centre of the universe

Tag: poetry

  • A Gift of the Prairie

    A Gift of the Prairie

    THE BOOK THAT MY POEMS ARE IN IS HERE! THE BOOK THAT MY POEMS ARE IN IS HERE!! Extra points if you can name the reference there. It’s called A Gift of the Prairie and it is published by the Last Mountain Lake Cultural Centre. This was a project co-ordinated (and edited) by the inimitable […]

  • David

    You always remembered : One time, in passing, I told you “Irises are my favourite flower”. Every year on my birthday, an Iris from your garden. One year, a drawing of an eyeball. “Here’s your birthday iris,” you’d written. Sometimes – often – I hardly understood what you were talking about. You gave my meagre […]

  • O Lamy, my Lamy!

    – Remember: No good comes of Walt Whitman – O Lamy! my Lamy! my lovely pen is gone; The pen has written every word, the letters sought not done; The book is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While reading eyes the metric verse, the poem grim and daring: But O heart! […]

  • DON’T PANIC

    Right.  How the hell am I not supposed to panic? I’ve been asked to read !?my own poetry?! at the upcoming poetry reading/opening of Artisan in Regina. I’ve been asked to share the stage with *real* poets who have *books* and *poet cred*. Don’t Panic!!??  I have 24 hours to make up my mind. I […]

  • Conversation in my head

    Were I to take a lovertruly, take a loverWere it my place to have a loverI meananother lover Were I to have two loversreally, two different loversWere it my place to have two loversAgain,I’d choose you Why me? Why would you choose *me*?You could have anyone; everyone in the worldas your lover. No, not everyone. […]

  • That thing I heard

    Someone told me once that you leave a part of yourself everywhere you’ve been, particularly in those places that have touched your soul. This leads me to wonder how many fragmented shards of me there are wandering this city. If I should meet myself, walking along the riverbank, shirtless, would I know myself? Assuming I […]

  • solitary confinement

    The night is warm, but the wind is cool. I stand in the centre of a field of summerfallow. Above me, the stars glint and shimmer. Below me, the earth is solid and warm. The soil in the fallow rows is loose and soft as my sandals sink down into it. The soil covers the […]