Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: poetry

THE SOFTEST COLOUR

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

LOWER LOVER

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!

HUNTER’S ROSES

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

 

ELIZA’S ROSES

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

THIS BODY

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

MORNING POOL

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

 

DAMP MESSAGES

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

 

STARS

The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:20pm

Within The Cauldron Of The Sun

Countless Stars Are Born

To Live Upon The Earth

Within Their Hazards

And Their Glory

We Live These Lives

Knowing Or Not Our Destinies

Until We Funnel Back In

Into The Sun Again

Leaving Our Shadows

Over This Eternal Playground

OVERVIEW

The Hawk Corner Room 3:30pm

I wear An Open Heart Watch

on My Right Arm

A Silver Band on My Left

My Question Mark Ring

I deliberately flashed

when I last saw Him

nodding

over The Bed of My X

Father-in-law

3:50pm

I plunge into My Day Dream

snug in Eliza’s Corner Room

with a cup of Earl Grey

in front of The Picture Window

framing The Reason

I am Here

 

GUESS

The Hawk Living Room 3:11pm

Guess how old I was

when I engaged

in the following activities:

Tearing into strips

the striped vinyl cover

to My Dollies’ changing table

& wadding the shreds

up in My Fists

to stuff in My Mother’s

waste paper basket

Clutching Two Hundred Wedding Photos

to My Chest & throwing Them

One By One

to The Night

along the ample length

of water frontage

in the Town of Shelburne

Emptying The Entire Contents

of My Second Husband’s Brief Case

cradling The Papers in My Arms

casting Them aside

Piece By Piece

into The Twilight

along one mile of old rail road track

through Barrington Passage

On a clear day in June

Shredding Five Known Copies

of My Own Manuscript

So Long Sam

taking seven hours

consuming as many beers

& putting Three Bags Full

out by the side of the road