the winter sprigs
turn cold and blue
purple with night flowers-
the sunless days when i was close to you
turned into midnight hours
the blue the jade of evergreen
remind me of the yearning-
the wanting
wondering
waiting
longing
hoping for beginning.
Only those with tender cloaks and steel inside their pockets,
can tell You to move forward-
intrepidly against the pain
and cold december orchids
Yes,
time passes, but cannot erase
the broken of the hearted-
i tumble, stumble, abashed, i crash
amongst the dearly parted.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Down the hall and straight ahead
Hear them whisper
in your bed
Make impressions, in your Head.
Go on,
forget the spring time
and
Let the Blues wash over you
in silent hues
- and moonshine.
Come on,
Receive the dawn, with its burning light: casting a spell on the Night.
Forever parted.
Forever bequeathed-
Enduring with you- They will-
dry your tears,
while you fall asleep.
in your bed
Make impressions, in your Head.
Go on,
forget the spring time
and
Let the Blues wash over you
in silent hues
- and moonshine.
Come on,
Receive the dawn, with its burning light: casting a spell on the Night.
Forever parted.
Forever bequeathed-
Enduring with you- They will-
dry your tears,
while you fall asleep.
Friday, December 02, 2011
Anew
the love lost wasn't the love for you.
let go, rewind, the story, unwind, the one that you outgrew.
she held you tight, long, through the night
not wanting to let you go.
only, minds wander and years pass, we often let love flow-
through our fingers
streaming out
far from where we started
darling, i did not mean to leave you broken hearted.
amongst the rubble, ash, decay
where we let our love part
there lies in ruins:
the gleaming wishes of my tender heart.
let go, rewind, the story, unwind, the one that you outgrew.
she held you tight, long, through the night
not wanting to let you go.
only, minds wander and years pass, we often let love flow-
through our fingers
streaming out
far from where we started
darling, i did not mean to leave you broken hearted.
amongst the rubble, ash, decay
where we let our love part
there lies in ruins:
the gleaming wishes of my tender heart.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
My Baby Brother, a baby no more
Once upon a time there was a raven haired girl who lived fancifully amongst the love and adoration of the adults in her life. At nightfall and in the early morning light, she whispered her dreams, deep, into her pillow. And one day, they started to come true.
Little by little, as time would pass,
each dream would manifest itself at last.
Sure their was heartache, growth, and pain along the way.
And of course she learned of attachment and how hearts are led astray.
But the wishes that felt true and kept her in light, revealed themselves eventually, and she never lost sight.
The first of these wishes was to have a baby brother.
And alas the day came, happier than no other.
He was born on June1st 1986, and was truly the first of amazing and wonderful gifts.
They grew-up together, the best of friends,
and the story continues, it has no end.
----
Here is what he is doing, a baby no more:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91W0kovEJuY
http://www.nsnews.com/story_print.html?id=5310530&sponsor=
A beaming big sister!
Namaste.
Little by little, as time would pass,
each dream would manifest itself at last.
Sure their was heartache, growth, and pain along the way.
And of course she learned of attachment and how hearts are led astray.
But the wishes that felt true and kept her in light, revealed themselves eventually, and she never lost sight.
The first of these wishes was to have a baby brother.
And alas the day came, happier than no other.
He was born on June1st 1986, and was truly the first of amazing and wonderful gifts.
They grew-up together, the best of friends,
and the story continues, it has no end.
----
Here is what he is doing, a baby no more:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91W0kovEJuY
http://www.nsnews.com/story_print.html?id=5310530&sponsor=
A beaming big sister!
Namaste.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
a teenage dream
Is it okay to hide-
knock.
turn around the
clock
under the bed, over my head, was a blanket of stars.
Would play
all day
with you
in my thoughts
no rest
just
a hope
a wish and dream,
a fantasy for me to convene.
when we last saw each other-
the moon shimmered on the sea
and i wanted,
only
to dance with thee.
no rest
thoughts grow
love wanes
and i shook you off-
in the fall-
like the trees with their pretty leaves.
knock.
turn around the
clock
under the bed, over my head, was a blanket of stars.
