"Good Morning, World!"

Month: August, 2017

End of The Wild

The Tomato-coloured Couch 1:50pm

Eye have seen my first and last

Flock of goldfinches flitting

Amongst thistle-like flowering weeds

To have become my summer backyard–

Tomorrow it gets mowed

By a man I have yet to meet

In an effort to move my house

Into the rest

Of this tidy neighbourhood

See The Sun

The Hawk Deck 7:15am 

The Sun looks like a planet

Glowing this morning

Inside a feathered cloud

Of not fog — a lateral segment of cloud

Radiating multitudinous lines of white

Along its southern reaches


The Hawk Corner Room 6:28am

Before the first glint of sun

I heard three notes

From a distant Loon —

The ancient sound of comfort

From a source I had not known

Since I was first divided

In My Mother’s womb

The Last Night

My Big Bedroom 6:25am

Eye reject the “love”

Of those blue-eyed creatures

Of sly smiles

And jolting gestures

Trying to put me

Inside the very boxes

Of their belongings

Eye want out of My House

The Greatest Gesture

My Bedroom 8:30am 

I upheld

His strong left arm

Couched around my shoulder

As we crossed an old street

In Sag Harbor

Over thirty years ago —

My neck has been starved

For a man’s working fingers

And I have worn a black bow

Ever since


The Hawk Corner Room 6:20am 

Not so depressing

To watch the sun go down for

It’s always rising


The Visit

Port Clyde, NS

The breeze of a grandmother’s kitchen

Wafts in,

Complete with Kitty Kitty

On the window sill —

And a crow named “Mo”

— wrought iron but thin —

I am allowed His Chair

And privileged I will stay

Until The Day

Eye Die

Two Gulls

The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 4:30pm

Gully wants to make SURE

I Feed His Friend —

He sat on the rail and refused

My handout of chicken

And flew instead to His Companion

On a neighbour’s barn roof —

To sit with Her

And mewed, together

The most plaintive of mews

Lunch Time

The Tomato-coloured Couch 12:45pm

Today Eye fed a flock of gulls —

My Son was right —

Gully called all his friends

When he saw my plate

Of fries from last night —

He opened wide his big yellow beak

And threw his beautiful head back

To yell his loudest yell

And the big white creatures

Congregated — one crashed

Into the Scraggly Apple

And the leftovers were gone.