Observing Privacy From a Distance

The walls of the house hold in warmth
But panes of glass that seem so thin
Something's letting sound in
I hear a crunching, looking up
I see a person walking through the slush
I hear their footsteps on the street
Can they hear my creaking floorboards?

Final Push

Unwritten lines of ink
Laying in the
Dark swaths beneath
My eyes
Pushing on with
Jittery pulse
Driven by the deadline
And the caffeine
And the scent of failure
Fear in the air
Seeping from the skin
Battling with half-conscious
Thoughts
And hoping for something better
Seeking only the end
The release and temporary freedom

Silent Light

Did you know
These winter nights
Longest of the year
Are also the brightest

First snow
And I enter the dark room
About to flick the switch
I see light glowing
Filling the window

Looking out I can see details
In the yard below
That would be obscured
In a summer's midnight

Just the same light
Of moon and stars
And dim orange streetlights
Reflecting and filling
The white landscape

Tired

When my eyes
begin to sting
I should go to sleep, soon
Unless I'm developing laser beam vision

Rise and Shine

On the sixth floor of the building
High on the hill
We have a beautiful view
From long windows without screens

But I have found
That when tired, sitting in class
The light that enters with a pleasant glow
Makes me more drowsy

So I sit with my back to the window.

The days darken quicker now
Hours in the afternoon claimed by night
Starting homework, feeling like
I have less time

I want the sun that keeps me awake
And tells me it is day
I have the night to sleep (though not always)
And the light holds the stress at bay

So I close my drapes and light all the bulbs.

Wearing New Shoes for the First Time

From the closet, walking out of my room
Through the hall and down the stairs

Fetching something from the living room
Don't worry, these aren't dirty, it's the first time I'm wearing them

Outside, to the bus stop, on the bus
Sitting like a pose

Walking up the street
Full reflection in the dark glass walls of an office building

Striding to class
And feeling creases begin where my foot bends

My boots jingle when I walk,
It makes me happy.

Serenity

Finished paper early
With time to spare, printed
Found a stapler free for use
Done.
Toonie Tuesday
Cookies and Cream
Oreo Mint
and Chocolate Raspberry Truffle
In that order, bottom-up
Friendly scooper, music playing
Much enjoyed
Calm and happiness
Reading now, a bit behind, but still
Today is a good day.

The Book

The book, written
Covered and bound
Pages ordered

Neat, crisp print
Details the veins of a leaf
And the fall of kingdoms

Personalities printed
And actions combine
To a full plot

The author, all-knowing
All-powerful, too
In this

And yet gives
Free will to the characters
Within

Living on
Only knowing
The present and pieces of past

Is this their free will?
Accepting and moving
As if

But knowing
The whole is determined
Black stars in a white night

No, once born
The lives are their own
Known to the reader

Written by author and yet
Creatures born to full being
Choosing their own becoming

Fitting within
And bending to patterns
While drawing out their own

In wide strokes
And precise dots
And a drip here or there

Reader and author
Speak of The Book
In the present

Where one always
Lives and dies
Existence compressed and overlapping

Perspective and allowance to be
For a reason
Free will, published.

Haunting Happiness

Round and ripe
Pierced and hollowed
Cavernous laughter
Dancing in ghoulish light

Dulling Edges

Staring out of focus
Eyes that glaze
And view a hazy blur
Colours and shapes molded
With a fuzzy fizzing clay

Pink Cupcake (In a pair of haikus)

Ruffles of icing

Decorating edible

Soft petals of cream

\     Spongy crumbly cake     /

\Balances this sugar sweet/

\     With light vanilla     /

WWWWWWWWWW

Supper Sleuth

The supper sleuth
Will slurp and savour
Scrutinize the shape and sheen
The harmony of every flavour
Sharp or subtle, herbs unseen
Sussing out the secret sauce

