cento for NaPoWriMo 2022

some things should remain hidden.
this still has all the silences in it,
every small expression.
i regret that
i cannot speak –
there are no words
we can endure,
searching for things to talk about;
they didn’t last long.
my desire is always
for you and emptied.
that, too, is written down.
we sat at the table
and now we are all waiting.
we have only hunger
suddenly in our midst,
unbidden, a gift
to bring into the light
inside my body.
we can only name
how we were once.
we live with the silences,
wear them like armour;
all that waiting.
receive what small comforts there are
everywhere you go.
decide what is true and what is not,
which things are which.

decisions

there are things you have to do.
there are things you want to do.
there are things other people want you to do.
 
now you can be honest or lie.
which things are which?
be honest. decisions must be made.
 
some decisions hurt yourself.
some decisions hurt others.
some decisions bear fruit years from now.
 
you know you have to do something.
you’ve already waited for far too long.
good luck with that.

Demands

I should like to be more demanding.
I should like to be many more things.
Let’s leave things at that.
 
Let me take your hand in my hand.
Maybe we can find a path through all the words.
Maybe we could bury all the cold, dead things.
 
Then wait to see if there’s a resurrection.
To declare what is true and what is not.
What I will ask of you is not the question.
 
The question is not what I will ask of you.
To declare what is true and what is not.
Then wait to see if there’s a resurrection.
 
Maybe we could bury all the cold, dead things.
Maybe we can find a path through all the words.
Let me take your hand in my hand.
 
Let’s leave things at that.
I should like to be many more things.
I should like to be more demanding.

It’s King’s Day!

It’s King’s Day!
Everywhere you go
is a sea of Orange.
 
It’s King’s Day!
Maybe it’s your city
that will receive a visit!
 
It’s King’s Day!
Bring your goods
into the streets.
 
It’s King’s Day!
A time for singing!
A time for dancing!
 
It’s King’s Day!
Come and join!
There’s a feast!
 
It’s King’s Day,
and I wish I was
celebrating with you!

trust

they tell me
the procedure is simple –
only “one in a thousand
has complications.”
i’ll just “go to sleep,”
wake up, and all will be well;
results waiting for me
like a gift, or reward.
 
still, lying there
only makes me feel vulnerable,
not safe.
                they explain their task
with warm and professional
matter-of-factness.
it’s a measured thing
either way,
                     a required precision.
we all have our portion.
our roles are clear.
just keep breathing,
try to relax,
receive what small comforts there are.
this is just the process.
there is nothing to fear.

nights

from where, this ache?
all that waiting.
 
late night, and early mornings.
the ongoing concerns.
 
the last words spoken.
all those maybes.
 
we sat on the beach.
the fire dying.
 
the wind moaning.
my face is wet.
 
you had a question.
sometimes the stars.

I’m often surprised by anger

I’m often surprised by my anger.
I made a list of all the things.
 
It’s much longer than I expected.
I’ve let the sun go down on it too often.
 
I’ve not been slow to it often enough.
I’ve not endured annoyances well.
 
I’ve been pressed upon and constricted.
I recognize powerlessness is a lie.
 
I know it hurts me more than you.
I know it still hurts you.
 
I wear it like armour, but paper-thin.
I have no excuses, only regret.
 
I hate its weight, so let it burn.
Let it become ashes, and washed away.

embraces

i didn’t go inside.
i wasn’t sure what to do,
what i might say –
only that i want to
be embraced by you
even if there were no words.
we live with the silences
we choose.
                     what do we do
with the silence we don’t
choose. how do we carry this?
there are not enough hands.

again

will we ever go dancing
again? will there be dancing?
slowly we gather again.
when we see each other
will there be embraces?
will we be hesitant, or
will we press into each other?
there are so many ways
i have missed you.
there are so many ways
for us to say we’re sorry.
forgive me.
will there be healing?
will we rediscover
our joy in one another?
will we learn again
to exercise grace?
will we choose now
to be prisoners of hope?
please, set the table;
have the wine ready.
we will learn to laugh
again. there will be tears.
we capture them
in bottles to remember
how we were once
hidden from each other.
then let us embrace,
and dance again.

I miss Prince

It’s been six short years
and I still regret
not seeing you play
at Rexall Place.
We never know when
it’s our last chance.
You never seemed to age,
perhaps because you
were always in motion,
always reinventing,
trying on new voices
as if they were clothes.
Not that I thought
you would never die –
just not that young –
not even yet sixty,
with still so much
music left in you.
There’s only so much
we can control –
our bodies break down,
and it’s our first
instrument.
We can only name
ourselves, hopefully
exit stage right.

