Thanks once again, Ariel, for pulling us together, and thanks to everyone for your poems and comments. It's been good to have this virtual writing group as an incentive to keep writing new stuff. Now I've got a nice stack of drafts to work on, and am hoping some of that May energy will carry on. See you all next May, if not before...

June . . .

Well, it's a June day now, but in Manitoba no one can tell it apart from a May or April or March day. My heat was turned off weeks ago despite some below zero nights that have me sleeping in layers of flannel and blankets. Fortunately, despite the near-daily rains colouring my mood, I don't have to fight the flood waters like so many Manitobans must this year.

Thank you, Ariel, for once again taking good care of your annual visitors! Au revoir, chers poètes ...

I’ve always been steadied by the fraternity of birds.

Feasted with waxwing, shoulder to feathered shoulder, on banquet of fruit from the highest branches. Mouths too full of berry mash to speak, but – beak or lip, crop or gut – saskatoons stain all throats sweet.

Let warblers clip my whiskers with their busy nibs, align lustrous recitals to the portal of my ear. Twitchy in their hospitality, they showed me their careful carpentry, proud of their sniveling, ugly young.

As men will compare extent of cock, capacity of liver, I measured wingspan against osprey, inseam with heron. (Stifled my grin at their unblinking awe.) Soared so far aloft we happily spat cloud from our faces, watched the crowd below pinch cricks out of necks, try to wince us from sky.

The End of Poetry

Or at least the end of May. Thanks or the great month and many thanks to Ariel for setting this up. I feel like I kept to my goals for the first two weeks, but then became more selective/lazy, especially with commenting. That mid-May hump is tough! But I did write a lot more new poems than I otherwise would have in the month. Here is one last, lazy found poem to finish things off.

Selected Tweets, search: "poetry"
May 31, 2011, 8:38 PM

Comin' in hard from the windy, #remember
they jammin' in this poetry joint, beautiful
like a sunset on a warm summer night.

Saw lips today, thought of you.
@8BLEED_SINS #CONFESSION FREECASH 101

Bedevilment instrument,
showing hashtags for whom pale horses, sharp fine foxes
blossom. My game

Was Never That Tite...But My Poetry
Made All The Panties Wet!
These poets killed it.
I used to write poetry.
I'm about to start writing poetry again.

http://www.pxlpl.us/hcab

Closure

I'm here to get closure.

A rescue mission -

in and out -

grab the stuff I left behind

in my rush to escape.

I want to close the circles

fill the gaps

say my goodbyes

seal the boxes.

But I learn on this trip

that's not the kind of closure

I'm going to get.

I'm diverted

from the path I've always taken,

flooded by the epic weeping

of a springtime river.

There's a breach in the road

that used to be so easy

to get from me to you.

There's a breach in the road

and there's no bridge to cross it.

So all that's left is to drive

in a new direction

even if it takes all night

because I won't risk

getting bogged down

or being washed away

completely in the flood.

----

Thanks all for the month. I wasn't as diligent as I'd hoped, but just participating got me to write down some snippets that I plan to work with over the summer, which is a huge step back toward writing again, so I'm grateful!

All the best to the other wonderful poets here - I've really enjoyed seeing the world through your eyes. I hope to see a version of some of these creations in print sometime...

Routine

Fridays: take the boy to school,

ride the no. 10 downtown, walk

to the Y. Locker in the second aisle.

Stow backpack and coat. Smile at her.

Weird today, isn't it? Who are all these people?

Is there a holiday from school?

(she means: good Lord, these chicks

make me feel old)

I'm sure glad to see you here!

(she means: at least there's one face I know.

I have not told her my name. She says

she doesn't remember names.)

She tells me— voice lowered—

I have to take these pills four times a day,

or I'd die (a solemn nod, blue eyes wide)

I had a seizure and it damaged my brain.

Once she tells me: It was so hard

when it happened, I couldn't go out.

I couldn't remember where I lived.

She's in gym clothes. I go to the pool.

You're such a speed-swimmer,

you and that other guy!

and I can't tell her otherwise.

Just smile and shrug. I'm glad

to see her, too.

Friday the 13th: Leander of Seville

If I believed in anything, like I would say it here!
I keep my beliefs closer to my chest, unless
I’m answering the Belief-O-Matic™’s quizzical call.
Some days I believe all you need is love,
and others in the power of upper-middle-class incomes.
I would like to believe in the healing properties of plants.
But plants are too slow for this. Plants whisper away the day
when healing sometimes TO SHOUT.

Some might say: perhaps if I’d professed a bit
I wouldn’t hurt now. To that I say “pshaw,”
for one gets so few chances to say it.
If God is that God,
He can see your fingers crossed behind your back,
with, on the back of His head,
His mother’s eyes.

Cutting

Solitary, even among the herd,
calf’s loneliness shows more
than its limp.

Stutters out of step, slips
skittish glimpses side-to-side.
Feels your flintknapped eyes
pierce its hide, but plays blind.

Your horse chips in to the fold,
slowly cracks cattle wide,
pries the calf loose.

You rive calf from its kine,
wait for its fear to ease
into defeat.