Long Hot Saskatchewan Summer Haiku 3
Tag Archives: Attraction
Red-Winged Blackbird
Red-Winged Blackbird
PERSPECTIVE
PERSPECTIVE
The ibis of OZ
has a very funny schnoz
Yet other ibises it seems
see long crooked noses in their dreams
ODE TO NERUDA
ODE TO NERUDA
You have gifted the world with your being
and your words the fruits of your being
You have seen the mother and the lover
in the sea tides rocking rhyme
In the flowers of her hair
in your politics of care
You remind us of the role of all poets
to open and meet the world naked
To perceive the world naked
to receive the world naked
To sing the world naked
naked as your hand
SMALL TOWN – GRADE SEVEN
SMALL TOWN – GRADE SEVEN
In a town of six or seven hundred
you get a cross section of the country
One classmate’s father’s suicide with shotgun
splattered walls
One boy my age, drowned
in an upturned truck in a muddy ditch
One with leukemia, white as the snow
One redhead, Leslie French, as beautiful and
mysterious as the language
One blonde, Shirley Long, to long for
She’s only interested in grade 9 boys
One bruised heart
Not yet hard enough to be broken
BUTTERFLY
BUTTERFLY
I had this urge to turn
and touch my lips to yours
ever so ever so lightly
My softness to your sweetness
like a butterfly’s
first taste
of
cotton candy
EAGLES
EAGLES
I watched them glide and wondered
do the eagles see the air
I know of course that I can
when there’s enough moisture there
But I was thinking about something extra
Like how a dog can hear high notes
And I can feel you from anywhere
When there’s enough moisture there
MONA LISA
MONA LISA
I’m so thankful you were there
like a Mona Lisa fair
To show me things I’d never see
and to model for my poetry
Which is not to compare
the artist or the style
But only to confirm again
the value of a smile
DARK EYED LADY
DARK EYED LADY
An instant connection
with richness and light
that’s deeper than centuries
and warmer than life
Though if death’s darkness
is as welcoming as this
no wonder people hurry
to sink into that bliss
And though I’m pretty sure
I’m not ready to be dead
I’d like to sit by those waters
and rest my weary head
And drop pebbles of my poetry
just to watch the ripples spread