420

i spent a decade high –
hence no tattoos.
i worked at a coffee shop
and a sandwich shop,
made one good meal a day
for myself, and got high.
 
most evenings i spent
with friends, or went dancing
just to feel the beat
inside my body,
to experience sound
as a cloud, or a fog;
to watch and marvel
at all the ways people
move their bodies.
 
even so, i miss it sometimes –
despite the blur of nights
with lovers, early mornings
wandering city streets,
i miss the buzzing of my skin
and the clarity of the moment:
how it didn’t matter if i was alone
as long as i felt alive.

they said

they said to go deeper
but i did not know how
there is not enough
breath in me
 
they said it will pass
but it never did
and now it is my friend
or at least tolerable
 
they said join us here
and then left early
i forgot where to meet
and sat alone
 
they said nothing more
and hid their faces
how do you work with silence?
what tools does one use?
 
they said to bring it into the light
but i only see shadows
what should i do then
when i no longer know your name?

surprise

you keep showing up
unbidden, a gift
we didn’t know
we wanted, or needed—
the surprise of joy
as we gather
outside in procession,
singing together
bathed in the light
of day, until
we gather again
in houses with
doors opened
and windows open
and the sky
is somehow brighter
or maybe we see
the world
differently
if death is no longer
something we fear.
maybe we feel
less of the weight
if we lift our eyes,
hearts, hands, songs.
maybe the story
is better when shared
like good news,
or wonder.

I didn't

I didn’t stay up all night.

I didn’t get up at sunrise.
I didn’t break a fast.
I didn’t make pysanky.
I didn’t break them either.
I didn’t purchase any lilies.
I didn’t give up anything for Lent.
 
But when we gathered
and sang the songs
some small joy erupted.
 
I, too, would like to see
the empty tomb;
would like to find you
suddenly in our midst.

bodies

sometimes the body
is empty. sometimes
we empty the body.
sometimes we are
exhausted by words,
and can only groan
or gesture wildly.
 
sometimes our bodies
are broken. sometimes
we fall asleep. sometimes
we have only hunger.
sometimes we don’t.
there is always regret.
 
do we mourn? or
do we wait expectantly?
the crowds disperse
and we are none
the safer, exposed
before one another –
our grief, our anger,
our meager faith.
 
later tonight
there will be flowers. perhaps
there will be songs. please,
let there be songs.

you said

you said this is my body
broken for you; your body
bread to sustain us
 
you said this is my blood
poured out for you like wine
poured out at a feast
 
you said this is my last meal
until the kingdom is
fully formed in us
and we make it our home
 
you said the only power that matters
is the power to serve one another
 
you said that the greatest love
is to lay down your life
for your friends, and then
you made us all friends
 
you said it is finished
but it was a beginning
 
you said we need to die
in order to live
 
and now we are all waiting
your wounds still only wounds
not yet beautiful
 
you are not yet risen, and are abandoned
goodbye, goodbye, God be with you

washing

we sat at the table,
talked about bread
and bodies, blood
and wine. who gives
and who takes?
 
here we are,
broken for each
other. in turn
invited to the table.
 
you knelt before us,
took our feet
in your hands,
gently washed them,
the room silent
but for the water
sloshing and
dripping.
 
did we sing? weep?
the air was filled
with humility
and shame, which
are not the same.
 
whose secret
was revealed?
why this grace?
did we even
finish our meal?
 
i don’t remember.
i only know that
my belly was full,
my heart heavy,
my feet clean.

burials

first, they anoint you.
the smell fills the room.
this gift’s worth
every word ever written
about it. we compare
our sacrifices,
and they don’t compare.
 
there is always someone
who loves you more.
there is always someone
more jealous than you.
this is a kind of betrayal,
this always wanting more.
 
your desire makes you
too easily bought.
that, too, is written down.

fuel

and then there were ten.
we were all waiting.
you took so long—
so very, very long.
we became bored,
distracted. we lost
time, but found our
selves in our bodies,
and lost ourselves
in our bodies’
turning.
              we burned
for you and emptied
ourselves, grew tired
of all our wanting.
and fell asleep.
 
for you’ve taken
so long. i’ve tried
to be ready
in and out of season.
there are rumours
of wars and rumours
of a feast. where
is the door? will
you let me in
now that it is late?

figs

i have often hungered
for nothing, and often
been left hungry.
my desire is always
a reaching thing,
chasing after shadows,
seeking the horizon;
too often cursing
what i find wanting.
i should care less—
but i want my mouth
filled with sweet things.
what satisfies one day
doesn’t always another.
we keep moving,
looking for answers
for all our longing.
we cross streams,
explore the high trails.
there are mountains.
we will wear them
down with our walking.

palm sunday 2022

there should be shouts
of joy. hosannas
filling the sky.
my voice should join
the chorus,
wave the branches:
palm, olive, willow, yew.
 
but i have only anger.
yes, there have been injustices,
abandonments, broken
promises. the ones i love
are still the ones i love
regardless. the distance
only grows larger
between my righteousness
and my failure. still,
we choose to gather.
we try to find the words.
 
so now let the stones
cry out. let me sit
in the streets weeping.
tell me how time is precious,
how to find a home
in which to pray.
let us chase out
the moneychangers,
the sellers of doves
together.

winds

All day long the wind
howled. The blinds rattled
and curtains bloomed
into the room. The doors
on the shed creaked.
 
