Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Month: November, 2013


The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:47pm

What Is The Intrinsic Value

Of One Human Life

— Where — On This Planet —

Or Anywhere Else?

Is There Somewhere We Could Go

Where We Each Would Be Worth

All The Silver, All The Gold

On Some Other Planet — What If

It Didn’t Have Any — What If

It Had A Plethora Of Diamonds?

In My Book, We Better Stick

With What We Know

& I Know Each Of Us

Cannot Be Measured

Any Where

By Any Thing


The Hawk Corner Room 4:57pm

The Softest Colour In The Whole Wide World

Is The Subtle Pink Of The East

Settling Over The Light Haze Of Blue

At The Horizon — The Pink

Rests Above It

In An Extended Layer

Of Sunset Powder

Sent Over From The West


November 20th, The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:45pm

My Husband says I am at My Descriptive Best

writing about what’s around Me

but tonight I need to write what’s inside

I am talking to My Inner Him

incubated as an alien but He is from Me

The Persona of My Own Making

in My Gut

He is The Me I am in love with

fixed within My Lover — I wrote Lover!


The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:15pm

Hunter has a bunch of red roses

& He’s at work tonight

He’ll see them when He gets home

He’ll see them in a lime-green glass juice pitcher

— for want of a sizeable vase —

here they are in the living room

they’re beautiful — full & unmarked

with His Birthday Card from This Morning

standing open



The Hawk Living Room 7:30pm

Eliza’s Roses this week

will not end up the dried out buds

of every previous batch

This Week They have unfurled —

One even revealing Its Perfect Whirl

within The Orange Nautilus

of My Mind


The Hawk West Desk Window 1:40pm

This Body, dressed in space-spattered silk

is destined to be Something

Big in This Universe

This Body Is Being Saved

for The Voyage of An Eternal Lifetime

bound by One Other:  Star Man

Who Heeds The Call

of Other Worlds

where Time Travel

means growing

superficially younger

& where Gardens of Eden

Come Ten To A Block


The Hawk Dining Room 8:20am

There’s no orb of sun to be seen

only a pool of liquid light

out past the neighbour’s roof line

now when I blink

I see a streak of lime-gold

against the black

of My Inner Eye



The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:22pm

I watched The Sun

born under a solid lip

of pink-streaked cloud

He arrived into This World

Radiant Red

while My Alien

squirmed inside

beneath My Lower Rib Cage

crying fiercely to Me



The Hawk West Desk Window 3:32pm

I get My Messages

in The Shower

a bellhop knocks on the door

& slides The Envelopes under

They’re usually edged with Gold

— sometimes even Silver —

They’re Replies from

The Man Who Reads My Mind

— for confirmation purposes —

My Replies to Him

are laced within the fluidity

of My Daily Bath



The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:11pm

I am alone in My House

sitting before My 3-dimensional Flame

of glass, lit with a tea light

deep in Its Centre

like The Centre of Me

bright with caution