triumphs

watching the boston marathon

i am astounded by these runners

surrounded by the shouts of crowds,

shrouded by legacy, lined up

like a procession -- with flags

instead of guns, or candles.

how long have they been running?

only a few short hours;

it is already almost the end.

as they near the finish,

their pace never slackens –

steps tick off the distance.

they are superhuman -

all of them pushing a boundary:

the body, the mind, the moment,

history.

some of them don’t even wear shoes.

i remember there were bombings there

only a few years ago.

the finish line filled with smoke and bodies

and parts of bodies.

for almost ten minutes after,

runners continued to cross

the finish line, unnoticed.

i have seen the resilience of people,

the way a city can dust itself off and rise again.

we can learn to wave our flags once more,

we can rediscover how to rejoice,

we can celebrate each other

and not live in fear.

let us not forget –

we’re still running.

choose the direction.

starting verses (haiku)

today is international haiku day - there's even a NaHaiWriMo every february.

some of these are brand new haikus, and some are reconfigurations of some previous lines of poetry. anyway...enjoy.

*

my poems are getting
shorter. everything
is more measured now.

*

this is the moment
promises are made lightly
and i hide from view.

*

some words were exchanged
and emotions hard bartered
for scraps of meaning.

*

please come home and spend
whatever time is required
to make your way clear.

*

lay down your burden
at your enemy’s feet
and find yourself alight.

*

you are mostly empty
space and light traversing
the gap between hearts.

*

then come take my hand
and eat the words i lift to
your lips with longing.

*

the only thing known
to shift story from whispers
to a memory.

*

this and this and this
longing and desire for joy –
a settled embrace.

*

walking the slow path,
i stop to smell a flower –
a reminder of you.

*

the way to carve space
is to assign it new names
and set it loosely.

*

i only wanted this –
this thing i now desire –
this unending joy.

*

your mouth, delicate,
dances lightly across skin
all electrical.

*

the way a shell breaks
and light enters like a thief;
each desperate thought.

*

and then the flag raised
and trumpets sounding the depths
as we brace ourselves.

*

the earth will own me,
will claim my songs as ransom,
a verse to all change.

*

my face set like flint
against or towards mountains
and valleys and seas.

*

until our bodies press
next to time and flesh weakens,
spirit and blood rise.

*

again, the promise
to have and to hold and to
never walk away.

*

again the path, again
the light and sound of drumming,
echoing the bones.

*

and thus I am known,
and perhaps rejected, and
perhaps too, embraced.

seeds

it’s an honour to see you

during these beautiful moments

of frustration.

                      you’d like to pretend

that doesn’t ever happen,

you’d like to

                    take those moments back –

recognize they are seeds

sown into the future.

make sure it is good soil

in which they find purchase.

make sure

                  you know to whom

the field belongs,

that the object of your longing

is worth your regret.

journey

we left behind shadows

burned upon the rocks.

we left behind stories

that were shared around fires

children danced

and songs were sung.

there was no shame

in our leaving –

we had spent enough

time in the homes of strangers.

there were oceans to cross,

and mountains to compass,

we have heard the call,

and must follow it to the source.

embrace each gift

placed in your hands,

savour each promise

and wear them like armour.

there is strength in us yet -

hidden inside the bones.

you can bear the weight -

It is the easiest thing to forget.

covers

sometimes people get sick.

they just do. sometimes

it’s an attack, or feels like it.

sometimes we take it personally.

sometimes we fight.

but then there are other days

with syringes and side glances,

with groaning beyond words

and no way to attach meaning

and time is only a nice idea.

family looks like strangers

faces tightly drawn

like a veil or curtains

and loneliness is a warm blanket

happiness a loaded gun.

people stand around

whispers wrap around doors

opening and closing

and mostly closed

hands holding hands.

none of this really matters.

anything could still happen –

there might be a miracle

cure or otherwise.

there might still be singing.