radio christmas

the old songs
trickle gently
into the morning's quiet

upon returning home from the library

unicorn satchel stuffed with bliss
she pauses on the stairs
"can i eat my dinner up here?"

"while you're waiting"

the magic-keeper laughs from the tree-top
her shy smile of thanks
as she hands me my salvation

red light -- Brant and James

ivy and sunlight on red brick
sunday morning dads
push designer strollers to Starbucks

3 am

the moon tugs me to the edge of waking
she whispers a poem
then lets me doze again

friday morning

snow-dusted lemon balm
frost-tipped pine
and ice-lace puddle edges

breakfast

sparrows gather
jostling for a crumb
of the squirrel's cupcake

slave to fashion

boy tries to run for the bus
it's a mincing crab-wise shuffle
hobbled, as he is, by his own trousers

dismissal

i can pick her out
from the sea of bobbing backpacks
her maroon hat and the way she walks

brant street -- 3:40pm

rainbow puddles on hissing tarmac
people hunch and scurry
protecting curls and cashmere coats

the nannas

hot, sweet, tea and sausage rolls
silver-dusted metal
wine and twinkling lights

7:20am

incense and green tea
hum of the fish tank
scritch of pen on paper

8:40am

the magic-keeper perches on the swing set
wet wool against my cheek
we hug in the emptying playground

time warp

dude volumizes his 'fro
a grey, plastic pick
stuck in the back like a feather

ghost of Christmas present(s)

the siren song of Christmas
strains at the window
beckoning her inside

northshore blvd

i watch the raindrop races
a blinking amber light
becomes a beacon in the relentless grey

Dementor on King

transport truck stops traffic
tattered black plastic
billows and swoops across the lanes

afternoon walk

leaves layered
brown and wet
like soggy cornflakes

three birthdays

butter-cream cupcakes
red wine and tea cups
joy amid chaos at last

doves

he stands beside her as she sits
where the tree stump used to be
perfectly mimicking the arrangement of the toadstools

corner of Sunset and Marley

gull shrieking from
cloud-whisped sky
Holstein-print car seat in the black jeep

long-lost friend

curious black eye peeks over the fence
she serenades us with her mournful song
and we wonder at her absence

dinner-dance

sparrow dips and darts
in an aerial dance with
a shrieking cicada

4:17 a.m.

sudden crack of thunder
sends the dog skittering
and me reaching to close the window

time flies

he grins a new gap-toothed grin
and i see only a flicker
of the round-cheeked baby boy

twilight

burnt-out bulbs
cast softening shadows
and silence in the half-light

serious backlog

i have serious backlog of 'stones to post.

it's come to the point where it almost feels desperate.

it's just that i never have my journal handy when i sit down at the computer.

prepare to be inundated.

route No.5

it smells of coffee and shampoo
quiet voices seep through silence
and rain drips through a leaky window

change in the weather

scratchy hug of wool
on bare skin
it's nice to feel cold again

thwarted

the short, sharp chirp
of an outraged robin
the Bloody Cat slinks away

overheard at the park

she accuses him of being
frightened of von Nebula
indignant, he insists upon a core-recharge

scattered showers

six drops
fat and wet
hit my up-turned face

elderly man at the splash-pad

skin like chocolate midnight
shuffling in cool pools
against the heat of high summer

beetle vs. vine

stripped to the bone
skeletons swing in the hot breeze
as the iridescent army marches on

mr.scarlett

breathless with pain
he holds himself up with the wall
and worries for the future of his cats

