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rain
to think that water can fall from the sky who will believe this when the future is so hot so dry that water never falls from the sky
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the first time i
tasted a fresh olive in Spain its soft texture and rich flavour, i smiled the first time i bought fresh red peppers at the market in Arizona the aroma filled the car, i sneezed the first time i hesitated, you said be gentle i felt ecstasy the first time i walked on white frost coated railway ties on the way to grade two, i felt magic the first time i tasted Johnnie Walker red, gulped it down, i threw up the first time i touched a dead person, i started to live the first time i held a newborn baby in my hands, a new life, i became insignificant More poems at: www.jamespangel.ca I can taste the words in my mind as
they form in my mouth ready to roll off the tip of my tongue sweet and gooey sharp, tart, spear like they penetrate my consciousness too soon those most delicious words build and build inside my jaw drops as the first “I” flows out, everything about me is in that “I” the top of my tongue caresses my upper teeth forming the “L” then lips parting “Love” goes forth your unblinking eyes like glaciers unmoving shielding deep mysteries and finally after eons from deep in my throat tongue curved and lips looking like an “O” the “y” flows forth and ”You” is born filling the canyon between us and still your face is a granite sculpture my mouth is limp, relaxed and moist slowly the corners of your mouth and eyes grow delicate happy lines of a smile and for a moment the space between us doesn’t exist an old crinkled
black and white photo tells the story he’s an unsmiling 42 she’s a grim 21 after the war to end all wars she was faced with limited options options her age were obliterated in the fields of France now on the island called “the rock” she looks around finally forfeiting love for a sensible arrangement allowing her to survive two
young boys brothers race down the sidewalk in front of our house umbrella’s one blue one red waving in the wind yelling with pure joy as the cold november rain soaks them to the skin useless conversations roll around in my head
you’re not even here, but you know the flower is dead lightness of being filters through the maple trees red, yellow and green fluttering in the breeze doctors getting out of cars stroll to the door old people sit waiting not wanted any more traffic lights vibrate red, yellow and green people and cars flowing back and forth in a dirty urban scene school kids warehoused on the right, seniors warehoused on the left you know it’s only a two minute walk between youth and death red brick buildings keep them well hidden away as the rest of us busily fill up our days coffee grounds settle to the bottom of my cup river valley spawns life in the rich delta mud orange cranes on the horizon cut the sky like knives erecting castles to the paper God, you know its never enough old woman with brown spotted hands creeps across the street pumped up steroid boy hits his horn, you know he’s got a date to keep oily slippery streets as the patterns converge he hits his brakes much too late and another spirit emerges school kids warehoused on the right, seniors warehoused on the left you know it’s only a two minute walk between youth and death red brick buildings keep them well hidden away as the rest of us busily fill up our days long endless fields
of corn green upon green as far as the eye can see small patches of prairie persist some life, birds and flowers resist black ribbon stretches into infinity slicing the monoculture in two a dead deer in the ditch every 200 kms reminds us nature still roams here clear cold water so pure you wouldn’t even see it if the sun’s rays weren’t bent finding their way to the rocky bottom it’s like liquid air flowing over rocks through the chasms second after second minute after minute hour after hour day after day year after year you could dive into it and disappear if it wasn’t so cold greyhound graveyard
early morning grey sky train#1 The Canadian westward bound an hour past the Peg slowly, reverently we pass a field littered with buses windshields shattered their eyes poked out others resting on their sides like roadkill wheels in the air going nowhere young trees have rooted gaining the upper hand shooting branches through side windows red, white, and blue paint behind the leaves so this is the place where the greyhounds go to die I never knew out of nothing
comes something empty space anticipates a dancer’s first step, swirl, leap random wood pieces grow into a 3D structure resisting gravity an empty page accepts a writer’s words without resistance an empty canvas ivory white absorbs a splash of paint with water colours travel like oil in a puddle an open heart empty of fear accepts first love wondering if it will last |
AuthorI started my "Poem-A-Day" writing exercise back in 2010. It was a way to get into the habit of writing everyday. It took awhile but once I got into it I really enjoyed the process. I took a break in 2023 to work on getting "Carbon Copy" into the wild. I also wanted to re-read my poem-a-day scribblings to see if there were any unpolished gems amongst the rubble. My plan is to post one per week in my Blog. Find "Carbon Copy" at: Archives
September 2024
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