Underwater Burn

lindastudley2 Comments

Is happiness just the ability to hold depression at bay, to stay tears or at the very least to reach down into your last receding well of ‘oh well’  and pull up one more pail of ‘I’m fine’ to pour on the demons who unfortunately have learned to hold their breath and burn under water.  Hold your breath just one more time and see if you can outlast them. Hold your breathe, no ‘maybe’ about it, just grit your teeth and sink beneath the confusion hoping for a foothold so you can run like Hell for shore. There’s always ‘tomorrow’ – blessing or curse it can always be worse, it’s a matter of ‘will’ that won’t matter if you don’t care, so sleep if you can and hope for dreams of what could ‘be’ if the demons would just drown and wash away, feel the salt water purge them from your soul and try to find the urge to try just one more time to find something ‘better’

 

If you string together the words in quotations = ‘Oh well, I’m fine. Maybe tomorrow will be better.’

Soft Blue

lindastudley5 Comments

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

lindastudley2 Comments

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

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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!

 

 

The Stone Without Moss

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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

lindastudley3 Comments

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

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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!

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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)