Five degrees below zero.
Grass
stiff with frost.
Pipes
frozen.
Pond
iced over.
Broken tap
paralysed mid-drip.
Nothing moves in the pre-dawn darkness
Except the stars,
shimmering in a black-ice sky.
Poetry
My Best Day
I gave a writing prompt to a few students yesterday—describe your best day ever (real or hypothetical). Here’s my response in poetry:
On my best day, the sun shines
But it’s not too hot.
I get up before dawn
And the air is soft
The moon full
Sinking gently to the mountains.
I am outdoors all day
With people I love
Or alone.
On my best day, I sweat
And get my hands dirty.
I see endangered wildlife
And pick tomatoes.
I stay out late to watch
Orion rise
And see the aurora australis.
My best day stretches into night
And I sleep
Without dreams.
Still life with nails
When the work is done
The tools
Rest.
They do not worry
About the quality of the job,
Or whether there is enough paint
To finish it.
They are not concerned
About tomorrow’s to-do list.
Presumably
They do not ache the next day
From having used muscles
Heretofore unknown.
No.
They repose
With the relaxation of babes,
The languor of ladies
Who lunch.
The Shark
The desiccated body grimaced.
Mouth agape
Spine twisted
As though frozen in mid-thrash.
Fins, resistant to shrivelling, looked too big
For the small form
Once so sleek and streamlined
Once the terror
Of small fish in the surf.
Brought to this ignominious end
By the bright tip of a hook
Hidden in some tasty morsel.
Rejected
By the fisherman who reeled him in.
Diptera—the Flies
With several thousand sheep as neighbours, it’s no surprise the house is full of flies all summer.
There are, of course, house flies, but the Dipterans don’t stop there, and not all of them are around for the sheep poo. We also have lesser house flies, crane flies, fungus gnats, midges (which I’ve mentioned before), several species of blowfly, drone flies, striped dung flies, ginger bristle flies, two species of soldier fly, robber flies, longlegged flies…and those are just some of the flies that find their way into the house.
Not all of the flies are pests, though none really belong in the house. Some are important pollinators, many are decomposers breaking down plant and animal material, some prey on pest flies, and all are food for other animals.
And, like all insects, they are inspiration for doggerel…
The order Diptera
Known as the flies
Have one pair of wings
(I tell you no lies)
They’re often seen flying
‘Round garbage and such
And generally people
Don’t like them too much.
Throwback Thursday: Panama Nights
I recently ran across a series of haiku I wrote by lamplight, sitting on the porch of our house in Panama many years ago. I still think they capture those evenings, full of water, wildlife, and the sounds of the village around us.
I.
Rats’ tin nights.
Dancing rooftop rodents
Steal my sleep.
II.
Muggy night
Love in stagnant puddle
Mud. Eep! Mud.
III.
Rosary
Evening chant for the dead.
Do they hear?
IV.
Lightning strike
Shatters bones and makes the
Cat lie low.
V.
Frogs clatter
Loving neck deep in
Calm wet nights.
VI.
Keep a calm
Ear listening. You may
Hear trees sing.
The Journey
Give thanks for the air
The water
The soil
The vegetables in the garden
The fabric
And the needle
And the thread
Take time
To watch bees
To drink tea
To listen
To laugh at bad jokes
To write awful poetry
To admire weeds
And talk over the back fence
Do not be in a hurry
To get where you are going.
One day
You will find yourself there.
Perhaps unexpectedly.
And then it will be too late
To enjoy the journey.
Thorns
Young rose
Be careful.
Grow those thorns.
Protect yourself.
But
Don’t grow too many.
Let your beauty shine
Sometimes.
Leave vulnerable spaces.
Not everyone
Wants to eat your leaves.
Some
Come only to admire
Or to know you better.
Let them in.
Wilting
Oh, limp plant!
I know how you feel
When the wind blows hot
And the brain cells congeal.
And you’d give all you own
For a cool glass of water
But nothing will help
As the sun burns still hotter.
And you know it must end,
But it all comes to grief
When the sun goes down
And you get no relief.
For the night wind, too,
Blows hot and blows dry,
And your leaves stay limp
Though the moon’s in the sky.
Then, just before dawn
You feel the wind shift.
And you pray for some rain,
That life-giving gift.
As the drops start to fall
You breathe a great sigh
And lift your leaves up
To give thanks to the sky.
Soundtrack For the Drive Home on a Summer Evening
(with special thanks to Dave Dobbyn)
Traffic thins, dusk falls
Be mine tonight.
Windows down, breathe cool air
Just add water and dissolve, Baby.
100 kilometres per hour past disinterested sheep
Guilty through neglect.
Moths in the headlights make furry windshield thuds
The outlook for Thursday, your guess is good as mine.
Stray hairs tap tap tap a rhythm on my cheek
It’s magic what she do.
Purple mountains against a bruised apricot sky
Shouldn’t you ought to be in love?
Kids playing frisbee in the dusk
           Call me loyal
Round the bend, the neighbour’s dogs bark
Welcome home.
Robinne Weiss 