Sepia Memories

no matter 

the words, deeds 

or other valiant efforts

yesterday will always be 

this old tattered snapshot

that keeps fading into sepia memories

which only I can see
~

Ghost Town

The Last of Duncrief

Untold history

languishing into ruin

only ghosts remain

~

Not far from where I live, an old ghost town has almost disappeared back into the realms of history. Only a decrepit house stands where once hope flourished. No mill left to mark settler's dreams. No plaque planted to tell its tale. Just broken glass, battered boards and a hint of what could have been in small-town Ontario...

scars

soft petals tinged by

past breezes, freezes, memories

forever noted

yet beauty amidst the scars

show strength in our tomorrows

Mizpah

11 - the number of years we would have had
what would have happened?
where would we be?
would it have been deserving of steel?
or would we have survived babies?

7 - the number of years you've been gone
so many moments
lost before their time
I've stumbled and reworked them
a life that should have been our prime

3 - the number of years we had
marriage was a gift
one I didn't quite  foresee
you gave me all your everything
your love for eternity

∞
I never will forget
the days when you were mine
I still live them every day
our hearts will always twine

Happy Anniversary my love. We would have been married 11 years today. While our days were stolen early, I'll always celebrate the time I had with you and take joy in your living memory left to me in our children. Blessings to you sweet man.

We've got mizpah...

predictions

walking down the street

April air 

freezes

words 

into wisps

of thought that

break

on naked knees

thrown down

in challenge of the

weather

predictions

that were right 

all along

~snow~
✵

waves

I dwell behind flash-
ing cursors
so as not 
to upset 
my
place,
space in
an uncertain
universe of married
thoughts, ideas,
calisthenics
that rock
egos
fragile
after fractious
flings in the netherworld
of love, restrained and drained

no more

words

~

words

thoughts, ideas

gathering, forming, flowing

oh to edit the perfect sentence

language

~

Couplet Challenge

It's National Poetry Month. 
What lines are you penning?
Get your juices flowing
and start the couplets spinning.

If you are looking for a way to kick-start some poetic thoughts, why not check out the CBC's Couplet challenge today (April 7th). They will be sharing a rhyming couplet from a Canadian poet every hour starting at 9am. Complete the next line and you could win...

Here's my entry from the 10am prompt from A.F. Moritz

"Wisdom's invisible in children's eyes;"
Akin to not seeing the blue in summer skies #CBCPoetry

What would you write?

Call and Response

snap
electric response
too fast to catch, hold back
as fire races through my mind
in-dig-na-tion
whywhywhywhywhy

Breathe, 
   breathe...

and I calmly
erase ~ ~ ~
carefully edit
my politely worded
RESPONSE, but
everyone on the stringer
can hear the strident tone

frustration

and are clapping,
applauding the words
that they too held
but only I released
for us all
...

Receding

slowly receding snowline

pulls back to reveal 

last year's forgotten

last week's promise

and a tease of 

tomorrow's sun

~Spring~

There's hope yet

Frozen

frozen winter dreams

blanket the world in snowbanks

tough job for spring sun

~

sunset dreaming

~sunset~

searing eyes

your light fades in the sky

sets on a weekend

saturated in 

sisterhood

love

and a promise

of more tomorrows

for me, us, and more.

bring on another

roadtrip

bedtime

little feet running

squeals and giggly fun

squeaky clean faces

flee

tubside grunge

and

soft gurgles fade

to water drop

-pop-

you can't outrun bedtime

snuggle 

huggle

zzzz

After Midnight

~ click 

The light turns on.
Wind howls outside my window
 - pain
The clock strikes,
after midnight?
Heedless,
the words march on
demand their ink on the page

Sleep!

the mind cries,
but when the light 
is extinguished
the words 
keep marching on...

~ click

Image Source: RGB stock, saavem

Dancing Flames

everyone loves fire

like moths to a blazing sun

watch the dancing flames

ghosts

The ghosts come from my closet
the door swings open wide
voices fill the airwaves.
I must take it in stride

I didn't know the door was shut
I never knew it slammed
upon so many faces
til suddenly I'm deprogrammed

Now time's a funny object
It's given me some gifts
I must decide which are welcome
and which ones to set adrift

Do they all come wrapped in paper
present everlasting truth
or do some hide secret messages
to uncover like a sleuth?

As history slides still further
I feel it yet inside
it's left a permanent mark
the scars I can't abide

Doubt crosses many borders
I grapple one on one
with ghosts who stand in front of me
and wish this had never begun

Lest We Forget

Their uniforms crisp
Roles serious and dedicated
Their missive- our Freedom 

Marching, they came towards us
Strict row upon row to Serve
Silent we stood waiting

   Ready for them

On this day to honour
All the sacrifices made
And all those whom have never come back

Tears glistened in eyes
Hands trembled on canes
The bugle sounded our cries

   The Last Post...

We always rise again
Hands to heart
Eyes to sky

We stand on guard
Two minutes offered
Silent in humble thought

   Our gift of Remembrance

To men and women
Brave, noble and bold
Will our thanks ever be enough?

Poppies pinned to chests
Salutes raised to the dead
We will Never forget

Nail in the Wall

Unpacking pictures 

old photos of days gone by

memories long spent

moments no longer relived

not worth the nail in the wall

Door Knockers & Palm Crossers

local politics

edge of your seat evening

election results

in four years to cut mustard

or shatter beliefs once more

Bye, bye incumbents

hello to new councillors

fresh blood, young faces

may you be the infusion

that London needs to shine bright

~

London's newest mayor on election night - Matt Brown

The Reading

I sat in the aisle seat
(the better to escape if need be)
Another woman munched a salad
  crunch, crunch, 
    chew
at the far end of my aisle.
I was late for the workshop;
the workshop ran late for me.
The poets would be along momentarily.

Frozen in the room lights
I glanced at vibrant scarves
draped limply along drab walls.
They could have been hung
  dramatically
with flair to fill this room
and the voices that would ring
with words
  dramatically...

Instead I hid behind
my unbelonging, my newness
that clung to me like
the pinched pins
that suffered the colours
meant to infuse the space,
this gathering of bards

I punched at my phone,
glanced at the empty lectern
and side-eyed my solitary seatmate

til the lights dimmed

And then the words rang out
staccato song
followed by aggrandized soliloquies
pretentious prose that elicited
  ...titters
  silence...
and awesome thought.

I related,
Belonged
and clapped along with poetasters alike.

But the house lights cast me aside anew
and I fled.

There was no belonging to the chummy chattering that erupted around me.
No faces to smile into nor laugh with.
No comment on the prose
we were so blessed to consider that night.
Just a cold car,
my single key
and a lonesome home
once more

Will I dare return again?