Can't Put the Pen Down

just as if I was in my write mind…

Soft Blue

The sky is such a soft blue today,
like watercolour seeping from a loaded brush,
creeping across the horizon.
If I could I would lay my head
down upon its lap,
close my eyes, and drift
eider clouds tickling my nose
as they scud past.

I’d look down at naked poplars,
their skritchy-scratchy calligraphic limbs akimbo;
mute supplicants awaiting the slow explosion
of green ruffles and pollen confetti.
A time-lapse collapse into rustling
sighs but oh, my,
the sky is such a soft blue today.

Coconut Man

Chop, chop, chop.
The machete falls.
He trims off the top.

Chop, chop
He flattens the bottom.
A deft twist and out pops a plug.
We pour coconut water into a travel mug
Gracias.

A peso, a smile,
and he pushes the coconut laden wheelbarrow
to the next tourist,
the next peso and smile.

Back from Cuba

I feel bad for not posting anything for so long, but I no sooner got back from two weeks in Cuba (where internet connections are not even worth bothering with) than I contracted a really nasty cold and only lately have I felt that I could write without sounding whiny, lol!

I managed to store up a huge amount of inspiration during my trip. This was my first time in a tropical clime, and I have to admit, it made me wonder what the heck I was doing going home to minus 20 c. sigh…

Cuba was amazing, the setting, the people, everything… I’ll probably be posting a lot of Cuba writing for a while!

 

 

Reality, the Illusion

The sleight of mind that palms
truth up a sleeve and
replaces it with hope and horror
and so the illusionist dreams
reality out of anticipation and fear.
Reality, the illusion.

December 24th, 2013

Just wanted to say ‘Merry Christmas’ to those who celebrate it
and Happy Wednesday to those who don’t,
sort of an exclamation point of good wishes
to highlight the world of joy
I would wish you all year round.

Happy, Merry, Joyous to all

:)

Linda

The Stone Without Moss

I’m the stone without moss, slowly rolling uphill,
the pebble the stone kicks aside.
I’m the lake far below waiting patient and still,
watching the pebble’s long dive.

I’m the last rippled echo that runs from the pebble
and dashes itself on the shore.
I’m the hands in the water, cupping and dripping,
to the mouth where the water is poured.

And I stand up again and I gaze at the mountain
And begin my eternal ascent.
I’m the stone without moss, the circling ripple,
till eternity’s utterly spent.

Counterpane Counterpoint

In the dark of the night,
when I switch on my light,
my bedside window is an echo of white.

Like a dim extension
of my room, it blends in,
reality merging with bedroom reflection.

At a glance I don’t know
what is quilt, what is snow,
and out of my bed a poplar tree grows

as the snow sings again
its mirrored refrain,
a white counterpoint to a white counterpane.

Rainbows Day and Night

Morning rainbows hang.
Pendant prism reflections
shiver in our breath.

Palms cupped together
hold the sunbeam’s refractions.
Hands filled with colour.

Moonlit prisms gleam.
An eerie rainbow reaches
blindly from midnight.

A glimpse of ghost light
glancing in pale reflections,
Flickers in star glow.

Group Participation Pantoums!

At my book launch on Saturday I invited members of the audience to contribute a line or phrase towards a poem, using these pictures as an inspiration:

 

escape2small2

 

 

 

 

“Escape” pen/ink & watercolour by L Studley

All the I’s Are Moving

All the I’s are moving
Wait here she said
I’ll be right back she said
So many dreams wait to rise behind our eyes

Wait here she said
My nose is not always where I thought it was
So many dreams wait to rise behind our eyes
I stand … and I wait

My nose is not always where I thought it was
But the lighthouse will show the way
I stand … and I wait
Where dreams fall

But the lighthouse will show the way
I’ll be right back she said
Where dreams fall
All the I’s are moving.

(several people contributed to this poem but only Rebekah Rempel included her name on the entry)
 

 

le pieton

‘le pieton’ (the pedestrian) Oil painting by George Connell (www.extroverse.ca)

Yet the Day

A man takes a final walk on a foggy sunlit beach
looking for the rainbow
It sounds like thunder
he clutched his umbrella

looking for the rainbow
yet the day is yellow, green, and gold
he clutched his umbrella
as the sun warmed his back, there was always a chance of rain

Yet the day is yellow, green, and gold
The endless wait for cabs
as the sun warmed his back, there was always a chance of rain
God, I miss my driver’s licence.

The endless wait for cabs
I’m leaning on a point
as the sun warmed his back, there was always a chance of rain
Alone in this street

I’m leaning on a point
Glistening chrome
Alone in this street
Have you come to take me home?

Glistening chrome
looking for the rainbow
Have you come to take me home?
A man takes a final walk on a foggy sunlit beach

Contributors:  Rebekah Rempel, Linda Studley, Margo Hannah, Anne Clayton, Charles D Quinn, and others (anon)

 

Book Launch getting nearer…

The official book launch isn’t until the 16th but I’m already selling the book online, locally, and have had requests to mail autographed copies… Very exciting!

The other day I received a call from CBC Radio requesting that I read one of the poems from the book so they could air it on Tuesday (November 12th).  Again, very exciting.

Thanks to all the folks out there who are buying the book to give as a Christmas presents. Please remember, if you want an autographed copy of the book, you’ll need to contact me directly, as the ones you can order online won’t be autographed.

 

 

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