Poetry

 

    The Well

                 (for Harry Garuba )

there is a bitter weal
                well beyond tears
         lodged like blood clots      
    … Read the whole text

 

Aux Brésiliennes*

24 hours of kisses, a gallon of rum,
and les Brésiliennes are almost divinities—
never undone or outdone.

They are unceasing beauties—
each caramel miracle,
each coup of copper & pepper….

Steeped, walnut cinnamon is she—… Read the whole text

 

*From Shadow and Dream (New Horn, 1982)

Mind Buoys

(in a season of omens)

In the faint gleam of her eyes
Is the flicker of a dying dream
What flame will revive this dream?
What buoys to … Read the whole text

 

Arthur Lismer’s Bud Altar, Georgian Bay

The rhythmic whole is now perceptible
in the still of the turbulent forest

where life em-barks, grows, expands, creeps, crooks, decays,
blooms, breaks, bruises, fruits, falls, twists, pales, putrefies,
is soaked, clutched, sapped, … Read the whole text

 

By the Bed 

As would a child
I lifted my slow body
from the covers
of sleep

mouth holding a yawn
I pried open
hazy eyes

the sun sprinkled
diaphanous light
like a halo
about your lingerie-
dressed
body… Read the whole text

 

Geryon

Geryon sits in the garden that is red in the middle of it
The whole island is red: red Cattle red Dust red Dog red Geryon
And the red sun is always setting when you live in the … Read the whole text

 

Whats for Dinner?  

We used to ask “what’s for dinner”
like we were investigating a homicide.
Mama’s alibi was “I’m too tired”.
The fridge confessed of empty shelves.
The air smelt of two-day old hunger.

I was six when … Read the whole text