Thursday, February 24, 2011

Tell me a poem,
she says.

I have but one,
 says I.

The sun rose today
with your
face on it.
Poor Lucy from Alde Bye Gorge

What if
there is no beginning
or no end
and the only creation
is recreation?

What if my atoms were the atoms of
an ancient slave
working on the pyramids?

Maybe the bone Lucy uses
as a hammer
to crack a nut
is from the hip of my ancient cousin.

Perhaps our atoms dwell
in the body of a hound
that snitches a morsel 
from Lucy's lunch.

What if
there is only life and death
or death and life?

Perhaps it is all just magic?

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Perhaps the sky is falling

Sometimes I dream I hear
some muffled drumming
but soon 
the drumming stops
then
after a silent minute drums on .

The drummer says
he drums for the soldiers
of this war.
Or was it the last?
Or is it the next?
In some dreams 
the drummers change
but
the dreadful beat remains

Thursday, February 17, 2011

A night near Sioux Lookout

She was exquisite.
I, (one might presume)
had a pleasing
exterior.
I pleaded for her favor.
She gave me some sweet tea
and
a warm piece of bannock.
No jam I asked?
No jam she said.
I listened for GOD
and she said
she didn't need to know
if I believed in her or not.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Okay- just don't nag.

On the mornings
when the dew has turned 
the grass to frosty white
and the leaves of trees 
turn red and gold.
I become aware winter
the season of the  
 the  snapping trees
requires the making 
of plans.