented to
see how much cynicism you would require and
how strong are you? Because I want you to
Carry this for me, on your own trembling
Shoulders.

Stripped away till there is left just the
Tiniest heart-of-rose, the softest and
Starkest moments of open, raw
Don't-ever-leave-me-alone.
Don't ever leave me alone.

tired

At the stage of tired where I
am limp, muscles sapped of any
power, mind quieted,
spent post-desire and
ready to lay my
head on your lap, close
my eyes and listen.
Tell me a story about today,
about the past, about our loving.
I am too tired to search your
Coruscant eyes for hidden truths
and lies.

So tired that the inner voice that
Questions me, outraged,
(In the voices of my mother and
ex husband)
about just what the HELL
I think I'm doing? has gone on
Break, subdued by the search for an inner
well of energy. That Starbucks is closed, and
for the moment, that cold logic is
rendered vestigial, and I,
Vestal.

Stroke my hair, let me rest, and I
Will resume my subservience,
My cynicism, and my safe distance
momentarily.

the many little deaths

It's funny how some people paint themselves in death
Scream out their gory fantasies to the crowds
When the real death is not black eyeliner and blood, it's
When you lay down your will and accept
The inevitable, stop
Fighting against
Destiny and soft focus.

I'm watching a morality play about death
The slower kind
Nick Cage is shaking in the final
Throes of the battle

And I'm soaking in the agony like
A napkin soaks up spilled wine.

like a magician

like a magician but not
precisely like that,
he lifted a hat, and
no rabbit was
revealed, but instead a
whirling, shifting image of
the world, changed and
filled with his own
gods and monsters and
each bore
his face.

his words pulled at my wrists
and ankles and the
warmth that spread within
made me drunk, made
my vision blur,
made it harder to breathe.

so I found myself in another world,
a universe he had created to
make sense of what he saw and
no matter where I went,
or turned, he was
there, like a soft blanket,
like a fast tornado,
like a fox hunter
and the persistence of the
last note of wind.

now when I inhale
his scent I wonder whether
I was ever real.

codependent

"Oh mama, say a prayer for me
Jesse's back in town,
It won't be easy..."
-Carly Simon


Oh, there's a poem to go with this, but
Before I write it, I must
Channel my mother's spirit, ask her
How she did it for 40 years,
Swam in my father's wake.
Was it worth it?

Is it hereditary that we require
That locus of dark addiction to spin
Around, to focus our lives,
That lends a livid edge of tragedy to
The mundane details of our
Otherwise boring lives?
To the extent that we each
Harbour our addictions to replace
Any that might be lost to
Reform and good intentions?

I thought I had no addictions, but
The tidal pull of your skin tells me
I was wrong.

freezies

in the sun it's like
you were never here.
I only see you in shadows
and in the cool taste
of blue freezies but
you know how fast
they melt.

open road

this is a metaphor

there is no here
it all flies by
all i have is this moment
all i have is this purring
powerful engine beneath me
roar in my ears
there is no here

all i have is your strong
back, these arms tight around
your waist, eyes squeezed shut
sensation of moving

and we breathe in time
melded by movement
my legs squeeze to keep me
tight against you

all i have is now
there is no here
all i have is you
and this machine
and the carving wind that defines me.

resistance

It would be so easy to
wade in that pool, drown
with all the others.

The warm water invites,
beckons with refreshing promise,
But oh, the bottom is so
Murky deep.

And it looks so solitary,
Calls to only me, but
I know about the bodies below.

Bluebeard's closet, that
is, women drawn to the honeyed
waters, never to emerge.

do I have the strength to
walk out of this glade?

chocolate

Remember the cusp of 12?
We summer-school-studied
Circus and Bop to learn
How to be cool, listened
To tapes, baby-oil-and-iodine slathered
In the backyard,
Still watched Starblazers, planned
To go to space, argued
Whose boyfriend Derek was.

We ate junk food, sunshine, movies
And experience, gobbled each day,
Savoured nothing, swallowed it whole.

That September, back at school, I
Found the chocolate bar, you
Had given me, BFF, to
Think of you while in our separate classes.

It was sun-warmed, melted, and I
Pressed my lips to it, wore it laughing,
Like lipstick. Then Todd, that
Guy we had splashed at the pool,
That you said was short and I thought
Looked like Keith Partridge,
Well, a little
Licked some of the chocolate off.

So I guess I owe you credit for
My first kiss too,
Kind of.

tetra

I am one of six
Tag!
I chase your silver
Tail and four more
Fall behind.

These walls are glass,
Infinite,
But flitting among
These plastic grasses, I
Don't even think about that,

I just think about
Tag!
Now I am in the lead!

tough

Small dark space, I know every
Wrinkle within here.
I can touch all my limits, I
Know where I am,
Know where everything is.

Outside these walls, the
Chaos lurks, I can hear
Birds, sirens, screams
And laughter.

I am growing, I know, and this
Case won't hold me forever, but
I curl up, trying to hold this
Moment, hold the safety of now.

What will do it? A persistent
Bird, a hungry rodent, or just
The fall from this height, at
Which I lightly swing?

What will release me?

what middle way?

Always leaping in reaction.

First chasing the sun,
Gamboling faun utopia,
Gods on the lawn
Verdant and nymph-filled
Pastoral and domestic bliss.
And a bright boy, blonde smile,
With a wholesome, sunny laugh.

Then
Spun from Eden, whirling
Into dark shadows seeking
A pale night dweller,
A picture with
Edges singed by dark fires
Cool body to share
A moonlit altar

Always seeking a hand up
Out of the creeping suburban normality
That pulls like the muck that sucks off your boot.

of pictou

It's insidious, that
After 20 years uprooted,
Transplanted to this city I love,
A few hours back and my feet will barely
Heave from the dirt, so
Heavy with the weight of
All that I have been.

My heart is given to
Urban dreams of cafes
And concerts and crowds,
But here, that vision is overlaid with dirt
Road, bonfires, guitars and
Country twang, the lingering warmth
Of being wrapped in a blanket that smells
Like doughnuts, mom and home.

I must drag myself from this
Woven bed of expectations, dreams,
Security and hurt, and unfurl myself
Back in the light of my real life.


(Still rough, bear with me)

doggerel: In vino veritas

I used to believe in divination,
Search the skies
And others' eyes
for portents of the divine

But now I don't read tea leaves,
For saying of sooth
For honest truth
I search a bottle of wine

-cmby 09

cherry jam

In your sleep you're younger,
Sweeter,
Innocent almost.
Not the
Violet explosion you
Made in my
pastel life

I remember my 9th birthday
The first taste of layer cake,
The centre not frosting but
My mom's cherry jam

The surprise, the unexpected
Sweet and tart revealed
The way the line of red cut
Through the blond cake, making
It new, and more exciting.

I think I must have woken up
Because I'm hungry.

whispers

this is a confection, a
meringue,

melting on my tongue
even now

but even while it
will fade, is fading,
as we all cascade past fixed points in time

you will stay in my mind this way:
lithe, pale,
dark eyes,
hard muscles,
a surprise of soft skin and
gentle touch and
the
joy
that
makes me
laugh.

the edges of everything softened by the darkness,
the decadence of beer and late night and memory,
the outlined brilliance of drama and discovery.


Is there ever a present that
won't make me look
ahead to how I will remember it
with affection when it is done?