Tag Archives: bee

The Canadian Pastime


Most of you probably know this, but I am Canadian.
I like being polite to strangers until they piss me off, I like when the Mounties get their man (or woman), I think igloos are awesome and I wish I could build one each winter (but there’s never enough snow or ice where I live!), I like maple syrup a bit more than is strictly healthy, and I think the music that comes from my country is pretty rockin’ (though two notable exceptions spring to mind: J. Beibs, and Nickelback. Nobody’s perfect, not even Canada).

I think what is best known about my country (that’s actually true anyway) is our near-rabid enduring love of ice- and snow-based sports. They’re not for everyone, but I must say if you’ve never played a game of street hockey and had to yell “CAR!” and move the nets/net substitutes out of the way, you haven’t lived.

This poem is about the kids that get out there on the ice and have fun.

Snoopy and Woodstock really are driving a Zamboni. That isn't my imagination. YES.

The Canadian Pastime

The smell of chlorine permeates
Every room, every corridor,
While the cacophony rises from
The vast sheet of ice.
Children swarming like bumblebees
Slipping, falling, chasing.

At once, a shot! And both teams
End in a heap in one net;
Each player their own goal,
The puck nowhere in sight.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Also, I will try to keep to a schedule of posting Tuesdays and Fridays. Who knows how long that’ll last. 😛

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The Butterfly and Bee


“Maybe I’ve been here before/ I know this room, I’ve walked this floor/ I used to live alone before I knew you.”

🙂 I like Leonard Cohen. Famous Blue Raincoat is probably my favourite, but Hallelujah is rather well-known, at least through the many covers that have been done. Rufus Wainwright’s was excellent, and k.d. lang’s was pretty good too. Can’t forget Jeff Buckley’s either. Dang, there are so many.

In any case. This is about poetry. Poetry that was kind of inspired by Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream, and I believe might have been written with marker on a piece of cardboard that got rescued from the kindling box. This was on that same trip I took up with the fam-damily up to Balsam Lake.

The Butterfly and Bee

I felt the strangest sense of deja-vu
The other night around the fire
I knew I had been there
Before, I knew that smell,
I heard the same conversation
In the same words, tones and voices,
Felt that very same wind.

I took a moment, frozen
In that sameness of space and time
As though this place was the dream
And the place before, a place
Half-remembered, half-dreamt,
Was the reality.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2011.

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Allergy


This wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it down last night. It needs some more love, but I think this one needs some more time on the back burner.

Allergy

The sting of a honey bee is
Like eating your first truly spicy dish
After a lifetime of bland meat and potatoes:
One can’t comprehend the complexity of flavour.
Instead, it is a sharp burning sensation,
With awful tingles radiating out, and
Then Mount Vesuvius erupts in the throat,
Obliterating one’s ability to breathe–

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

Which reminds me, gotta call the doc and set up an appointment to get my allergy tests done. I would like to know for sure if I need an epi pen or not for summer. Might be kinda helpful. Especially since last time I got stung by a bee on the hand, my arm swelled up almost all the way to my elbow.

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Ink


It’s poem time again, ladies and gents.
Because it’s waaaaay past the witching hour, and coincidentally way past what a reasonable person would assume to be bedtime. But I don’t work tomorrow, so fuckit. Poem!

Ink

I will write my spirit on my skin
In black or colourful ink,
Anticipating the needle’s buzz,
Not dreading the stinging bite-
Waiting is the hardest part.

I have planned my tattoos
More meticulously than any poem.
Felines, bumblebee, birds and fantasy,
This ink will tell my tale far better
Than I can with pen and paper.

I will paint my skin from neck to ankle,
A mobile canvas to wear proudly
No matter what the weather in my mind.
The phrase may be trite, but true:
Such beauty is worth the pain.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2011.

I think it needs more. There’s at least one stanza that’s hiding on me, and I want it to come out and play. Alas, it’s shy. Plus, the last two lines feel a bit rushed. Thoughts, anyone? I’m wide open for constructive criticism.

Also I need to take some photos of my ink. Unless no one’s interested in seeing my tattoos? 😛
(Heck even if you’re not, when I get around to it, I’ll probably add a couple tattoo photos to my “about me” little blurb. So there!)

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