Frosting Cupcakes

Ruffles of icing
Petals of cream
Decorate this baked confection

A Rare Chance

Somnolent serenity
No obligations or alarms
Just the softness, warmth
And dreaming
Under moon and stars
Or dawn and through midday
Shifting, turning deeper
Perhaps until the want for food

Poetry in Numbers

One and one make two
Though overlapping, become one
Two, touching tenderly, face-to-face
Show their shared heart
And put together another way
This one in two
Make three
Or on to four or more
Broken down, are not decimated,
Only more rambling,
And then unreal, imagined
Greater and or more in debt
Than images can grasp

Fracturing a heart
These fragments' fractals are
Unending though within a confined space
And a pattern out-extending can
Continue on forever
Spiral radiating from
One point

A point, it cannot take up space
But holds a place within
Your thoughts
Defining one location
Precisely, unlike any other

Zero
Symbolic and whole
Rounded and full
Of nothing
Or ten
Or tens of thousands
Or the finest knife
That slices thinly, slivers of small being
Delicate differences worth noting
For their wisp of existence

Convention
Found in nature
Giving beauty
Without subtracting
From its own

Arrow's Borders

Hit the line and backspace
Blinking line can go no farther
Back through the margins
Running through untamed forests
Smothered in snow
Back before the words were sent
Released into the unknown wild
From where I cannot get them
Back
Chasing down the wind
Searching for paper cutouts
Amid the blizzards
Thrown to the wastelands
Or maybe tucked against a lamplight
On the streetcorner of a populated city
Gone
No pushing back

Chatting

In the café, tisanes, coffees, and cream
In the colours of the soft coats of cats
Amber, cinnamon, striped ripples
Of the barista's design
Pastries and crumbles
Picked up with the pads
Of fingertips, and the dart of a pink tongue

The vibe of the intellectual, the business professional
The student, the artist, in this crafted atmosphere
Rectangle-rimmed glasses, or the horned librarian
The sharp feline look
Over a mug or porcelain cup
Clinking saucers
And the warmth of the sun through the window
Still in Autumn or gray Winter

Cheshire smiles or satisfied grins
Comfortable silence
Or frantic absorption in a personal task
Socializing, talk curling through the air
With a soft brush of whiskers at an ear
In a corner
Or pulling affection, words weaving and winding
Like a kitten at your legs
Still others, haughty looks and decrees
From their perch on chair or sofa

Many moods and many ways
To spend your time
A memorable chat one day
Followed by others
And interactions of a sort
avec le chat of another kind
every time.

Unproductive Consciousness

Bleary eyes
Dried and red
Pulling at the edge
And scraping under the lids
with every blink

Tired, surrender
Exhaustion and wishing for the deep slumber
While the mind stays, running in place
And the heartbeat vibrates a mad race pace
Quivering and keeping
Awake

Lying still
An hour or more
Hoping to settle
The herbal tea had no caffeine
You woke early and still feel
Awake
Wanting to sleep

Cocooning

I long to be covered in love
Wrapped in it, wreathed in it
Bundled up and tucked in
with a kiss

Snuggling arms and a warm back
Curves and comfort and cuddling
Cloaked in the warmth
of a hug

Companionship and understanding
Acceptance and encouragement
Without judgement, just
Staying at my side.

Gravity

That's it. I knew it, he bolted.
Saw the side I kept turned away
As we revolved around each other
Matched his rotation as he revealed
His roughed edges and smooth swelling tides
And I kept up with this dance
Kept my face to him always
Always the rest kept behind

He had the greater pull
His, the greater presence
I could never hope to hold
Those vast oceans cupped in two hands
Slipping back through, everytime
Though I tried

He surely knew now
That I had no light of my own
Just the face that I showed
Reflecting the warmth of others
That I wanted to give

Even this face that I show
With a wan crescent smile
Or coloured wax glossed lips
Did not phase him
When I felt too big
Or folded in small
He was there

Even then when I seemed
To have gone through it all
With him
I kept the rest behind me

So, it really is my fault
I know
But still I fear to see him fled
Nothingness and space
Where once he danced with me

And yet I raise myself to find
Him surely bolted next to me
Bolts and rivets, screws and nails,
He's not going anywhere
As he explains to me that
All along I've had no less
A force upon him too
My eyes grey
His green-blue
I think we'll find our way.

