This.
By Tanya Davis
(this poem is) to my lovers who were once the suns in my skies: i am sorry that i never ravished you enough and that there is nothing to be done about the passing of time
remember your lovers
but, especially, don't forget them, while they are in your bedroom
with their hair dishevelled and their clothes strewn
make sure you notice them as they stand before you
as there they lie
tell them that you're touched a thousand times
of every inch take a picture with your unabashed eye
because this will change, as pictures fade, so love does die
smell your lovers, their wide open skin
like bare shoulders, before toast, in the morning
pheremones will be what you don't know you miss
when you're standing beside x's
feeling suddenly nostalgic
could be soap, could be freshly-washed clothes
most likely its the mix of hidden chemicals
the silent scent
that perfumers will never get
but you will remember it
long after love goes
hold your lovers close
as you are drifting off, sharing oxygen and oxytocin both
memorize the napes of their necks, the crooks of their wrists, the way their breathing rises and falls
knees get cuddled only in one kind of spot
and they will miss this once the spoon is gone
like you will miss the puzzle when you don't get to be a part
and, so, while you are
with your limbs entangled in ways that warm your heart
remember to notice it
so that the last night doesn't go by without you noticing
and suddenly it's over and only in the sunshine do you know these things
while you pine for one more chance to lay with your loved one when night is falling
so, hold your lovers close while you're in their company
this is a plea, mostly for me, so i may remember next time i am a puzzle piece
as well, for the lovers i have held and known
who have been my comforts
and also my abrasions
i have daydreamed about the days when we were first mating
and of the love we made then
like we were scorched earth and it was raining.
Say The Names
by Al Purdy
--say the names say the names
and listen to yourself
an echo in the mountains
Tulameen Tulameen
say them like your soul
was listening and overhearing
and you dreamed you dreamed
you were a river
and you were a river
Tulameen Tulameen
--not the flat borrowed imitations
of foreign names
not Briton Windsor Trenton
but names that ride the wind
Spillimacheen and Nahanni
Kleena Kleene and Horsefly
Illecillewaet and Whachamacallit
Lillooet and Kluane
Head-Smashed in Buffalo Jump
and the whole sky falling
when the buffalo went down
Similkameen and Nahanni
say them say them remember
if you ever wander elsewhere
"the North as a deed and forever"
Kleena Kleene Nahanni
Osoyoos and Similkameen
say the names
as if they were your soul
lost among the mountains
a soul you mislaid
and found again rejoicing
Tulameen Tulameen
till the heart stops beating
say the names
____________________________________________________________________________________
rowing heart
~allan eppler
facing back leaning
against protesting oars I
picture you facing me
as I row sun's reflection off
water dappling your golden
hair and skin in silver
streaks that blind my
eyes as my heart had long
been blinded by Love
now bathed in moonlite my eyes
soaked by oil-black solitude alone
in dark longing for a glimmer
of your gold my heart
protesting
against
oars
Drunk as Drunk
~Pablo Neruda
Translated from the Spanish by Christopher Logue
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses
Valparaiso
~Sting
Chase the dog star
Over the sea
Home where my true love is waiting for me
Rope the south wind
Canvas the stars
Harness the moonlight
So she can safely go
Round the Cape Horn to Valparaiso
Red the port light
Starboard the green
How will she know of the devils I've seen
Cross in the sky, star of the sea
Under the moonlight, there she can safely go
Round the Cape Horn to Valparaiso
Valparaiso
And every road I walked would take me down to the sea
With every broken promise in my sack
And every love would always send the ship of my heart
Over the rolling sea
If I should die
And water's my grave
She'll never know if I'm damned or I'm saved
See the ghost fly over the sea
Under the moonlight, there she can safely go
Round the Cape Horn to Valparaiso
Valparaiso
Valparaiso
Valparaiso
Navigation
-- Dennis Cooley
learned to be at home
in the stars
the lines we would
take from them
pouring through
the dark cold waters
we flew by
the stars in out heads
Dive For Dreams
-- E.E. Cummings
dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at this wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for god likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
One Art
-- Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
The Desiderata
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others,
even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble,
it's a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
A Divine Image
William Blake
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
Good-Night
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.
How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood --
Then it will be -- good night.
To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night.
On Watch
by Allan Eppler
Wind on face and Sun glare
Eye on chart
Hand on wheel
If you were here
I'd cop a feel
Blue Striped Shirt
by Allan Eppler
I found one morning an angel's hair,
long and translucent and
so near invisible, nearly
straight but, with a curl
at the end
It rested near the left collar
of my shirt, the white one,
with blue stripes going
North to South
two buttons on each
cuff,
my favorite shirt
Dancing for hours on the
breeze of my exhalations
til day's end and resting there
still, on that shirt,
in the dark of my closet
_______________________________________________
Who do You Really Remember
by Leonard Cohen
My father died when I was nine,
my mother when I was forty-six,
In between, my dog and several friends.
Recently, more friends,
real friends,
uncles and aunts,
many acquaintances.
And then there's Sheila.
She said, Don't be a jerk, Len.
take your desire seriously.
