A hermit crab without a shell
is a desperate thing.
Foolish to hide
Dangerous to seek
They risk it all to find one.
When they find one – home free!
But
they nudge
rotate
inspect from all sides
peek
wiggle their butt in to get a feel
before claiming it for their own.
Even a hermit crab
can reject a home
without clams clamouring
they should be grateful
for whatever they get.
Like children fresh from baths
I want to pat their heads
Cup each skull under my palm
Feel the silky-soft spongy give of their new-growth hair.
Their squirming will not deter me from kissing each temple
Breathing in their newness
Then
With my hand still on top
I want to point them to their beds
And release.
Moira Dunphy, 2012
Sitting in the front row
and my heart stops.
Stuart Little is in danger
Grave Danger
-and he doesn’t know! But we know!
The tiara on my 4-yr old niece
twinkles as she leans forward
eyes and mouth wide.
Every muscle taut
her wand hand grips her tutu
and her other stretches out
fingers splayed wide
to reach Stuart
to grab him, to save him, to safe him.
My heart stops at the naked yearning
shining from her.
Sitting on my sofa
and my heart stops.
The Portapique memorial
-a year? A full year?!
and the people
who loved
twenty-two people
offer twenty-two vases
of long-stem white roses.
As a Mom bows her head and clasps her hands
my heart is a yearning 4-year old in a tiara
reaching with all my might.
My two dogs
Tied to a tree
By a ten-foot leash
Kept howling and whining for an hour
Till I let them off.
Now they are lying quietly on the grass
A few feet further from the tree
And they haven’t moved at all since I let them go.
Freedom may be
Only an idea
But it’s a matter of principle
Even to a dog.
Louis Dudek (Poetry in Motion series on TTC, 2004 – still looking for publication date)
The pork is being chopped
and the bok choy wokked
You’re bringing home dinner
to feed the mewling mouths at home,
but
for now – right now –
the bustly, rushy go-go-go world –
the world
needs
you
to
wait. Continue reading “Wait”
I am a stranger
You can’t see me
I am a stranger
Do you know what I mean?
On a secret path
The one that nobody knows
And I’m moving fast
On the path that nobody knows
And what I’m feelin’
Is anyone’s guess
What is in my head
And what’s in my chest
I am a stranger.
Gord Downie, The Secret Path, 2016
Show some respect.
Now is not the time, never now;
the time was yesterday.
Before.
So hurry, quick –
tomorrow’s shooter is readying.
Talk gun control today
and show some bloody respect for tomorrow’s victims.
I want to sit
on the shores of Georgian Bay
Sunny days
calm days or
full of wind and grey
Whitecaps and swells or
waves so sly
you hear the hissing sand complain
as each drop squeezes by
Days in damp suits and clinging sand
my burning soles seeking a place to land
Days with hood tied tight under my chin
Beer-cold water daring me to come in
Sitting and sitting
fingers siftingsifting sand
eyes on horizon
ears tuned to gullsong
Nose seeking sun-baked jack pine
And surprise
When my tongue licks my lips
And there’s no taste of salty sea.
There is
no mirror
like a mirror-still river
to make you stop,
just as still,
and reflect.
With every blossoming chestnut tree
Je me reviens à la ville de Paris
Strolling behind Nôtre Dame
Une glace Berthillon dans ma main.
