(For National Poetry Month I write a daily stream-of-conscious poem. Spontaneous single edit – it will be ugly! Poem #20.)

holy saturday silence
startles me in bed
gravel eyed and confused
six-thirty a.m.
muttering ‘why?’

i am uncertain
this is not new
yet here it lingers
crystal clear
muttering ‘why?’

now look here – no really
we’ve covered this before
and we always end
in the same space
muttering ‘why?’

oh sweet jesus
you’re not going
to let me sleep are you
with this constant
muttering ‘why?’

fine then i surrender
up already and down
clattering decluttering
puttering aimlessly
muttering ‘why?’

(For National Poetry Month I write a daily stream-of-conscious poem. Spontaneous single edit – it will be ugly! Poem #19.)

ex nihilo
I awaken from dreaming
of your lips warm on mine
only to find the heat is off
in this empty house

Easter weekend
Good Friday hatches
half thoughts of eggs
coloured or not
ripe with possibility
still warm from the pot

I’d have to move
from this bed where
I am currently cocooned
ignoring the pushy cats
scratching my bedroom door
demanding I arise

pitter patter
April rain on roof
pitter patter
cat paws in pursuit
pitter patter
words in my head

bitter herbs for seder
fresh plucked and dipped
unleavened bread broken
blessed and consumed
this is my body
this is my blood
this is my betrayal

I didn’t ask for this
and yet here it is bestowed
as everything and nothing
alpha to omega
wrapped in brown paper
with a tattered Christmas bow

pit-a-pat
rain keeps falling
pit-a-pat
felines still calling
pit-a-pat
I’m still stalling

mother used to make fish
every goddamn Friday
filling my nostrils
with the scent of death
and catholicism for supper

father would close shave
every blessed Saturday
filling the whole house
with the reek of Aqua Velva
in ritual ablution for Sunday

I never could decide which
aroma I detested more
and now how very much
I miss them both

pitter-patter
pit-a-pat
tick-tock
time moves on
leaving us alone
hoping to atone
for what we did
and what we didn’t

time at last for me to confess
I think today it may be best
if I slip deeply back to rest
for I have failed the living test.

(For National Poetry Month I write a daily stream-of-conscious poem. Spontaneous single edit – it will be ugly! Poem #18.)

this
is
how
i
spent
my
vacation

i
took
pictures
of
my
food

it
was
fuckin’
amazing.

(For National Poetry Month I write a daily stream-of-conscious poem. Spontaneous single edit – it will be ugly! Poem #17.)

horrible porridge
ruins your day
horrible chairs
breaking away
horrible bed
hard on my head

oh to be happy
joyful with bliss
golden haired
sweet little miss

throwing a tantrum
to get her way
doesn’t give a damn
what others might say
declares “I need it now
or you get no play!”

golden haired
mad little miss
get outta my life
don’t need your hiss!

horrible porridge
ruins my day
horrible chairs
take ’em away
oh but this bed
here I might stay!

(For National Poetry Month I write a daily stream-of-conscious poem. Spontaneous single edit – it will be ugly! Poem #16.)

mid-April
cold black pond
wind rubbing
last autumns
broken cattails

come summer
this pool bursts
with dragonflies
loud bullfrogs
mosquitoes
swarming

perched on
fallen birch
silent solitude
embraces me in
cold breath of
early spring

as children we skipped
smooth rocks
keeping time
with each hop
rippling across
spring melt water

now I write poetry
and wonder where
these memories go
when we are gone.