I see at the great lake’s edge,a boundary shaped by manin concrete,as if true linewere something obscene, two fishers, a pole,a boat, old jeans. I canname a colour for sky,measure stillness of water surface,savour breeze,feel the weight inone summer dayas its line plays out,hook and sinker. Mad birds chatter on aboutsomething while I am leanedagainstContinue reading “Fishing”
Tag Archives: meaning
Just Enough Birds
How beautiful the birds wereyesterday. Hard at the work of makingliving lookeasy,the fragile creatures flew back and forth,making a God-awful lotofnoise. The most annoying, repetitive soundswere ones having to dowith territorial rightsand love-making,those two things which I do not have. Jeez. I got up and closed the damn windowbuthow beautiful the birds were. Flashes ofContinue reading “Just Enough Birds”
The Trees From Which
Those trees from whichgreat violins were fashionedmade sounds like sighing.Bold limbscreaked and groaned,urged by wind that spentmidnightbeing musical. This is not quite the same musica cricket makes when itrubs its legs together at evening,arousing,but you get the idea. Perhaps Antonio Stradivariheard a branch moan,leaped from his bed, thought,“That is my elusive tone!”and ran to hisContinue reading “The Trees From Which”
Captured In Creation
Spring returnedto Thirsty Harbour onceagain this year,advanced,as it has ever been,by some fantastic gear,whose driving force,eternal,spins the whole around. Both whereabouts of motor-driveand obvious reason why,elude our observation.Iam the curious passenger,and with all, toward beginning bound.
You Cannot Say Hoar Frost Anymore
Spring returnsto Thirsty Harbour,whose thawing windows reveal slowjust how fast a once-trickle streamflows, constant now,without promise or flavour. Mudded brown,many mixed and broken thingsswirl downas watch then we old news,the morning, the night,each lighted bright and piled onthe noon. Someone pulled a golden handlemarked ‘flush’and our glorious daysby manufactured magic rushto disappear.Who knows when itContinue reading “You Cannot Say Hoar Frost Anymore”
The Mountain Poem
The Mountain Poem(march 17, 2023) Today,when I started,I meant to walkthrough the new mountains,where sharp edgesthrust upward.Always embarrassed at their nakedness,the peaks have now slung hasty,below the shoulder,a soft garment of greenwhich teases another season to life. It has been winterand hibernationfor the longest time,with everything visible disguisedby a transitory puritythat now blackens and shrinksunderContinue reading “The Mountain Poem”
A Package Of Value
I put away dulled pencils,and the greyscribblingthat screamed back froma near-emptypage. Heeding the howling not,I stepped backfor a momentof what I claim isair. Habit drew me,distracted, to thekitchen,to the stoveand to brief wispsof a sick sweet smokethat might provoke in others,urgent need for caution.Not me.Thus, I grow fatfrom simple constipation. As I laboured atthe potsContinue reading “A Package Of Value”
The Guest May Never Know
Folks say that it was God,Himself, who bent the sunalong it’s track,sent the other starsand planetsfrom or to then back. A store-front preacher,whom I know,reads from a bookthat’s very old,breathes a quiet soliloquy. The ancient talesdo comfort him andI don’t flat-outdisagree, ‘causethings more strange thansomeone’s super powers,science says, must be. If Quarks with charmdon’t ringContinue reading “The Guest May Never Know”
The Clock Alone Has Time
Time,the shining mother ship,transports our trusting souls,aloft, a-sail,across the dome of space. Wind and circumstance,by strong or gentle motion,bend what they are passing,so can time be proven.(A thing was here that nowis there. I am baldwho once had hair.) Contrariwise,I true believe,we never leave the moment.There is no was andwill no futurecertain be,though ebb andflood,Continue reading “The Clock Alone Has Time”
The Proof
Suppose it true,our solitary home a spinning rock,flung across entiretyat fantastic speed. I can almost feel thewind of it,loose hair much likea comet-tail of frozen bitsas timeand every precious minute lived,flows out behind. This is a dazzling idea,whereGod and love andpower and fortune,win and lose andmighty oceans,taxes and war andconstitutionsmeannothing.The proof of paradiseis imagination.
Robert On The Air 