the lost series

First thing though, is bark: I left Australia last year with about two hundred pictures… of bark. Most were species of unidentified eucalyptus.

grey peony petal bark/ ants in and out

I’ll probably write longer poems about this series of bark one day…

And so to the beginning of the lost series. Lost, gone, lost and still around… On to round one, lost too:

flies, secrets anews.

the bindweed knows the exact more disordered than ordered if moment of dusk when to duskly begin to shut down and be dusk/ there are always many systems, and spring which has arrived early plays the game, but in earnest. flies, morgan. a few short days ago, settled in/we creates secrets anews amuse and a language to speak them. somewhere overhead a nightbird.

And from a poem written long ago by Margaret Atwood (I’m into pigs these days, maybe it’s ham time coming up at Easter…)
This is the last verse:
Pig song

I am yours. If you feed me garbage,
I will sing a song of garbage.
This is a hymn.
© Margaret Atwood. Selected Poems 1965-1975. Houghton Mifflin Company

Have a happy April 5th.

crow under the bridal veil

This morning, a mention of Mexico brought that night back:

                                  full moon/ a frigate bird/ circles over the resort


From the last poem to go into the current manuscript, a poem about Desiree

ancient profession

late afternoon she reads the slant of light falling through lace curtains
                                                                      length of shadows…
on grey days, notes the reduction in quality of light, her timing fixed
as any proper englishman for high tea…

From other blogs/websites

The last verse from Dark Fish & Other Infernos (Jack Pine Press, 2011). Joe Roseblatt with Catherine Owen, a poem called

And then the purring earth

And then the purring earth begins to move
extending a gentle paw for me to rest
while my eyelids close upon each wing.

A last excerpt, from Laura Broadbent’s OH THERE YOU ARE, I CAN’T SEE YOU, IS IT RAINING? which won the 2012 Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry. Her artwork can be seen here:

Things Said In a Domestic Setting

She says that he says that she said something she didn’t say.
He says she says things when she means something else.
She says he says mean things

He says she says he says mean things
and he says he does not say mean things.
He says he says things that mean something
and he says she says things…
that don’t mean anything….

Shades of R. D. Laing’s Knots

I read another few pages of Silliman’s the Alphabet; again slow going, but interesting. Submitting a manuscript today…

and here’s another Holograph item from Tom Clausen, 1997:

You have to read around the edge, starting at the top edge…


As to that crow:

                    checking out the buds


                    under the bridal veil spirea


April 2, 2012: Sun Rush

It does something to me, gets the energy going, just to see the sun on the houseplants, on the deck. That’s one beauty of haiku and tanka; they’re short and there’s no pressure to publish. This morning, waking as the sun hit the crystal hanging in the window:

morning sun through
the hanging crystal
wedding gift from a friend
I haven’t seen
enough of lately

My friend Sanford Goldstein, the father of modern tanka, lives in Japan, and sits once a week in a local cafe, ‘spilling’ tanka, at least 25 a week. He lost over three thousand tanka he’d written when he was on his last trip to the US to visit his family, left them in a coffee shop. Those coffee shops – some giveth, some taketh away. I hope whoever found the notebook loves poetry, for he’s a fine writer.

A note about the photo in the ynklings heading; a ‘slice’ across a photo of my haiku for the 35th anniversary Haiku Canada Holographic Anthology; Haiku Canada publishes a set every five years; I have sets from other years and they are a delight. Sure you commit to hand-writing over a hundred of your haiku, and designing them if you wish – my haiku was about plum blossoms falling into ‘pink’ so I used a set of letter stamps to plunk the word ‘pink’ in pink at the bottom of the strung-out poem. Fun to do. Others are very careful about their materials. For instance Pearl has facebooked/blogged her style of writing her haiku with a real pen in black ink on fine paper.  Gorgeous. The fun is getting your set of haiku, each individualized by the poet, and signed. Treasures.  Here one from a set made ten years ago: It’s by Betty Warrington-Kearsley of Ottawa.

and another from Marco Fraticelli of Montreal, one of the editors of the collection: (with Philomene Kocher)

The poets clearly dig into their creative side for more than words! I’ll post a few more next time…