Would play
all day
with you
in my thoughts
no rest
just
a hope
a wish and dream,
a fantasy for me to convene.
when we last saw each other-
the moon shimmered on the sea
and i wanted,
only
to dance with thee.
no rest
thoughts grow
love wanes
and i shook you off-
in the fall-
like the trees with their pretty leaves.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Egoist
Do you remember that Channel commercial from the 90s where beautiful angry women open their balcony doors and yell "Egoist!" into the air of some Mediterranean town? Their long luscious hair beating against the wind; then (the following part may be a conjecture of my teenage mind) the camera finds an unimaginably handsome chiselled man, listening to the wind carry the angry voices to the sea.
This morning, I felt like one of those angry women. I wanted to find my very own balcony (substitute sun drenched Mediterranean town with nippy Calgary), let my long locks flail with drama, and shout the same cat call to a nameless chiselled man (substitute handsome Italian dude with older greying guy in an okay suite).
After a night of my children playing tag-team 'wake up Mom and Dad', I realized that we did not have coffee filters, nor was there any bread in the house, and my equally tired husband was already out of the house and in the office. So, after changing the kids' diapers, filling their sippy cups with milk, and bundling everyone into their winter coats (over our pyjamas) we headed to my favourite coffee shop in Calgary: Fresh Kitchen. It is a small little shop, with home baked treats, fresh flowers, and everything from local milk to rare truffle oil and crackers made by Buddhist monks living in El Salvador (not really, but you get the picture).
It is the kind of place where people smile when you walk through the doors, they remember you but don't bug you with too much talk; and it is never bustling and overcrowded. In fact, this morning, there were three people, myself included, getting our coffees at that time.
I left the kids in the car (I was parked just outside the store) and ran inside- wearing my pink flannel pyjamas, running shoes, and big black winter coat with a broken zipper. After I made my order and paid, I ran the muffins to the car, so the kids would get some food into their bellies, and I went back for my coffee.
Once I got to the counter, there were two gentlemen (and I use that word lightly here) standing at the counter, paying for their drinks. I said, "Excuse me" as I slowly slid my arm past the guy to the left, to get my drink. Now, remember, I just got out of bed, I have on a massive fluffy full-length winter coat, that won't close, over pink flannel pyjamas, and crazy bed hair. You can't miss me. But, when I said "Excuse me" the man moved to the right, oh, about, half a centimetre. The gentleman behind the counter said, "Oh, excuse our reach, just have to give her coffee"- translation: "Seriously man, move over, the store is not packed, I need to give this scary looking lady her coffee." The suited man moved over a teeny smidgen more, and as I reached for my Americano, the cuff of my jacket hit the side of a display and very hot coffee spilled, onto my hand, the cuff of my coat (tightly pressed around my wrist), on the counter, and some on the floor.
The barista exclaimed, "Oh NO! Are you okay ma'am? What can I do for you? Are you okay?" I yelped "Ooh, kinda! Hot! Hot!" then looked at the man next to me and said, "Sorry about that, are you okay?" He checked to see if I spilled on his suite, and replied, "I am not sure." I realise that I have not burnt him, or else he would know. I then recall how expensive a suit can be, and apologize again, but add, "At least there is not milk in it, you should be fine."
Meanwhile, my jacket has absorbed all the hot water and my wrist is burning. I feel I cannot take off my coat in the store because I am in my pyjamas, so I quickly run to my car. Once I manage to take my coat off, I pour cold water on my hand and wrist (thank God I leave bottled water in the car).
Then, as one does when a highly intense incident occurs, I replay the events in my mind. I think about the suited-man's actions. I think of my husband, in his suits, and what he would do if a crazy looking lady spilled coffee on herself and a little on him.
Herein lay the difference between a true gentleman and an Egoist.
The Egoist at Fresh Kitchen cared only about his suit, he was meticulously wiping at it while I was flapping my hand, and clearly hurt. He made no caring or helpful gestures, instead made me feel bad for an accident that clearly hurt me more than it hurt him. Not to mention, had he moved over a few more inches, the accident would not have occurred.