47 Celsius

hot wind blows
pedaling through soupy air
i grin out across the sparkling water

swimming pool

the water is thick
with chlorine warmth
with a rim of cool on the edge

city hall courtyard

silent fountain under
leadened sky
city workers click past in the heavy morning air

return

low hum rising
to electric buzz
the cicada's are awake

the turn of the wheel

night lingers longer
5 am darkness
and the conspicuous quiet of still-sleeping birds

road work

the air shimmers and ripples
wafting a stench of hot asphalt
sunburned men laugh and shout in Italian

afternoon commute

at first i don't notice the halted line of traffic
but then i pedal past
and grin to myself

breakfast

butter melts into the craters
and crevasses
of a perfectly toasted bagel

heat wave

the air is thick and wet
air conditioners hum ceaselessly
as i drag the hose to the thirsty garden

greeting

the aged man halts
his shuffling walk to wave and grin
i'm left smiling the whole way home

june bug

armoured grub
caked in soil
emerging to greet the evening

looking up

blue sky and sunlight
filter through dancing leaves
and green linden berries

eavesdropping

cigarette smoke and barbeque sauce
mingles with quiet conversation in the
muted symphony of a summer night

morning commute

pedaling along the lake road
the scent of the air is haunted
by the echoes of a distant sea

sanctuary

aching muscles and tired soul
melt into the peace
of being home

snaphsot

clover-peppered hillside
fifteen pairs of flip-flops
and a bright orange blanket

poolside

stinging eyes and flashing smiles
brown, red, white, black
they swim in universal waters

coming home

the trees are greener
the sky is bluer
and the air smells of incense and coffee

in the garden...early

too-sweet coffee and cloud-scudded skies
quiet after the chaos
the world waits for wakefulness

hunted

tiny, brown-furred
clinging to life
on an old tea-towel

for kaspa and fiona's wedding ~ reflection

sunlight dapples the green-hued fence
a shimmering light show
amidst a cacophony of silence


~many blessings on your magical day~

henna

green mud smears the
scent of plants and fire
touching souls of ancient wisdom

ice cream truck

skipping in time
to the jack-in-the-box tune
musing that it's right before dinner

transformation

stepping out from coolness
the blanket of heat
suffocates my irritation

5 am.

waking to rumble of thunder
crying cat
and trembling dog

north beach

sand-burned eyes wince at
tables chained to trees
but slide into stillness across the water

Indiantown

blossom-scented breeze
reminds me of orange groves
and dark, sultry mornings

while Emma was sniffing....

the branch-tip growth is
sea-foam green
against deeper jade

soundtrack

softly-strummed notes
float free of the fence-line
and surf the gathering breeze

dirt-worshipper

holy communion
of skin to soil
and choir of birdsong

respite

haze hangs over
the interlude
between the torrents

chivalry

yellow tree flowers
and bright pollen cover the puddle
like a fine gentleman's cloak

secret agent super spy

creeping about in
striped undies and fuzzy socks
she wishes for carpets

april (snow) showers

walking in sandals as the snow flies
unhurried flakes drift down
quietly reminding me that nothing is for certain

return to center

in the white hair stuck to my jacket
and the ache and soaring of hearts
eight years melts into never

shy boy and rabbit

sitting in the cool sunshine
frog-chorus singing in time to pony feet
i think of you and your wild horse waiting

prayers for rain

warm storm-winds kiss the sky
slate grey and heavy
making April feel like high summer

exhale

windows wide open
clearing space
as the green begins to show

new digs

dawn walking with Emma-dog,
i look up to find the source of a beautiful song
and see our friend has replaced the broken nesting box

escapism

my room smells faintly of coffee
the armchair by the window beckons
and an afternoon melts between the pages

Quiz

she goes up to collect her ribbon
shell-shocked and not really hearing the cheers
she shakes hands with someone famous

birthday

the day starts like any other
but maybe the birds are singing a bit louder
and the air smells of spring

bus-stop magic

snow bows gracefully to rain
leaving perfect ice-stars
dangling on my umbrella

clearing

winter runs in rivulets
down the sidewalk
and my soul

sunday...perfect

tea with Hello Kitty
a pen that wanders
the sun shines through the deep cold

after the storm

undaunted
a host of robins trills loudly
above the snow-covered wasteland

spring storm

wind whipping ice on frozen skin
old man winter laughs
and i worry about the robins

faith, unconditional

"is that the same book?" he asks
while handing me my morning coffee
i nod and he squeezes my shoulder

the outhouse roof is leaking

shivering sausage dog casts a baleful glare
from the sheltering branches
of a convenient pine tree

