The stream (all workshops)
Dear Heart, you bear a silent ache,
A background throb that will not break
The dam that quells your flood of tears
From pains built over years and years
Dear heart, what pain will loose the flood
Of salty torrents, hot as blood
Form deeper wounds than hearts can stand?
Dear heart, you do not understand
That tho the pain may be released
And floods cause momentary peace
This does not mean the pain will cease.
You must dive in and brace the storm
To find the source of all your harm
This portrait
Spread out before me
Of a man,
What a man could be.
Arms outspread in adulation,
In a radiant embrace
Of the world, the sky and sea.
Blistering sun and wind,
Cracked earthen cheeks
Receive teardrops of rain
A sacrifice of pain.
This fatted calf,
This wolf-in-sheeps-clothing.
Not lion, but jackal
Stealing babies in the night
Not lamb, but still a victim of industrialized slaughter.
Moon fills the northland, with an index finger pressed over its lips, gently whispering, “Quiet”,
with its foggy glow, wraps a dimming gift of presents, for the heavens, and you.
Mellow dew sparkles the floor where you catch your reflection in a shadow.
Blue eyes of daytime mirror mysteries of times past reflect, in your wisdom of thinking.
“I love this”, silent words that flow from your cool steamed breath, a Sunday church song.
Bare feet slide forward on the cold soft blades of newborn meadow fronds.
I thought
it would be easy
to let you go
My walls stood proud
Shielding me the whole time
I thought
maybe
letting you go
wouldn't hurt
But here I am
writing about you
while my heart
aches
Frivolously fumbling
their withering way
Never seeming to stay
On the same
prevalent path
painted before
their tattered
tales of time.
And yet with
fear firmly fastened
in their hearts.
They still stiffly
stammer down
that slightly
slanted slope
with their
heedful hearts
hanging on
any hidden
hints of hope.
consumed later at night than usual
finds me bright eyed and bushy tailed
amply lively to learn
about an American radio
and television personality and pioneer
Wee Willy Weber,
who prominently and popularly reigned
across air waves and small screen
kept in the living/family room
then an obscure square box
frequently exhibiting local entertainers
Endings
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
Endings
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
I was the kid who never read the last chapter
Of my favourite books
Or watched the final episode
Of my favourite shows.
I wanted to stay in a time and place
Where there was still more to the story.
I never wanted them to end.
I could never accept
That life is full of endings,
So, I grew up
With the consequences of that.
I stay in the same place too long.
I hold onto people for too long.
She is like the firstborn child
out of bed in the morning --
small feet stepping onto the cold floor,
slipping into summoned rain boots
itching to leap out the screen door
to count the crocus and laugh with the warbling robin.
She is like the restless child at recess
finally released from the classroom,
sprinting to the playground, its revelry
stirring just beneath the snow, waiting
patiently for the thaw, the germination,
the first receptive signs of euphoric new life.
Our little fella, with his prancing gait,
trots down the hall. His feet sounding
a slap, slap, slap on the carpet
he was chewing on a moment ago.
He looks up at me with all the cuteness
the universe could possibly bestow on him
with a brief and curious look – ears at attention!
I keep replaying
Your words in my head
"Don't go,
I'm begging you,
Please stay..."
The broken record torments me
Day and night
I didn't know
It would end like this
I didn't know
How bad it would hurt
I would've stayed up
All night with you
If only I'd known...
Now here I am,
Sitting at your grave
With your voice
Whispering to me
"Please stay..."
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