Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: poetry

AURA UPDATE

The Hawk Queen Bed 9:00pm

Today I saw

My Silver Aura

skidding across the back

of The Shower stall

I had a talk

with A Doctor Of Optometry

Who stated It

was probably related

to migraine

but I’m to have

A Visual Field Test

& A Field Day

It will be

ON A TRIP TO YARMOUTH

Highway 103, NS NOON

Before Bed

I take a selection

of pills

— ten to be exact —

some for My Body

some for My Mind

They restore My Sleep

but rob Me of My Dreams

and so now I have an aura

accompanying My Vision

when I exit

The Shower

in Day Light

MORNING LOOK

The Hawk Queen Bed 8:20am

The Sky was beautiful

too intricately beautiful

to write about —

all I could do was look

at the heavy blue clouds

with faded mauve accents

and come upstairs

with Our Coffee

SILVER LINE

The Hawk Dining Room 9:30am

The Silver Line

IS

The Horizon

with illuminated clouds

above

The Sea Is Grey

& I am ready

to put the coffee

on

SILVER MARCH

The Hawk Corner Room 9:30am

The Wash Of Cloud

Radiates My Silver

Along The Ocean Strip

It Moves Across

My Window View

Urging Me My Grip

CROWS FEET

The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:35pm

I am racing the clock

against sun-damaged skin

counting My Wrinkles

stretching My Chin

My Legs still look good

but there’s heft to My Waist

I’ve got A Life yet to live

I’ll observe It in haste

QUOTE

The Hawk Dining Room 8:00am

“Everything’s going

all to Hell

very fast*”

yet I have

salmon pink clouds

turning to gold

*Dr W Hunter Blair

COMMAND

The Hawk Queen Bed 10:22pm

from Collective Soul:

“Live & Let Your Light

Shine Down”

or is that

“Heaven, Let Your Light

Shine Down”

on My Daughter

headed

for

Miami?

MORNING LIGHT

The Hawk Outpost 9:16am

The Striated Clouds

along The Horizon

streak gently like

a watercolour wash

with a glimmer of light

at the farthest reach

low — off line

FROM MY SILVER & ONYX PEN

The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:30pm

I sit in My Purple Robe

upon The Tomato-coloured Couch

I write for a living

I write to sustain My Self

Nothing Do I Hyde

I can be read

head to toe

& portend the future

I depict

line for line

in the journal stacks

stored in a giant Birk’s bag

in My Closet