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Poetry in motion…

May 19, 2018

On this remote and classic lake

only the lapsing of the water can I hear img_6586

and the cold wind through the sumac.

The moneyed and their sunburnt children

swarm other shores. Here is ecstasy.

The sun’s outline made livid

by each lacustral cloud

and man naked with mystery.

They dance best who dance with desire,

who lifting feet of fire form fire

weave before they lie down

a red carpet for the sun.

(Irving Leyton)


shy wildflower found

peeking out from winter’s bed


seeing you after so long,

a brief collision of joy.

(Vickie Goodfellow Duke)


Moonlight through high branches.

All poets say there is more to it,

than moonlight through high branches.

But me, what do I know about moonlight?

Sometimes I’m under those branches, calling a lost cat,

or, in the house across the road, scribbling.

The moon shines, that’s moonlight for you.

And my neighbor is out in his car again, gunning the motor.

(Eirin Moure)


When I said ‘tree’

my skin grew rough as bark.

I almost remember how all the leaves

rushed shouting shimmering,

out of my veins.

Even now

I can almost remember

how many hands I had

hooked in the sky.

(seen on the Toronto subway)


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