It was supposed to be spring
but the wind was cold.
Biting, even. And yet
the sky was blue
and everything sunny.
 
Then there were flurries.
They didn’t last long.
Flakes melting as soon
as they hit the ground.
Or our clothes.
 
I don’t mind the wind.
I don’t mind how
I need to lean into it
face first. After all,
wind has its uses.

Evenings

We sit awkwardly at the table
searching for things to talk about.
Somehow our bellies are less full.
Somehow our thirst less quenched.
Still we search for words.
We turn to each other
with small questions
and thinner answers.
This was delicious we say,
and I’m so full and
What’s for dessert?
but we are still empty
and dissatisfied.
We retreat to the living room.
The dishes are gathered
and put away.
The table is cleared
and wiped down.
We have our last drinks.
The evening slowly
winds down
as we take
our leave.

difference

today i am thinking about the difference
between testimony and witness
and that difference
may mean more to you
than it does to me
and that difference
may need to mean more
to me than it does to you
 
here is the proof: the story
as shared binds us both
to history, the language of loss
we circle each other
and it is not a dance
there is no joy here
the evidence keeps working
its way to the surface
 
there is only so much listening
we can endure

Shadow

Here is a shadow.
Be filled.
What follows?
The sun shines,
the moon shines,
the stars shine.
Open your mouth.
Drink in wonder.
 
What appears?
There are no words
up to the task
of naming.
So stop. Instead
rouse yourself
with silence.
 
Find yourself
straining
heavenwards.
Feet anchored,
lungs filled with sky.
Fix yourself there
with light.

*weik-

my heart is filled with sand
welcome to the world
of hidden things
i cannot speak
with any certainty
 
i am charged with
a lack of conviction
a list of offenses
of which i am guilty
in which i am conquered
 
someone once told me
it was all buried in a tomb
which is filled with bones
and your beautiful mouths
keep saying the right words
 
it is not enough; it is all vanity
a grasping after the wind
everything will be forever changed
woe to you, woe to you
woe to me

Just cause

I don’t I’ve ever been hated without cause. I’ve certainly done some things that deserve hatred. I’ve said hateful things to people close to me, and not. I regret that.
 
I don’t believe I’ve ever hated anyone. Not really. Perhaps I should make some lists. Write it all down. Set it alight. Maybe confession is good for the soul, but it’s a fearsome thing.
 
Sometimes forgiveness seems an impossible task.
 
I’m tired of having to explain. Or make excuses. I’m willing to listen to the words. Maybe I’m ready now.

be unmade

enact a surrender
 
your best efforts
may garner you an award
 
but guard yourself
 
every small expression
betrays you
 
the body refuses
to be mastered
 
what is this constant
relearning of “mastery”
 
i have no more flags
to raise
 
only the sign of a hand
a new magician’s subtle gestures
 
nothing remains hidden forever
 
every secret
is relentless

Silence

This is the poem
I meant to write. 

*

It still has all the silences in it. 

Today I found a secret door

Today I found a secret door.
I did not open it.
 
Some things should remain hidden,
but not all things.
 
*
 
I will trust you with all that remains unfinished.
 
*
 
I expect to be with you again tomorrow
if all goes well.
 
There’s always a fight coming,
but I’m just happy you’re naked.
 
*
 
Let me know when it is safe again.

April is National Poetry Month!

April is National Poetry Month in both Canada and the United States.

The Canadian iteration celebrates its 24th year with the theme of intimacy, while our American compatriots are celebrating their 27th year.

As usual, I will attempting to start and finish a poem each day as part of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month).

I hope you will join me, as writer or reader (or both!), on this journey.

