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the anti-poets.

01/03/2011

(here is the work of the fall. an assiduous craigslist poster, i stopped the practice when a fervent anti-poet kept flagging and having the posts deleted– much to my and my fellow poem-a-day e-friends’ chagrin.)

pensée.

by this rain
by this snow
let us be
let us know
what to say
what to feel
about this day.


non-haiku haiku.

over coffee
our strands and stories
weave to lace


autumn childhood.

the smell of earth
of burning firewood
coming up through chimneys
clinging to hair, to fabrics

walking through the forest
the damp brown leaves
perfect decomposing mess
of my beloved forest floor

sole prints
competition
‘n sing song
skipping

the joy of being away
of being f a r
tucked away
in a fold of time
a fold of forest living

loving the warmth of inside
after the red cheeked
crisp-cold joy of outside

the smells of soups simmering
the sounds of dice rolling
the laughter of a sister

when the family was one.

haiku-esque. ish.

sans sens
un s’en dessus dessous
insensé


disorganized et décousu.

i’ve taken to walking
folk in stereo
during the sunny mid day

taking the time
to notice those
who take the time

ceux qui prennent le temps de sourire
celles qui marchent lentement
ceux qui jasent entre eux

urban scouts who take the time
to appreciate the whimsy of
a lone graffito on a mail box

or artful folk taking pictures
of small architectural wonders
that no one ever sees

ou ces beaux cyclistes
en pause à r’garder
l’monde passer

i am grateful to you, curious stranger,
for reminding me that my city
can be something other than its too often
too grey civil servant self.

winter/at a standstill (yesterday’s poem).

every morning waking
looking out onto
beautifully bare birch branches

every morning hoping i’ve woken
to find these gracious limbs hushed
slowed and snow-covered

to find their sway muted
by a cold cloak of white
to find the world made new and boreal and quiescent

by the coat which makes the air crisper
that makes mittens sweeter
makes cheeks rosier
our breath easier
c a l m e r

every morning hoping
for that change of pace
simple. forced. and familiar.

morning.

smiling through your caring caution

you tread lightly near my barefootedness

once your cleats are laced up

sweet morning tender.

yesterday’s poem/half.hearted.

by half past five
i’m half passed
i’m done.
tired.

la semaine co-llée au corps
plus l’goût d’r’tourner dehors.

get through giddy.

split splat pitter patter running to roll to cycle to work
finding ways to bike in birks in the cold
and keep those toes
from freezing

lunch hour strolls in the sun in the city
in your smile in my daydreams
in that night in that love
in this beginning

trying to keep my f o c u s
to get through work weeks
appointments and sessions
meetings and drop-ins

in a calm and orderly fashion
without this giddy smile
this happy absent mind
mais j’n’y peux rien.

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