[audio mp3="http://www.queensquilt.ca/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/sing-o-sweet-winged-creature.mp3"][/audio]
sing! o sweet, winged creature
of the endless sky beyond our darkened caverns.
as we venture further into the oppressive earth;
pickaxes and helms caked with decay,
your sacred song sows our home back into the dirt:
tales of the azure wild,
of gods that trail along ocean floors,
yielding their...
Posted at 19:25h
in
Creative,
Poetry,
Volume 3
I have recorded a love blind as faith
opaque and unwavering.
Love – she simmers out of sight while devotees
come to her doors.
They’ll call her forth: knees purple,
heads drawn to the floor reverently.
Rooted in rows as the play of sacrifice drones on at the altar,
an evisceration of...
Tonight, a buzzing, tingling, familiar fear takes root in my abdomen and shivers up my spine.
The moon outside is creamy and dapples the insides of my eyelids with twinkling white lights.
She is woeful: that single, bright eye, harbour of the listless and witness of secrets,
But...
Posted at 18:26h
in
Creative,
Poetry,
Volume 3
There by the wind-wake and diesel fumes, peeling off the road
I can chase a younger version of me to the playground
It’s dark; I can barely see
the swings, but once I’m there I’m a ghost
a dark sweatshirt on a pendulum, a metronome of flesh and bone...
Posted at 18:11h
in
Creative,
Poetry,
Volume 3
my nonna was the last to eat in her family,
scooping bowls of pastina soup
for her husband and children,
hovering over the table in case
there were pleads for more
parmesan or pepper,
serving seconds before she got her first;
a comforting lunch turned lukewarm
by the time she sits in the...
Posted at 17:00h
in
Creative,
Poetry,
Volume 3
I
let’s say: you are walking you are walking & you see exactly where the sidewalk stops
& this is perfect you know exactly where one feeling end s & ano
...
Posted at 16:59h
in
Creative,
Poetry,
Volume 3
“Do you remember us as children?”
I don’t either, not entirely.
I stood on tables singing and screaming poetry,
so you must have been the quiet one.
Now, turmeric stains my sleeves,
and they braid dandelions around my fingers.
Now, you’ve been experimenting with facial hair,
and I’m too cautious to comment...
When I was born
I changed my mother’s hair
(What happens to a body is a daughter’s fault).
I drank salt water mixed by a propellor
On the back of a boat,
Ate grapefruit my grandfather bought accidentally,
Took a 500 a month stipend
And some bullet points,
Pushed on the doors I...
my first is perhaps the
most foreign, yet it is the one of home.
Cantonese. She lights the path forward, a promise
of return, a call of the motherland beckoning us on.
She brings home wayward sailors
paddling peeling kayaks packed with families, Canadian-born.
Almost at the shore, upset, upstart, unsure,
the...
you turn your head in the shower
curve your neck, just so
and let the water run down your cheek like a hand cupping your face
a palm thrumming with the heartbeat of summer rain.
this is the part where you forget
float on steam and the promise of a...