Tag Archives: #freeversepoetry

The Nightbird

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The Nightbird

It is absurd in a dubious kind of way,
the need to fit in with simulated norms.
I don’t care anymore if the jukebox plays
a re-mix of this fucked up excuse for a life.

The nightbird does not bend beneath such sorrow,
soaring high above the smoke-filled bordellos,
She knows no fear of being crushed beneath
the one-eyed monster’s armadillo-skinned boot.

I lay here all but empty – shamefully waiting
for the scent of homemade soap, and
the primal thrust of a hot starched pistol,
Though I’ve not a pound of flesh left to give.

I’m swept high upon a ribbon that swirls
in the turbulent eddies she leaves behind,
Catching glimpses of freedom in the pull of her wake.
Below my battered shell awaits, unsure if I’ll return.

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At the Stroke of Midnight

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At the Stroke of Midnight

Family gathered in a circle,
arms crossed and hands clasped together.
Frantically we assemble as the anticipation builds…
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 –
“Happy New Year!”
…and then the room breaks into song,
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…”

Auld Lang Syne

Scottish Traditional (Robert Burns)

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?

  Chorus
  For auld lang syne, my jo,
  for auld lang syne,
  we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
  for auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!
and surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

  Chorus

We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot,
sin auld lang syne.

  Chorus

We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
sin auld lang syne.

  Chorus

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.

  Chorus
Modern

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?

  Chorus
  For auld lang syne, my dear,
  for auld lang syne,
  we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
  for auld lang syne.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup!
and surely I'll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

  Chorus

We two have run about the hills,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we've wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

  Chorus

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

  Chorus

And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give us a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

  Chorus
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Cottage Country

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Cottage Country

Photo: Sandy Morrison | Post-processing: Greg Glazebrook

Dulled by the trolley’s rhythm,
I drift through fragmented memories
of past summers in Canada.

Lazy days spent at the lake.
Endless trees, evergreen garlands,
strung between water and blue clear skies.

Sunday snoozing in the back pew.
Choir hymns rippling through
waves of vanilla scented candles.

Those who have flocked here,
Explorers, seeking truths
for which there are no answers.

If ever there was a place to believe!
Even for the briefest of moments
before the colours turn.

Fading through the back window…
Leaving only our ghosts to greet
the chalk white snows of winter.

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The Coming Storm

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Alexander Andrews @ Unsplash

The Coming Storm

A weathered and worn windsock,
taut on the peak above.
An unheeded warning
to the hazy milieu below.

––

Conflated is the vapour
that escapes your cruel grasp,
devoid of oxygen we once shared.

Sharp wit and candor weigh ––
heavy like the suffocating
crush induced by the snake’s coil.

––

Panic bells chime within,
beckoning my getaway
before the coming storm, but
I cannot leave her behind.

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