Tuesday, 28 October 2014

such a beautiful evening here for Oct. 28

so warm

misty, cloudy

could be Pre-Raphaelite

could be Paris before the onslaught of dog poo

Queen St West near the Bell Media building at sunset

a kind of magic--

Friday, 24 October 2014

There were no poems added for national poetry month. 
Life got in the way.

Now there is the sad echo of a life taken without reason. A brave young man stood up for his country. For this he was shot in the back. His death will be forever entwined in grief and pain, not just for his family, but for all Canadians. This is the price paid for love of country, love of the people in it, love for earth. The fight for freedom does not gain just a patch of ground; it is like the ripples created by a pebble. It is for everyone everywhere.

Monday, 14 July 2014

An Out Of Season Poem

Nativity Abstraction
by Barbara Phillips



she nods over the eggnog in her hand
face lined, suffused with tree glow



so long ago and yet I can’t forget
she says, as she turns, eyes moist from the smoky
fire or something else; it’s hard to tell

my sister and I, on the run, in the forest
heavy with bombs falling, drizzle, frost
more dead than alive



I was tempted just to lie down, let something kill me



then the cry; I thought it was a cat or a rabbit
an excuse to stop, roast something, try to camp
against logs sodden, yet giving the illusion of shelter



the body beside the child shattered, the child
in rags, stained by shreds of flesh, and the blood
enough to drown in, so thick, getting darker by the second



in the twilight of that Christmas Eve, when a silence
of sorts came back, as the seraphim of steel slipped
into clouds falling through pain torn horizons



when I picked her up I remembered what it was to be alive
we cleaned her off in an abandoned house, and from a surviving
cow we got milk; we got so giddy, we cried




I told people at the refugee camp she was my daughter
we were each others’ angels; we went to the head of the
line with families for emigration, away from



forests hemorrhaging death, endings beyond reason
body parts sown across the underbrush in bizarre abstraction
mercy an alien unknown, tears another way of bleeding

Saturday, 5 April 2014

National Poetry Month

Because it is National Poetry Month, I am going to try to post a poem a day. If these posts amuse anyone, the purpose of this exercise will be fulfilled.

Because Manifesto: We are So Lame

because oaks don't bend to catch you
while you stumble near their limbs
because roads don't point the way
when you can't read maps of places you don't know
because you don't feel compassion in light
blinding you while you
check your rear view mirror
because mountains show no passion
as you scrape away their skins

we are so lame when we want to say anything
full of gravity or significance
I am the apprenticed jester
my mentor's gone astray
but ----

I'll love you until
my arms can't hold you
lines invisibly converge
darkness slows me down too far
loving makes me raw

Barbara Phillips