reading raworth

i puzzle over the weight 
of all those fragments

skeins and walls of words disconnected
and streaming full of gaps
in the “syntactic flow” and all the jokes
and puns and language games and
what does it all mean?
as they flow down the page
settling still all aquiver and flit

“how do people get away with that”

(i’ve said the same thing myself)

and yet: there are gems

the secret, which is what
holds everything up
into the light

*

i will write for nothing
but the surge of sound

*

you make me laugh with beauty

such beautiful, perhaps
even throwaway, lines

given permission

holy week

palm sunday 

this glorious day.
all that shouting.
a celebration, perhaps.
voices of dissent?
difficult to tell from a distance.

the shouts continue,
echo along walls,
through streets.
psalms of ascent?
it is Passover after all.
let me find you on the journey
from gate to hill.
let me find something to wave:
an olive branch, elder or spruce,
pussy willows.
i have no palms.
let me join you for a meal.
there’s a table waiting.


(spy wednesday)

here in our midst.
i find myself wearing the same shoes 
far too often. mud and shit-spattered.
worn. weary.
 
you make your own plans.
they might not turn out the way you hope.


maundy thursday

at the dinner table
you made your demand.
love one another.
i should love myself first.

after dinner,
we sat in silence.
suspicious.
stunned, even.
that it should be so.


good friday 

everything shook. 
you may or may not have felt that.


silent saturday

wait.


easter sunday

i find myself answering,
and not answering,
and wondering
whether i am part of the problem or
part of the solution.
i should like to be part of the solution.
will you allow me that?
to be unsure?
to be wavering, 
and yet unwavering?

the tomb is empty, and
where has he gone?
i reach for hope,
and find doubt
nibbling at my fingers.
i long for your voice. 
let me hear your voice.

there should be more joy


after

i want to convince you,
that you should be convinced.
i should like us to be seated
together; sharing the words --

singing the same song.

NaPoWriMo 2016 - April is National POETry Month

as i did last year, i plan to write a poem a day for this year's national poetry month (it's national poetry month in both canada and the united states), or NaPoWriMo. over the past year, i have managed to write approximately 50 poems, and trust that this april will inspire and challenge me to generate another 30.

in canada, they have chosen a theme as a prompt: the road. you might choose to celebrate the roads we travel, the roads we wish to travel, the roads we’ve found and made and cherished. you might want to write bout the roads that brought you to poetry, the roads most important to your literary journey, or the roads in your future, in our future, in the future of poetry in Canada.

next month will be an opportunity to gather and corral all the various phrases and lines that have yet to find a home and see if i can build something with them.

perhaps you might do the same.

what say you?

will you join me? 

(NPM Canada)

(NPM United States)

     

starting verses

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.

*

i asked you to come home and spend whatever time was 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, as it tastes this sweet nothing rotten at its core.

*

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.

*

my feet stand ready at a moment’s notice, fast – i will own this ground.

*

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.