Showing posts tagged Poetry

Last week we stripped off 30 years of varnish

from her handrails.  Flaky yellow shavings

filled the decks like sawdust in a stable.  

I hated seeing her like that —


stripped down to bare wood 

raw and vulnerable,

her lustre gone.  

And then the rain came.  

Yellow streaks ran down her gunwales like tears. 

This is my best attempt at keeping the sun off the outboard engine’s tiller.  I know, it looks like a ballerina’s foot in a pointe shoe

or an ostrich with an elongated head (and beady eye)

but it really is the tiller of the outboard 

covered by a kiddies sock. 

Please feed the cats that miaow and miaow 

at the moon all night.  Please feed the cats

that prowl the streets and scavenge scraps

from dumpsters.  Please feed the cats

that mewl for milk at four o’clock

each morning.  Don’t feed the cats

that slink along the blistered fence

and ambush rats.  Don’t feed those cats.


I open like a tulip in spring,

to sway in the breeze 

with the sun’s kisses

until dusk creeps in.

I close for the night, 

my cheeks on fire.

I must have been a


in my previous life.


You Say To-may-do, I Say To-mah-to

and I also say ba-nah-na, not ba-nan-a,

but you know what I mean.

I say chew-na with soya sawce

you say  too-na with soy sah-s

but I know what you mean.

The plumber didn’t know

when I called him to say

that the geyser was faulty.

"The geyser?"  He ass-kd.

(He hadn’t a clue)

"There’s no hot water."  I said

and we both laughed so hard 

but I knew what I meant.

Frozen to the bone

I stand rigid by the fire.

Flames flicker and dance.

It’s been a frosty kind of week.

Jack ran around the forest and left the ferns heavy with his frozen breath, longing for the sun, while singing

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  

But I have promises to keep,                                                            

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

Oh Okaay, I’ve been reading Robert Frost, the same Robert who once told his students that

They used to sprinkle beer from a watering can on the sidewalks outside the bar room to bring in the young. The smell tempted them inside. That’s the way it should be with literature and poetry in college.”

And now ‘a frosty’ tempts me                                                                    

with colour lovely, dark and deep.                                                          

That’s the way it should be                                                                    

before I go to sleep.

The parallel world has many parts.  Never assume anything.  

Late September 

They came by boat, slipping

quietly through the pesto-green

water, the oars skimmed the surface

like a skipping stone.

They bumped the dock with a thud.

She clutched the jetty, squinting

into the afternoon sun, her wrinkles                                                            

gorged deep in her face                                                                                  

like a river.

She bit her lip.

He pulled himself up, glancing  

around the marina, his long neck

twisted right around

like an ostrich.

He dumped the trash.       

I sat in the cockpit, watching  

them drift away, their shadow


like a dream,                                                                         

but I could smell their saltiness.

In the Morning

The sea smells like cucumber,

thinly sliced

straight from the fridge,

and with the sunrise

shadows shrink —

the cove is steaming like a bath.