She died not long after
we were fifteen.
___________________________________________________
Sea Fever
by John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again
to the lonely sea and sky
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song
and the white sail’s shaking
And a gray mist on the sea’s face,
and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
That may not be denied
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying
And the flung spray and the blown spume
and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way
where the wind’s like a whetted knife
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick’s over.
___________________________________________________
Sonnet XVII
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
_______________________________________________________________
Arctic Rhododendrons
by Al Purdy
They are small purple surprises
In the river’s white racket
And after you’ve seen them
a number of times
in water-places
where the silence seems
related to river-thunder
you think of them as ‘noisy flowers’
Years ago
It may have been
that lovers came this way
stopped at the outdoor hotel
to watch the water floorshow
and lying prone together
where the purged green
boils to a white heat
and the shore trembles
like a stone song
with bodies touching
flowers were their conversation
and love the sound of a colour
that lasts two weeks in August
and then dies
except for the three or four
I pressed in a letter
And sent whispering to you
Pangnirtung
______________________________________________________________
How Do We Forgive Our Fathers?
by Dick Lourie
How do we forgive our Fathers?
Maybe in a dream
Do we forgive our Fathers for leaving us too often or forever
when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage
or making us nervous
because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.
Do we forgive our Fathers for marrying or not marrying our Mothers?
For Divorcing or not divorcing our Mothers? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning
for shutting doors
for speaking through walls
or never speaking
or never being silent?
Do we forgive our Fathers in our age or in theirs
or their deaths
saying it to them or not saying it?If we forgive our Fathers what is left?
_______________________________________________________________________
sunskin
by Stefanie Borowski (nee Turowski)
walk away like the time before
the shore
the sandcastle we lived in
swims across the moat and
battles with sundragons
the burns they left on our skin
i want back in
tides swallowed our castle
sun crumbling towers and ramparts
reduced to ruins
a wet grainy mound replaces
halls of iridescent seaflowers
no entrance
not a crack to wriggle into just
to see if your body lies
crushed inside
___________________________________________________
Nightingale
by Leonard Cohen
I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning
Fare the well my nightingale
'Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest closes 'round you
The sun goes down behind a veil
'Tis now that you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly
Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived to be but near you
Though you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you
___________________________________________________
The Sweetest Little Song
by Leonard Cohen
You go your way
I'll go your way too
___________________________________________________
Early Morning at Mt. Baldy
by Leonard Cohen
Alarm awakened me at 2:30 a.m.:
got into my robes
kimono and hakama
modelled after the 12th century
archer's costume:
on top of this the koroma
a heavy outer garment
with impossibly large sleeves:
on top of this the ruska
a kind of patchwork bib
which incorporates an ivory disc:
and finally the four-foot
serpentine belt
that twists into a huge handsome knot
resembling a braided challah
and covers the bottom of the ruksa:
all in all
about 20 pounds of clothing
which I put on quickly
at 2:30 a.m.
over my enormous hard-on
___________________________________________________
Restless
by Gordon Lightfoot
There's a kind of a restless feeling and it pulls me from within
It sets my senses reeling and my wheels begin to spin
In the quietude of winter you can hear the wild geese cry
And I will always love that sound until the day I die
There's a plain and a simple answer to each and every quest
From every quiet dancer who might be a special guest
In a movie made for TV or a late night interview
You might even find them on the Young and the Restless (A) too
Do you get that restless feeling when you hear a whistle blast
Like an echo from the past
Of an old engine flying down a road that's iron cast
The lake is blue, the sky is gray, the leaves have turned to gold
The wild goose will be on her way, the weather's much too cold
When the muskie and the old trout too have all gone down to rest
We will be returning to the things that we love best
Do you get that restless yearning when you think about your dad
And the scrimshaw that he had
Of an old schooner roving 'neath a sky that's ironclad
There's a kind of a restless feeling and it catches you off guard
As we gaze off in the distance through the trees in my back yard
I can feel the restless yearning of those geese as off they roam
Then trade that for a warm bed and a place I can call home
Will you get that restless yearning when you hear the wicked blast
Of a spectre from the past
Of a cold diesel rolling down a road that's built to last
Still I get that restless feeling when I hear a whistle blast
See an image from the past
Of an old schooner flying down a sky that's overcast
__________________________________________________
Bjork
(From the poem "Wade" by E.E. Cummings)
I will wade out
Till my thighs are steeped
In burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
And leap into the ripe air
Alive with closed eyes
To dash against darkness
In the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers
Of smooth mastery
With chasteness of sea-girls
Will I complete the mystery
Of my flesh
Will I complete the mystery
Of my flesh
My flesh
___________________________________________________
I Love Me
by Allan Eppler
I am a vessel of senses feeding my brain
with stimuli that no other sees exactly like me
the trees, the sky, tears
the smell of the ocean
and flowers
the sounds of waves
and birds
and laughter
I don't take any of it for granted
If it wasn't for me
I would never know.
____________________________________________________
Bee
to
you
flower
Moth
to
your
flame
Hummingbird
to
your
nectar