The Library

Worn spines shelved into rows
Short, long, some curved
Some cracked
Articulated stories

Glossy, new
Or yellowed, some
Stained or nicked
But all in place, waiting for perusal

The Librarian stalks through
His collection
Knows the careful system of order
And every story on his shelves

Appendages, appendixes, eyes
In jars and neatly labeled
Dexterous digits dangling,
Suspended in formaldehyde

A swipe with the dustcloth,
A lingering caress for an old favourite
The Librarian takes his seat
Behind a sturdy desk, inherited
His pencils are fine
So he sharpens his knives.

Dreaming of More

The state of wanting
Seems indulgent
When you're perfectly fine
With a normal-ish life
And you don't even know
What you're looking for
But you're searching
For something
Anyway

It's ignored most
Of the time
Or there in a twinge and a look
An evening of frustration
And a sigh alone in bed
A quest unstarted
Living in maybes and some
Thought of later
Eventually, or never
No, not never
Just, sometime
Perhaps

Little Flood

Rushing rapids down the road
Going where it shouldn't go
Flowing fast and people slow
Cars lined up and some are towed

Danger possibly to some
Costly work must now be done
Still there's something seeming fun
To stand and watch this river run

Give a Little Lightness

Show the world your kind eyes
The ones that share, invite a smile
Something in that twinkle
The crinkle at the corners
Or uplifted brow, gently

Walk down the street
With your kind eyes
The ones that let you breathe
That share the breath of the pulse
On the street
Some people notice
And brush past
Or maybe find their own for a moment

Look around with your kind eyes
And see the sky today
See each shifting moment, continuously
With peace and good will

Experience the present
With kind eyes
And notice how the angry irritations
Stress and difficulties
Do not cease to be
But do not overrun their place

Seize the world with your kind eyes
And you will truly see
               I have yet to master more than glimpses
               But at the least
               While I work on what's within
               I show the world my kind eyes

Sitting on the couch

Think of swirling galaxies at your fingertips
Dust and sparks of light and life
Patterns and places done in splatter-paint
Intentional lack of control within a clarity of vision
Bright and dull with sharpened edges and blunted corners
Rubbed and blurred together, spread apart
Wipe the frosted glass, smooth the crinkled foil
Think of infinite smallness brought to giant size
Knowing billions smaller and so much so much larger
Existing and thinking of that and then forgetting
Doing so much without thinking
Pushing and pulling out thoughts that can crumble to dust
Or remain steady, some that simply vanish
Only to reappear, astonishing the magician

Sitting, sinking, just breathing
Dancing endlessly with your mind, heart straining
Motionless with frantic energy pulsing through every fibre
Burning while you wrap in layers and blankets for the cold
The audience prompts the actor
Who cannot see that his stage is a marionette theatre

All along no one knows that the strings don't matter
But that doesn't matter either when so many ignore them in the first place

Cleaning Slate

The chalkboard, green, and dark, smooth
A few spots that never wipe away
I wonder how they were made
But now they are just part of the chalkboard

When it's time for a new design I wipe away
The old markings with a damp cloth
No bother with erasers that leave so much dust
But even when it's wet and smooth
Moments later I find dried streaks of colour

So I developed a system, a method to clean
I wipe several times, each with a new side
Of the cloth. I can see it come off in the dye
It transfers even when I had thought it was clean.
Then comes a time when I have to decide that's enough

I wipe one last time in a pattern of swirls
So that when it dries at last, the faded streaks
That I cannot erase
Are to my design. And I know they are there
I have chosen them for my new blank chalkboard.
And then I begin to draw again