Be Still
Feb 25 2011


In the bitter cold
on a winter night
in the middle of nowhere
the world is unnaturally still.
Here, in the frigid depths
of an immense ocean of air,
dense with cold.

The full moon is gigantic,
casting grotesque shadows
of the bare branches
of skeletal trees,
the gnarled trunks of snags.
A ghostly tableau,
frozen in place
on contact.

In the steady light
I can see every bud,
sharp, and tightly wound.
Set since summer, dormant for months
they wait,
patient for spring.
Which has never failed to come;
at least until now.
No animal ventures out.
The snow sits
where it was left by wind,
as if it’s been like this forever.

The only sound
is the crunch of my footsteps
through virgin snow.
My breath disturbs the air —
crystal fog, suspended,
the rasp of my exhaust.
And my mind, racing as usual
lost in thought.
Spinning its wheels like a stranded car
digging-in deeper.

I am a vandal
in this monastic silence,
breaking the vow.
All the initiates
looking up as I pass,
the spell of contemplation
shattered.
Perhaps they are considering the Psalm
where it says
“Be still, and know Me”.
Something about faith, and fate
and surrender.
Or perhaps humility,
letting the answer come
no question.

I stop dead in my tracks
can’t help but look up.
Hours have passed
since I first set out
and the moon hasn’t budged an inch,
its place in heaven fixed
its shadow eternal.
Not even the earth, the clockwork sun
can break this awful stillness.


I mean "awful" in its archaic sense, well as its modern one. I mostly want to invoke a feeling of awe; but I want to temper that feeling with a measure of dread and foreboding.

I Take The Long Way Home
Feb 21 2011


I take the long way home.
Putting off the moment
of opening the door,
when yellow light
will fan across the porch
flooding out,
and soft warm air
spill into the cool night
with its shiver of winter wetness.
Something bubbling on the stove,
a radio, murmuring.

The steps are still treacherous with ice
where melted snow re-froze
the broken gutter drips.
As usual, the key will stick
and the lock turn heavily.
The door swings in
toppling little boots like dominos,
or getting wedged
barely open.

I stop for awhile
enclosed in darkness,
watching the sky, still light
deepen from azure to indigo.
Street lights flicker to life
a block at a time,
so I can see snow
swirling in the circular glow,
a daisy-chain of snow-globes
now blacking out the sky.
And trailing behind me
on the unswept walk,
a line of footprints, that seem lost,
vacant steps
that end right here,
will not move on
without me.

I take the long way home.
With frequent stops
avoiding shortcuts
waiting to walk
until the signal gives certain permission.
A green unblinking Cyclops
enforcing order,
and I willingly submit.

And eventually, make my way in,
the kitchen dark
the vestibule empty
the air, still heavy
with badly burnt toast.
In the small hours of this morning
that seems so long ago;
standing at the sink
scraping off coal black crust,
and eaten cold.

A Bear Doing Cha-Cha
Feb 17 2011


I can’t remember
if it’s the 800 lb gorilla
or the elephant in the room.
In a single sentence
my essential truth.
How conveniently I forget.
How my power of denial
has not lessened
with age.

I will slip past the pachyderm
meticulously unobservant.
Turning sideways
sucking in my chest,
brushing against its wrinkled grey skin.
Which is surprisingly soft, and giving.
And tactfully never ask
how this unlikely mammoth
in the beginning
managed to squeeze itself in.

And why 800 lbs
the limit?
The suspect round number
the timid excess?
Go all the way, I say
1000 at least,
a bestiary of unnatural feats.
Great ape to King Kong,
a blue whale, beached.
Fish-out-of-water
dancing bears, doing cha-cha
a star-crossed frog,
that longs for a Princess to kiss.

Or some other mythical beast,
unicorn, gryphon, sphinx.
With its enigmatic smile,
like the Cheshire cat, Alice’s rabbit.
Or the blind man’s camel
that comes out front-to-back.

As I suddenly vanish
down the open manhole
I never noticed,
my gaze fixed, unwavering.
The contingent bliss
of denial.

Dry Cold
Feb 15 2011


He will trundle home
in late afternoon
in the grey-blue glow
of twilight.
When the wind has finally died,
and the dry cold
feels like a solid mass,
weighing down on the world.

Pulling a plastic sled
with gutted fish, flash-frozen,
a steel auger, folding chair, tiny tent
teeter-totter rod, heavy test.
Left-over minnows, left behind,
hardening into trampled snow.
The sled is brittle in the cold
and bounces sharply.

Ice fishing, alone, on the frozen lake,
a small dark object, in a shapeless parka
huddled all day
in the vast expanse,
unobstructed wind
going right through him.

He will fillet, pan fry
fresh-caught pickerel,
the firm white flesh
the delicate taste.
But catching fish, in winter
through a small black hole
is simple,
just sit
and they sluggishly come,
fat fish, without much fight.

No, it’s the purification of cold
the astringent silence.
The humility of solitude
under so much sky
untracked miles of ice.

