Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: nature

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SILVER & GOLD

The Hawk West Desk Window 8:35am

Silver makes All The Difference —

It holds Reflected Light — You Can See

Your Self in Its gleaming surface

like The Moon

unrubbed It is neglected

stood upon It is sacred

Gold holds no such properties —

merely an internal glow

raging like The Sun

coveted by Men

We Are In The Silver Era

THE AVIARY

The Hawk Portico 2:10pm

I live in a spring-sung aviary

— it has no cage —

I sleep to the peepers

birds mark the day

they have no boundary

but the shore beyond

I live My Life in sustenance

long past the unsung

chapters I wrote

devoted to loss —

now I am here

with wings

as My Cross

THE MOON as seen by My Uncle*

The Hawk Library 5:22pm

Here is A Painting

I have followed all My Life

first at The Valley Cottage House

over the white mantle

then moved to a dark wall

of The Shakespeare House kitchen

Now, in Its mature glory

hung in Hunter’s New Library

where I can sit in Our Wing Chair

across from The Subtle Watercolour

of The Moon as unpainted paper —

Its reflection’s sparkle unpainted

and Its Luminosity

spread from inky cloud

to Hudson River Water Scape

with a 3-planked, 4-posted dock

bathed in silver

*Ernest Beverly Walden

THE HAWK MUSKRAT POND

April 5th, The Hawk West Desk Window 10:50pm

Tonight I Hear The Peepers First

A Sound I Hold So Dear

Heralding My Spring To Me

Allaying All I Fear

Such As Death

So Near To Me

I Read Of Just That Fate

For One Guy F. Tozzoli In New York

Who Permitted Me To Paint

Miss Matched

The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:57pm

I’ve been mismatched All My Life

yet all these cock-eyed relationships

have lead to The Castle I now occupy:

My Beautiful Home By The Sea

housing six cats, All My Artwork

& thirty pounds of diaries

COALESCENCE

The Tomato-coloured Couch 2:28pm

Numerous Little Black Birds

of an unknown variety

spun Themselves into a bulbous school

& flew around behind

with My Head in A Whirl

to see Them light

straight-lined on a wire

THE CREATIONIST

The Hawk Kitchen 9:37am

I floated down The Hudson River

on a cloud of pink

baby pink

but I had eyes

& could see My Parents

incestuous playmates

together at The Waterfalls

of Snedens Landing

I impregnated My Mother

& She tried to gallop on a horse

to get rid of Me

but since I stayed

She wanted Me

& stuck to Me like horse glue

The first year of human-hood

was spent in Africa

for My Father to teach Africans

how to drive tractors

& for My Mother to give dinner parties to African Dignataries

where Dr Schweitzer held Me

on His Lap

& looked at My Toes

As soon as My Mother & I came home by freighter

Howard was born

& He became My New Shadow

The Hawk Deck 10:37am

Our Mother raised us single-handedly

while Our Father, back from Africa & Divorced

toiled fruitlessly on a dairy farm

Howard & I grew into

robust teenagers

— He a musician

— I an artist

laden down

by My Mother’s Failed Love Affair

with a famous Jazz Player

Fuck This Shit —

I’m not laden down by anything:

Mother’s Old Lost Love

Her Early Death By Malignant Brain Tumour

My Shower of Unintelligible Light

on March 31st, 1993

Brother’s Dying on a Jail-house Floor

or Years of Depression

with My Daughter’s Early Childhood Memories

of Her Mother Lying In Bed

or Hospitalized for Weeks On End

That Daughter has just finished

washing Her Boyfriend’s

Black Dodge Ram 1500

& It’s Drying

in Perfect

Sun

DON’T WRITE

The Hawk Deck 9:44am

Don’t Write, even though

You’re out on Your Deck

in a Red Deck Chair

in Your Purple Robe

Don’t Write

even though You can hear The Waves

You Love

past The Scrub Spruce

Don’t Write

that You can hear The Crows, Gulls

The First Mourning Dove

Don’t Write

that there’s No Wind

& You’re drinking Your Morning Tea

with Your Sun Glasses on

to watch The Glittering off The Sea

MY MOTHER’S DEATH

The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:30pm

My Mother’s Death is sewed up

in that wretched little town —

I don’t have to live there any-more —

Her House is sold with The Shower of Lights

fixed in a poem

I’ll never set foot again

inside that sordid little hospital

where She was stationed for over a year

& where She Evaporated Into Thin Air

on A Saturday Night

twenty years ago

THANKS

The West Desk Window 6:54pm

The Thanks Bestowed

Upon The Day I’ve Lead

Unfurls Itself

Upon My Head

The Rays Of Sun

Behind My Clouds

Stirs Me Up

Makes Me Proud