Might Have Been
I am lost and in loss, am losing There beyond my reach the sunlit shore metamorphosis Cold as Odysseus no Circe here no Panacaea just these worn words weary heart…
poetry
Favourite Poems LV: If You Forget Me
If You Forget Me I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow…
Favourite Poems LVIV: The Curate Thinks You Have No Soul
Was thinking, by-the-by, about some dogs I have loved, and how I get along with (and like, if truth be known) dogs better than most people. So sentimentalism be damned:…
Favourite Poems LVIII: And You as Well Must Die, Belovèd Dust | Edna St. Vincent Millay
You sometimes forget about authors. They sort of fall out of your head. Expect more Millay in the future. And You as Well Must Die, Belovèd Dust And you as…
Poem of the day
image source Invictus Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the…
A Poem for Easter
My own, with at least Easterish themes of death and rebirth. Originally published on 7/10/10. VSA You came to us, no vital signs, no breath Found dead, or nearly so,…
Favourite Poems LI
Easter in Pittsburgh Even on Easter Sunday jungle of lilies and ferns fat Uncle Paul who loved his liquor so would pound away with both fists on the when the…
On Milton Acorn, on his birthday, Canada’s People’s Poet
The Silver Dollar Room at the Waverly Hotel, where Milton Acorn lived on Spadina Avenue in Toronto. Below: Milton Acorn (drawing found on the Internet). Today was the birthday of…
Favourite Poems L
Yes, the fiftieth edition of Favourite Poems. You might wonder why a blog about nurses and nursing (and some other stuff, but mostly nursing) does poetry. The answer is simple:…
Method of Loci
for Marie Your name floats, fades. Not actually you just the you I see in bits and bytes Your name, hovering, bifurcated. You are in parts. Crisp sheets, bone white,…
Poem of the day
image source An Almost Made Up Poem I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny they are small, and the fountain…
Favourite Poems XLIX
Eight haiku by Matsuo Bashō, translated by R. K. Blyth. Wikipedia tells us the Shinto priesthood deified Basho in 1793, a sort of minor god of poetry, and for a…
Favourite Poems XLVIII
In Winter in My Room In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm – Pink, lank and warm – But as he was a worm And worms presume…
Favourite Poems LXVII
A poem for a Saturday morning. Just because. To Winter O winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not…
Finding Émile
I reached another marker this week in my posthumous, intriguing, fan-like relationship with Montréal poet Émile Nelligan (1879-1941) when Craig’s partner, Claude, drove me to the site of his burial…
WTF? A Poem?
WTF? A bunch of racist sexist homophobic nutbarsGOP nazis spreading shit like this is somehow okay in the land of the free, home of the brave? Prenatal Nondiscrimination Act (PRENDA)…
Favourite Poems XLVI
Winter Night It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. As during summer…
The perfect blend of politics and poetry
Phil Rockstroh gives us this piece of beauty and politics and reality. A Journey to the end of Empire: It is Always Darkest Right Before it Goes Completely Black. P’n’P…
The Defamiliarization of a Saturday Morning
This morning, with a brightening glow from my right I looked up from my newspaper to see a fog of falling snow across the yard, neighbouring street, and rooftops below.…