 

NaHaiWriMo - day twentyeight

28.
 
it’s hard to imagine
the types of things that bind us
cut the cord
 
*
 
don’t run with them
and I found myself wounded
despite my best efforts
 
*
 
even now, those words
every cut intentional
and forgotten

NaHaiWriMo - day twentyseven

27.
 
just keep moving
the view will be worth it
my bones ache
 
*
 
my sons reach the top first
i follow as they cheer me on
we stand in silence
 
*
 
the air gets thin
or maybe i’m just too tired
all this wasted time

NaHaiWriMo - day twentysix

26.
 
desire as a fire
an easy metaphor
still true though
 
*
 
the shock of alarms
aftershock of unfocused fear
raging through the night
 
*
 
sitting with friends
the wood crackles and snaps
warm conversation

NaHaiWriMo - day twentyfive

25.
 
cobblestone roads
walking home in Den Haag
“car wash” playing all day
 
*
 
that long summer
i met Princess Shining Star
the smell of hair spray
 
*
 
we skated to school
the summer it snowed in August
the air was so crisp

NaHaiWriMo - day twentyfour

24.
 
so much still to read
a tower of books next to my bed
so many secrets
 
*
 
here are all the bills
all our moments captured
they slip through our hands
 
*
 
please try again
the air is thick with maybes
what are the odds?

NaHaiWriMo - day twentythree

23.

the pages once blank
now filled with arguments
my fingers stained

*

thousands of pages
adolescent fantasies
myths and legends

*

brandished like a flag
someone must make a promise
this dotted line

NaHaiWriMo - day twentytwo

22.
 
clawing upwards
fighting the undertow
reaching for light
 
*
 
is it inexorable?
can there be a turning back?
will there be singing again?
 
*
 
it’s always slow
the way silence builds and grows
we hold onto goodbyes

NaHaiWriMo - day twentyone

21.
 
you hear them at night
find traces during the day
they move like whispers
 
*
 
searching for secrets
we dig and scratch and claw
disturbing the wound
 
*
 
all that rage
just below the surface
hidden disappointments

NaHaiWriMo - day twenty

20.
 
the ice cracks
as i pour my whisky
wool and vanilla
 
*
 
all i could think of
the way you moved at night
the way you moved
 
*
 
under the blankets
i can barely stay awake
how am i so tired?

NaHaiWriMo - day nineteen

19.
 
like a memory
your banner over me is love
like a memory
 
*
 
so much weight
everything i never said
here’s a bucket
 
*
 
we’re still hiding
everyone needs a shield
collateral damage

NaHaiWriMo - day eighteen

18. 

late at night
the moon shines through the trees
the coyotes howl

*

we tromp in the snow 
the air is crisp with the smell of pine
laughing and talking 

*

the river is thawing 
the light cuts across the path
strains of birdsong 

NaHaiWriMo - day seventeen

17.
 
so much brokenness
the upside-down kingdom they said
i prefer wine
 
*
 
this is my desire
to be the one who serves
hands extended
 
*
 
there is that moment
the shock of recognition
when all is upended

NaHaiWriMo - day sixteen

16.
 
roused from slumber
i wake before the alarm
hear only the birds
 
*
 
ready to react
everything in tension
tired of talking
 
*
 
early morning
my lover asleep beside me
the coffee is brewing

NaHaiWriMo - day fifteen

15.
 
i keep coming back
always the same regrets
time to say no
 
*
 
push into the berm
let gravity do the work
shouts of joy
 
*
 
you can’t deny it
everything is a circle
dance with me
 
 
 

NaHaiHaiMo - day fourteen

14.
 
your pockets full
stones worn smooth like gems
my heart emptied
 
*
 
we could never return
words were spoken and doors closed
so many regrets
 
*
 
nothing i needed
candy, pens, hats, cassettes, comics
the thrill of it all

NaHaiWriMo - day thirteen

13.
 
making it count
i fill my day with thoughts of you
breathing in each moment
 
*
 
much needed repairs
the old CPR pocket watch
gone without a trace
 
*
 
it’s like a river
beckoning, beckoning, beckoning
or so the song goes

NaHaiWriMo - day twelve

12. 

so many voices
i could be more insistent 
it’s a choice

*

my hands are dirty
i can’t believe what I’m reading 
stained by the news

*

the china is wrapped
everything packed just so
so fragile

NaHaiWriMo - day eleven

11.
 
late at night
your breathing lulls me to sleep
wish me sweet dreams
 
*
 
exhausted
i fold into your embrace
the rustling of sheets
 
*
 
it’s quiet now
a glass of good whisky
warms my throat

NaHaiWriMo - day ten

10.
 
you never know
how much can you hold
inside a heart
 
*
 
there are moments
i want to rage and strike out
a surprising impulse
 
*
 
is it resistance?
who will bear the fruit of it?
is it rebellion?

NaHaiWriMo - day nine

9.
 
the next thing
around the next corner
try to stay open
 
*
 
may there always be
one last gift under the tree
not on your list
 
*
 
your body against mine
that remains a mystery
close your eyes
 
*
 
my only question
how you respond to desire
choose surrender

NaHaiWriMo - day eight

8.
 
whispers in the sky
distant sound of thunder
the air is still
 
*
 
it hovers over us
all those years spent apart
even the air has weight
 
*
 
last night and this morning
the fields are filled with mist
i cannot see you