One of my earliest memories: summer 1969, in the farmhouse kitchen with Mom radio talking about Moon Landing. Through the Tang years of the 70s, we’d play astronaut games, all of us kids home and schoolyard filled with the allure of space. We watched the space operas on TV, too thrilled at the prospect of…
Month: May 2020
May 28: View of a Pine
what do they call those? candles? that the pine lifts skyward still. she is winter-killed, red around her trunk, and cramped, encamped between two houses, not the forest she expected at my window as she rises, spring by spring she bears away any excuse for not trying. there is wind, there is sun, there is…
Meditation: Gold
do you miss the rain ancestors? or is that how you touch earth again? do you watch over one nest? or roam? spirit feet like seeds riding is that you singing in summer storms? do you remember? is that why spruce wears pollened buds? this gold as transient as breath. Image by lldigo via…
May 23: Heart
become accustomed to the weight memory lays across your heart lift it anyway become schooled in the crack and creak pain of rising one more time kneel anyway numb your skin to the lash every absence a thorn lean in somewhere in all this brush and scrub meaning and renewal send green tight curled leaves…
May 22: Certainty of Trees
Gratitude to the rain. Gratitude to the sky. Gratitude to the many tiny things. What are we supposed to do? Arise into cities, bloom and shed light? It’s true, I don’t think much about how my brothers live. There they stand, gnarled still offering softest green in faithful bargain, to the sky. Look how their…
Rainwashed
rainwashed morning sky could last until dusk all low smooth silver and smoke elm queen shakes out her tresses daughter plum shyly offers a branch blue black asphalt path, too, shines here, the cedar fence there, willow trellis peonies contemplate sun to come reach leaves glow yellow, red, burgundy forecasting and remembering fall even here,…
Who Wears the Pants?
Victoria Day just passed, thinking about Queens, Empresses, fashion. Those dresses and notions that decent women’s legs could not be seen. Ripples of that time, that empire, still eddy around the world. Researching my next novel. Watching fashion historian Karolina Zebrowska’s videos, and found a comment that led me to this article. Who knew? French…
Call and Response: a Flash Collaboration
say that you’ll light a fire at your going out into the night say that you’ll carry your bright orb of soul through the transit say that you’ll flow through the grey into rosen with gold in your wake say all this: but don’t speak, only colour the sky for a voice. All images by…
Saint Behind the Glass
Here’s a lyrical meditation from NYC author Elizabeth Frank, whose latest novel arrives from Stonehouse Press in November. Elizabeth Frank
camping in search of bears
there was bear poop at the foot of the ravine just by the trail full of berry husks, intriguing to the dogs. there was a cougar on victoria park golf course just below downtown that could put a hole in one. there was a lynx at rest in the legislature grounds approving the shape of…
May 3: these old boots
I have cared too much what people think but not about these old boots; nobody worth knowing would scoff at their scuffed toes rebuilt soles, leather scarred by usefulness. I hope my face becomes as lovely. Today’s image by Christoph Shütz on pixabay.com
May 2: At First Light
at first, light shocks sound shining from leaf to leaf, and one upturned vessel of bright hope strawberry blossom born before may at first light, then darkening lines whirl describing thermals over the city, around again cranes and snow geese aloft, whistling to themselves a thousand thousand blossoms, wings, windows means of greeting the song….
Prairiepomes 