daily devotional

wrapped in red wool
i take a pen walking
across the empty page

perigee

the moon draws in
and pulls the fringe of my soul
into chaos and poetry

almost

robin-song and murky sky
shapeless piles of almost-rotten leaves
a momentary silence before the day begins

confirmation

the squirrels' antics are either
neurological
or an expression of the joys of spring

spring clean

witchery in mop-swirled wishes
spell-cast sandalwood, curls out windows
scent of lavender, peppermint and sage

in love with words

i take her a steaming mug of soup
the spoon clatters as she shovels it down
desperate to get back to her book

precognition

it's knowing how
an orange will taste
by the way it peels

flashback

stepping out into the crisp early morning
the sun is brand new
and i remember my days of fast horses

upon waking

a dog at my hip and a cat at my knee
the rains streams against the window
and i plant a garden in my head

5 am service

the sliver of moon catches crystals of ice
making them twinkle beneath my feet
faery-lights against the shaving-foam snow

a burden shared

i wake at 4am from a dream of ice-roads
and trapped children
panic is soothed over tea and the telling

setting the stage

even the bread, a perfect shade of brown,
leaps enthusiastically from the toaster.
the sure sign of a good day coming

re-freeze

wind whips through window cracks
howling it's icy song
i draw the curtains and put the kettle on

thaw

a lake at the back gate
leaking wellies and
a treacherous slide to the newspaper

february rain

the rain comes down in sheets
washing away the funk of winter
and promising a new day


i've been hoarding my stones in my journal....no real reason why- one part rebellion, one part self-sabotage, i suppose. i think i started finding my self-imposed structure to be too limiting. so things might change. or not. but i like writing them, so i'm going to carry on. it's meditative and keeps me connected to the words in a time when i feel like i'm leaving them behind.

daydream

lost in thought
milk bubbles over
burnt oats smelling of scorched paper

window view

plastic snowflake dances
on invisible thread
against tree-shadowed red tile

family movie night

breakfast for dinner
chocolate pie for dessert
and cuddling under fleece

leek broth

she ladles comfort from the old days
of farm kitchens among lakes and fells
it tastes better in a basin

through the window

the wind whips fierce
frozen tree limbs shudder stiffly
the snow blows like sand

induction

striped tail tip twitches
sleepy-eyed, purring softly
as i slip the needle into his vein

time warp

tangled forelock in my gloved fingers
i watch her dreamily brushing the shaggy coat
and  remember when it was me

clarity

in the soft shuffle of cards
and murmuring of prayer
butterflies and birds ride the storm

prayer meeting

before laundry, before dishes
before anyone is awake
i paint

wild hunt

with airs above the ground
he plucks snowflakes from the sky
and invisible mice from the drifts

exuberance

a last-minute flip of the wrist
sends her virtual ball
into the gutter

self-care

scent of oats and bubbling milk.
in between the swirling,
i spill crazy on the pages

disconnect

amidst the chatter
it's hard to focus,
my mind wanders to the Other-where

stormageddon...part 2

the wind is a million razors
slicing through my jeans and making my eyes ache
i hurry us home before the snow comes

rite of passage

blue gems twinkle in her ears
as Ty the Piercing Guy
compliments her bravery

infinitely curious

smiling to myself
i watch and i listen
then i pick up my pencil and give it a try

check-out conveyor belt

her gape-mouthed  fish
lands with a frozen thud
behind my organic eggs and the boy-child's favourite pretzels

egg and chips

it was more than lunch.
it was an affirmation of her health
and a chance to laugh at the things that had scared us

accumulation

flakes of white fluff
land in my eyelashes
as i scrape off the car after work

new toy

the satisfying beep-beep
of a happily
anaesthetized cat

journal

in the storm of the day,
i find my center in its pages,
crinkled with ink and emotions

birthday girl

in the morning i spin her 'round,
kiss her hair and tell her
she'll be born in half an hour

ritual

pen scratches page
green tea in a striped cup
clinking as it settles on the saucer

cleanse

waking to rain
it washes away the old year
while birdsong welcomes the new