To make Comments write directly to Jim at jimt@quixotic.ca
17
Sep
2019
I don’t write poems in a flush of enthusiasm. I start writing because there’s something in my gut that I want to express, but I don’t know how. So I write, and I set aside, and some day months along I come back to those inarticulate gropings and see something in them, and start rewriting, amending, polishing.
This is one of those long-buried beginnings, resurrected.
my printer went to sleep
it dozes off, when it’s not
making black marks on white paper
it has to keep itself busy
when it’s not, it turns its neurons off
grabs a nap, goes dormant
puts its digital processes on hold
to save energy
Categories: Poetry
Tags: negative images, printers, computer processes
22
Aug
Hear the sad story of Johnathan Fewless
who knew that at sex he was hopelessly clewless.
He admits that without a specific instruction
he won’t recognize an attempt at seduction.
Coy hints are too easily misconstrued;
they don’t always mean someone wants to get scrued....
Tags: sex, seduction, humour
3
I watch as friends struggle to find words, to follow instructions, to grasp concepts. Some call it dementia; some call it cognitive impairment; some call it “chemo-brain.” And some simply wear a bewildered look.
I realize this is dangerous ground – I haven’t been there myself, yet. But by the time I get there, I won’t be able to put the experience into words. I also realize that the people who could tell me if I got it right – or badly wrong – probably can’t respond. My hope, however, is that this poem may help some of you, who have friends or relatives with some form of ongoing dementia, appreciate what they may be feeling.
The fog creeps in
on little dendrites and axons,
It short-circuits the fungal filaments
that feed the chemistry of communication
from gray cell to… oh, what were the numbers
for the combination lock
on my memory locker?
Clarity scampers like a squirrel,
always just out of reach.
I grasp at dust motes dancing in a sunbeam....
Tags: Dementia, aging, fog
19
Jul
--
Prairie
Flatlined horizon
Flax fields, canola fields
Patchworked blue and yellow
Swedish flag quilted on rich brown loam
Telephone poles poke out of the future, one by one,
Pass by, get sucked back down on the far side of yesterday...
Tags: Winnipeg, prairie
21
Jun
Diana Butler-Bass’s book Groundedcontinues to set my creative juices surging. Here’s another poem, this time based on a lyrical description on pages 28-29 of the paperback edition.
Sky
sea
sand
hills ripple along the horizon
sunrise softly suffuses pearl
the glow of awe
paint palettes merge and blend
watercolour on wet paper
Tags: Diana Butler-Bass, Grounded, surf, sand, sunrise, everything