Tag Archives: Poetry

The Music

The night, soon late, begs we return on home,
and voices on my ears bequeath a sound
that makes me feel like I am here alone
– so loud those fell cacophonies resound.

My heartbeat turns to drums, my skin to chord.
My eyes strobe light, my fingers string the notes:
this knowledge that the friends I’d ne’er afford
yet chose to have me join their open throats.

Though peace is far from this reverbing beat,
and soon annoyance washes out each word,
the music we lay down on this dark street
sings on inside my heart, in silence heard.

This tune becomes the body of my soul
and memory of a love I can’t control.

M.
June 12/17

The Crow

I recently was lent a copy of The Diamond Age, a novel by Neal Stephenson which explores a fantasy-like future in which nanotechnology and cultural constructs reign supreme. It was in this unlikely (and thoroughly enjoyable) bundle of pages that I found an intriguing poem – “The Raven” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whom I had studied in my grade twelve Literature class.

As you can likely tell by the title of this post, the poem struck a chord with me. The following composition is based on Coleridge’s “The Raven”, with my own ideas thrown in for good measure.

Underneath a stout walnut tree
There was of swine a great company.
They grunted as they crunched the wood,
Which, not long after, no longer stood. Continue reading The Crow

Williams Park

Thoughts on how friendships change with the passing seasons and years.

I.
I remember that summer as
both cold and hot we
waded through the ashes of
my mother dying strapped our
tears to leafy branches watched them
float down with the current defined
by movies watched from the bed
of a truck your head on mine we swam
as far away as Hope stuck together
like five petals on a summer rose Continue reading Williams Park

Just Friends

[Inspired by Disney’s Beauty and the Beast]

I watch you,
ten rows down at
two-and-a-half-feet a row
Space
enough for friendship

Courting indifference
– uncertainty, adventure,
due diligence, rebellion –
whatever sugar we’re coating it in
these days
I feel lost in a world where
blue and gold
turn grey

Just friends
until somebody takes a chance
like I did
bending to a plucked rose,
still yellow
but fraying red

Torn between
thoughts and feelings
– neither being rational –
but pretending, all the same
that the mess makes
some sort of
Sense

Senselessness,
as in, unfeeling
pricked by a thorn
outward perceptions and
melodramatic music, TV shows,
movies you care nothing for
and beauty found
in people
smaller than their
circumstances

I am smaller, too
than I ought to be
Uncertain
of that same space,
frozen, locked away

And all I want
is to turn the key
poised precariously
ashen lock – torn, yellow curtain
longing
for freedom

M.
Mar 18/17
Picture: mild steel hibiscus blossom

Clouds Are Roses

When I walk down the street
I don’t get those frequent looks
catcalls, and obscene
gestures, like my
friends do

“Are you a girl?”
the silence seems to ask
while minimizing
their problems

Clouds are roses too
you know, they are
light and airy and
bespeckled with dew
though the roses are rooted
and red

Yes, red
that ever-important colour

M.
Feb 20/17
Archival ink and ink pencils on paper

Flying Blind

If you’re wondering why the stanzas are so weird, it’s because I originally wrote this piece as a song, not a poem….

There are paths we walk when we are lost
There are ways we change our world with words
Our sight with labels put on lines
Our eyes with tears we cry at night

Am I two spirits flying blind
Am I lost too deep inside
Myself and all the other things
I keep there – buried away

Am I alone as I would think
After all these years without Continue reading Flying Blind