A gentleman would realise that he is not hurt, and that there is someone other than himself needing attention at the moment. A gentleman would help the person in need first; all else is secondary.
I believe George Michael said it best when he sang, "I hope you understand / Sometimes the clothes do not make the man"
Namaste.
This morning, I felt like one of those angry women. I wanted to find my very own balcony (substitute sun drenched Mediterranean town with nippy Calgary), let my long locks flail with drama, and shout the same cat call to a nameless chiselled man (substitute handsome Italian dude with older greying guy in an okay suite).
After a night of my children playing tag-team 'wake up Mom and Dad', I realized that we did not have coffee filters, nor was there any bread in the house, and my equally tired husband was already out of the house and in the office. So, after changing the kids' diapers, filling their sippy cups with milk, and bundling everyone into their winter coats (over our pyjamas) we headed to my favourite coffee shop in Calgary: Fresh Kitchen. It is a small little shop, with home baked treats, fresh flowers, and everything from local milk to rare truffle oil and crackers made by Buddhist monks living in El Salvador (not really, but you get the picture).
It is the kind of place where people smile when you walk through the doors, they remember you but don't bug you with too much talk; and it is never bustling and overcrowded. In fact, this morning, there were three people, myself included, getting our coffees at that time.
I left the kids in the car (I was parked just outside the store) and ran inside- wearing my pink flannel pyjamas, running shoes, and big black winter coat with a broken zipper. After I made my order and paid, I ran the muffins to the car, so the kids would get some food into their bellies, and I went back for my coffee.
Once I got to the counter, there were two gentlemen (and I use that word lightly here) standing at the counter, paying for their drinks. I said, "Excuse me" as I slowly slid my arm past the guy to the left, to get my drink. Now, remember, I just got out of bed, I have on a massive fluffy full-length winter coat, that won't close, over pink flannel pyjamas, and crazy bed hair. You can't miss me. But, when I said "Excuse me" the man moved to the right, oh, about, half a centimetre. The gentleman behind the counter said, "Oh, excuse our reach, just have to give her coffee"- translation: "Seriously man, move over, the store is not packed, I need to give this scary looking lady her coffee." The suited man moved over a teeny smidgen more, and as I reached for my Americano, the cuff of my jacket hit the side of a display and very hot coffee spilled, onto my hand, the cuff of my coat (tightly pressed around my wrist), on the counter, and some on the floor.
The barista exclaimed, "Oh NO! Are you okay ma'am? What can I do for you? Are you okay?" I yelped "Ooh, kinda! Hot! Hot!" then looked at the man next to me and said, "Sorry about that, are you okay?" He checked to see if I spilled on his suite, and replied, "I am not sure." I realise that I have not burnt him, or else he would know. I then recall how expensive a suit can be, and apologize again, but add, "At least there is not milk in it, you should be fine."
Meanwhile, my jacket has absorbed all the hot water and my wrist is burning. I feel I cannot take off my coat in the store because I am in my pyjamas, so I quickly run to my car. Once I manage to take my coat off, I pour cold water on my hand and wrist (thank God I leave bottled water in the car).
Then, as one does when a highly intense incident occurs, I replay the events in my mind. I think about the suited-man's actions. I think of my husband, in his suits, and what he would do if a crazy looking lady spilled coffee on herself and a little on him.
Herein lay the difference between a true gentleman and an Egoist.
The Egoist at Fresh Kitchen cared only about his suit, he was meticulously wiping at it while I was flapping my hand, and clearly hurt. He made no caring or helpful gestures, instead made me feel bad for an accident that clearly hurt me more than it hurt him. Not to mention, had he moved over a few more inches, the accident would not have occurred.
A gentleman would realise that he is not hurt, and that there is someone other than himself needing attention at the moment. A gentleman would help the person in need first; all else is secondary.
