Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Month: July, 2017

July 31st 5:25 am

The Hawk Corner Room 

Eye would infinitely prefer

To see the deep orange

Of  Self Organizing Galaxy 

At dawn along the moonlit blue

Of The Atlantic

Than The Western Sky

At evening which is only going

To disappear

“Stratospheric Universe”

My Bedroom 5:50am

see “Story of a Map”

Using the back of my car

Protected by an old lavender sheet

From Eliza’s bed

Eye am gathering cans of paint

Mostly full

From the well-organized

Waste Management Facility

On the 103

And stacking them

Rust and all

On my front portico

Where I once sat

Like a statue

Contemplating a former life

Miss My Commemorative Canadian Citizenship Certificate

My Bedroom 8:50pm

Eye will wear the famous

Black Oprah Dress

From so long ago —

He will wear white

And sit across from me

@ my round marble table

Faded from

The Eastern Light

Of my never years

Extravagant Sky

The Hawk Corner Room 5:40am 

What sweeter sound

To be awakened by

Than the song of a bird

Or a lover’s kiss?

Skipper’s Birthday

The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 5:25am

Eye see The Hawk


Silhouetted tree tops


Against the dawning North —


of The Srub Spruce

I had never considered




My Bedroom 6:05am

My external bundle of white

Thick cotton Terry cloth robe

From Hammacher Schlemmer

IS my mountain of pain relief —

The Opiate

The Antidote

before people


Global Economic Transformation

The Hawk Kitchen 5:30pm

Today I cried out

In my repetitive voice

For the immortal flesh

Of Silver

Which descends from my mind

And not anybody else’s

Because it came to me

When I was unafraid —

I have it in spirit

In vision

But I am in need

Desperate need

Of its weight

In hand

New Notion

The Hawk Kitchen 5:15pm

There’s a new notion of God


It has to do with you

Whether you believe or not

The concept is rising

Through the crowds at night

It has to do with sex —

Did I say it right?

The Prostitute’s Reflection

The Hawk Kitchen 4:40pm

Today I sat in The Brilliant Sun

With open door

Just for fun

I sat before a wall of brick

And no one came

To buy my trick

I soon got bored

And drove away

But not before

I vowed to sell

My soul off

To posterity

It’s The “Artist” In Me, I’m Afraid

The Hawk Kitchen 4:11pm

No wonder Van Gogh

Cut off his ear!

I feel like cutting off

My left breast

And serving it up

To grace my supper

Of left-over

— You got it! —

Chicken breast

Sauteed in my husband’s

Favourite sauce