One foot is numb
the tip of his nose, frozen.
And the small round hole
is already closing over,
sealing all the fish
into their warm dark place,
big fish getting bigger
little fish for prey.

And by the bright red stain
of blood, and spilled fish guts
the minnows, by ravens,
strutting, haggling, flapping
crow-hopping daintily.

Until the wind picks up,
and all evidence of the man
vanishes for good.

The Fullness of Time
Feb 13 2011


What will become
of high school sweethearts
in the heat of summer?
In the torpid sun
when parasitic insects buzz.
When rivals blossom
fruit ripens, then drops,
free-for-the-picking.
All too brief, in its luscious peak.

When the honeymoon of adolescence
ends?
When the sweethearts depart for college
and re-invent themselves?
When life eventually commences
with a succession of jobs, new friends
the next 0ne-true-love?
At high school reunions
which neither attends?
When one leaves town,
and a marriage ends?

And when, unexpectedly, they meet again
by intention, or chance
or act of God?

If you are romantically inclined
you already know the ending.
And if you believe in destiny
there can be no doubt.
Me, I’m not sure how it comes out.

Hair thins, bodies soften, idealism grows dim.
And to re-visit
the younger version of himself
in middling middle age
puts everything at risk,
the self-sustaining illusions
of memory.
But by now
after so many opportunities have been missed
can he let her go, again?

The high school lovers.
The heat of summer.
The fruit, still luscious
in the fullness of time.

Between Floors
Feb 8 2011


Time stops
in the brief interval between floors.
While space goes on,
gently ascending
at a set angle
a constant rate.
Each of us fixed in place,
steadily scrolling past.
Time out,
a brief breath
of patience.

We tightly grasp the handrail
which is black, substantial,
a reassuring point
of attachment.
And frown at the iconoclasts
who break rank, squeezing past,
too busy to wait.

The stairs silently glide,
stainless steel teeth
meshing smoothly,
appearing, and disappearing
in an infinite loop
that seems, for all the world
to be effortless.
While in some hot subterranean chamber
gears clash
pistons shudder
taut belts whiz and fray,
transporting us
in unearthly silence.
Rising up
one floor closer to heaven,
our precious energy saved
so we can give praise
to the gods
of consumption.

We avoid eye contact
with our fellow travellers,
watching, instead, the strangers descending beside us,
down, down, down
to a dark netherworld
of bargain bins
and coupon redemption.
Smiling to ourselves
as we are lifted up,
breathing-in the rarefied air
of haute couture.
And standing in judgement
of the tightly-budgeted souls
who have fallen so low.
Most of all, their acts of charity,
conferring an afterlife
on 2nd hand clothes.

A Small Green Garter

Feb 2 2011

I held a snake

once.

Weaving through my fingers, coiling up.

The God-given fear of leglessness

momentarily overcome.

That darting tongue, tasting my scent.

The long muscular body

writhing like a live wire

or instant death.

A small green garter

we called “gardener”;

young men, as yet unfamiliar

with fetish, and fashion

temptation, attraction,

the hooks and fasteners

of fussy lingerie.

I was surprised by his dryness,

the pleasant roughness, touching.

Even the sense of oneness

with another living creature,

however alien

and unknowable.

Snakes, spouting poison,

unhinged jaws

downing furry rabbits whole.

Slithering up the pants

of unsuspecting boys.

I dropped him just-like-that,

and he shimmied off, whip-fast

wanting no part of me.

The mythic beast

condemned to belly through the dirt

for his fatal deceit.

Whose only real weapon, it turns out

is concealment.

Is this reptilian thing

evil by nature?

Or a moral agent, like us

capable of sin;

transgressing at will

repenting unheard?

The Architecture of Snow
Jan 31 2011


Underneath the snow
earth is unexpectedly warm.
The planet’s molten core
pressing up.
Soil, slowly decomposing.
The body heat of rodents
scurrying to and fro
at ground level.
As foxes cock their ears
and hawks patrol,
outstretched wings
feathering the air
with lethal precision.

The winter garden
is dormant.
The uncut grass
too weak to stand,
its green chlorophyll spine
sucked dry.
And January sun
diffuses through the snow,
a blue electric glow
distilled from sunlight.

Ice crystals, and air
in a delicate balance
of compression and freeze and thaw,
until the architecture is lost,
and cold
penetrates to ground level.
When spring is too far off,
and frost
goes deep enough to kill.

Optical Illusion
Jan 29 2011


A portrait in black and white
is mostly grey,
every shade imaginable.

How white
depends on tricks of light,
fugitive shadows
a phantom gaze.

And how black is black?
How far down
into bottomless dark
can you go?

If only colour would last,
but it’s far too natural
for the stillness
I crave.
Knowing that nothing is permanent
and lies get told,
and even the camera obscura
over-exposed.
Like abstract art,
it’s all
in the eye of the beholder.

They thought the photograph
would capture their souls.
But in pictures, surface is everything.
And everything fades
to the same dull grey
in natural light.