I believe George Michael said it best when he sang, "I hope you understand / Sometimes the clothes do not make the man"
Namaste.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
LOST and STOLEN
I will not cry for you.
make me fall to my knees
reach for
free fall
down
into you
slowly
the abyss grew so dark and so cold over me
concealing me-
wayward girl
losing myself to you-
the lost and the missing.
MISSING
no picture of my soul on this milk carton.
i will not cry these tears of regret. they will not fall. they will not
show themselves
they do not exist. you did not wake me from my life and take me to
another
so dark and so cold
alone
in this world of attachments
And, it was New Year's Eve. I wanted to feel real, like everyone else. Looking out my window- at the Christmas lights, linning the streets. Hearing crowds of people laughing, they were near but not near enough. My window was fogged with steam. I had to wipe it clean. It left a mark, a shadow trail. I couldn't see clearly out that window, I wanted to see what they were wearing, and from where they were coming and going.
Did the fireworks start? Did I miss them? Am I too late?
I am so sad.
oh! here they go! i see them sparkle
between the tall buildings.
Red, Gold, Opulent, Silver, Vibrant, Emerald, Joyous, Blue
Glitter Glue on navy velvet skies-
it doesn't stick.
my view is obstructed, anyhow.
too dim to see the light
snuffed
somewhere along my path ...
Frightened.
the stolen and the missing
all a lonesome
Fuck you.
I will not cry for you.
You will starve dry- no longer gleam nutrients from my bitter tears.
make me fall to my knees
reach for
free fall
down
into you
slowly
the abyss grew so dark and so cold over me
concealing me-
wayward girl
losing myself to you-
the lost and the missing.
MISSING
no picture of my soul on this milk carton.
i will not cry these tears of regret. they will not fall. they will not
show themselves
they do not exist. you did not wake me from my life and take me to
another
so dark and so cold
alone
in this world of attachments
And, it was New Year's Eve. I wanted to feel real, like everyone else. Looking out my window- at the Christmas lights, linning the streets. Hearing crowds of people laughing, they were near but not near enough. My window was fogged with steam. I had to wipe it clean. It left a mark, a shadow trail. I couldn't see clearly out that window, I wanted to see what they were wearing, and from where they were coming and going.
Did the fireworks start? Did I miss them? Am I too late?
I am so sad.
oh! here they go! i see them sparkle
between the tall buildings.
Red, Gold, Opulent, Silver, Vibrant, Emerald, Joyous, Blue
Glitter Glue on navy velvet skies-
it doesn't stick.
my view is obstructed, anyhow.
too dim to see the light
snuffed
somewhere along my path ...
Frightened.
the stolen and the missing
all a lonesome
Fuck you.
I will not cry for you.
You will starve dry- no longer gleam nutrients from my bitter tears.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Tumbling
you still
somehow
hold a spell
on
me.
could not see
my scar in the sunlight-
blissfully blinded by its luminous light.
But, i cannot forget what i know so well
scar tissue, second skin, from the day our eyes fell
onto
into
one
another.
Trip- don't fall-- so deep this well: dark and familiar.
perhaps it's cosmic
this thick spider web
dust filled with satin
from the day i first fell-
somehow
hold a spell
on
me.
could not see
my scar in the sunlight-
blissfully blinded by its luminous light.
But, i cannot forget what i know so well
scar tissue, second skin, from the day our eyes fell
onto
into
one
another.
Trip- don't fall-- so deep this well: dark and familiar.
perhaps it's cosmic
this thick spider web
dust filled with satin
from the day i first fell-
Friday, September 30, 2011
Meditations
A landslide brought me down.
I did not chose who would pick me up.
Who were you before your parent's were born?
Who was I meant to be.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeee-- the thunder rolls over the desert.
The rain reaches tides along the coast.
Who am I without you?
Emerald leaves turn red as the blood count rises.
drip.
drop.
red.
ruby.
pomegranate seeds.
How can I extricate myself from you, when you are the ones who polished me with your stories.
Obsidian
fills
my
eyes
with illusion.
I cannot reshape what you have carved me to be.
I cannot fill the cracks
created
concrete
within.
Tools of love, redemption, betrayal, manipulation ...
manipulations
i
r
a
n
I did not chose who would pick me up.
