Tag Archives: poetry

Bed-Sized Universe

In the liminal state
Between yesterday’s deluge of logistics and over-stimulation
And tomorrow’s hopefully more meditative study
Of deep river shore line,
I lie in bed
Between clay ground and vapour clouds.

I can’t feel fully grounded
I keep floating up,
Like bed spins but more trippy.

Like the mortal coil extending
But not to the degree where I’d lose touch of the ground completely,
Which is critical for staying conscious of two states that rarely blur this much.

And the states of my being
Compete for supremacy,
But I resist and carry them both
In my liminality
In my knowing
In my wishing
In my seeking and sensing for truths or just facts or just moments.

Because my bed-sized universe
Is both infinite and conveniently knowable within my capacity,
And I secretly want to stay here
Like John and Yoko in their bed-in
But mine will be all mine
With people drifting in and out
As I zoom in on their mortal coils and drag them close
Closer than they usually are
Closer than I usually see them
Close enough
To know
And sense
And wish them here,
Out of time itself.

Paused Gravity

Paused Gravity

The silent accord
Between the tidal bore
and the falling backward
Off the cliff

The fire red maple leaf
Giving up clinging
to the twig
Which itself is about to be blown off
by the frigid gusting November wind

Trying to stand perfectly still
On the moss
On the edge of the field
On the corner of now and whenever forward
Aware of the dew settling in
on the top of toes

And the the moon appears
from behind the cloud
Shaped like the teddy bear
Of childhood daydreams
Lying on the lawn of the top field at school
With the three best friends who’d never leave you


Thriving, not surviving

Thriving, not surviving

the slow cello accompaniment
wasn’t haunting

it wasn’t doubtful

it was the soundtrack for the path she was on
and it was trapped in a coda

trying to find some gravitas instead of just being in touch with her own

it was the difference between surviving and actually

it was the recognition of internal strength instead of that manic need to grip

it wasn’t too much to hope for
because it was underneath the layers of clothes and cologne and masks of assertiveness and cleverosity

it was about knowing what time the sun will rise tomorrow
and how much earlier the next day

it was about mastery of meteor shower tracking
and constellation counting

and telling mythstories to eager ears of children

it was about knowing if that smell of impending rain in the summer
required an umbrella
or just a willingness to be misted in a sprinkle

it was about waking up in the morning
not wondering any more
not worrying about absent gravitas
but knowing which rules
didn’t need to be followed
and which friend to visit unexpectedly

for it was all
grade 4 daisy chains
and 104 year old grandmothers
and the smell of the long grass
going to seed.