Who were you before your parent's were born?
Who was I meant to be.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeee-- the thunder rolls over the desert.
The rain reaches tides along the coast.
Who am I without you?
Emerald leaves turn red as the blood count rises.
drip.
drop.
red.
ruby.
pomegranate seeds.
How can I extricate myself from you, when you are the ones who polished me with your stories.
Obsidian
fills
my
eyes
with illusion.
I cannot reshape what you have carved me to be.
I cannot fill the cracks
created
concrete
within.
Tools of love, redemption, betrayal, manipulation ...
manipulations
i
r
a
n
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Miramichi
They
shut down the factory.
The pulp and paper mill.
A great big building
rusting
starkly
against the timeless river.
Trees grow out from the vents.
Vines cover the conveyor belts.
Blossoms crawl up the sides of the building.
And underneath the foundation, live roots pulse.
Nature takes it toll
over the abandoned
soul.
shut down the factory.
The pulp and paper mill.
A great big building
rusting
starkly
against the timeless river.
Trees grow out from the vents.
Vines cover the conveyor belts.
Blossoms crawl up the sides of the building.
And underneath the foundation, live roots pulse.
Nature takes it toll
over the abandoned
soul.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Sorry
Going up the narrow road. The list of expectations, that have yet to be met, driving circles in my mind. The apology list grows longer and longer-- saying sorry for things that have yet to come, people I know I will fail. The guilt grows darker, creates a shadow, a blind spot- a thump!
I hit a car. I hit his car. He has a nice car.
It's a reflex: stop, drive back, park the car, and step out.
Oh my gosh, I really hit his car. His side mirror is on the road.
I am so sorry.
It's okay.
I will give you all my information.
Yes, let's exchange information.
I am really very sorry.
I hit a car. I hit his car. He has a nice car.
It's a reflex: stop, drive back, park the car, and step out.
Oh my gosh, I really hit his car. His side mirror is on the road.
I am so sorry.
It's okay.
I will give you all my information.
Yes, let's exchange information.
I am really very sorry.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Time it was ...
The
musky smell
of
sun quenched wood
that
filled the walls
of
my parents' home.
A
High contrast
Gloss
to the
fresh ocean breeze
ice-blue sky
Outside.
All those times before,
I held
a great deal
within my heart
in my hands
Only gave
a
little
away
when
sharing school day ties
A life fully lived
is never
fully
realized
Spending
months
and
moments
stitching secrets into a box.
musky smell
of
sun quenched wood
that
filled the walls
of
my parents' home.
A
High contrast
Gloss
to the
fresh ocean breeze
ice-blue sky
Outside.
All those times before,
I held
a great deal
within my heart
in my hands
Only gave
a
little
away
when
sharing school day ties
A life fully lived
is never
fully
realized
Spending
months
and
moments
stitching secrets into a box.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Untitled
Out of the dark and into the light
It was a sweet hot summer night
With the wild wind blowing,
beneath our feet,
And the ocean sea breeze
misting the streets-
we ran for cover.
Out of the dark and into the night
The moon
it shone its humid light.
Two young girls dreaming,
knowing of defeat.
Hoping for much better-
hoping for relief.
They slowly clipped our pretty wings.
They fed us, clothed us, caged us in.
When at last we made it-
struggling, found the key-
it was too late for the party.
Bloated bellies and yellowed teeth.
The music echoed
in the stark rooms.
The two girls hung onto yesteryear,
and what they never knew.
It was a sweet hot summer night
With the wild wind blowing,
beneath our feet,
And the ocean sea breeze
misting the streets-
we ran for cover.
Out of the dark and into the night
The moon
it shone its humid light.
Two young girls dreaming,
knowing of defeat.
Hoping for much better-
hoping for relief.
They slowly clipped our pretty wings.
They fed us, clothed us, caged us in.
When at last we made it-
struggling, found the key-
it was too late for the party.
Bloated bellies and yellowed teeth.
The music echoed
in the stark rooms.
The two girls hung onto yesteryear,
and what they never knew.
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