Tag Archives: sky

Afternoon in Winter


Afternoon in Winter

Winter: the season for hibernation,
Slowing the heartbeat and metabolism;
A time of early darkness and forgetting.

A torpid season for creatures —
Pudgy black squirrel scrabbles leadenly,
So small when projected against the grim sky.

It seems much easier to forget when
Cold death blankets what lived, and
Ice shrouds windows and walkways.

Now is the time to reflect on the weeks
And the seasons  which have passed me by,
Most of which I would prefer to
Forget.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2012.

This was a weird poem that I had intended to be from the point of view of a tree in the winter, but I cut or changed pretty much all the parts that referenced it, so now I sound like I need a hug.

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Two-fer today!


Sometimes I write things down in my little fat notebook and promptly forget them, because gawd-damn they are depressing. I thought I’d share two of them today!

Untitled #1
Or, whoa did I watch Metropolis (1927 film) that day?

The grime smothers the city
From thousands of pounding feet
And spinning wheels daily
The lives of the workers are bleak
Forever in motion, without rest
No hope of something greater.
The cold bites their fingers
Numb to everything but the
Endless expanse of grey sky, black dirt.
Is there anything more than this,
The vast suffering of faceless drones?

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

Untitled #2
Or, apparently I was not happy with humanity

just another pointless lament
listless animalistic stereotype
bored with endless ennui
cloudy of mind, purposeless
a wandering soul searching for
the next thing to live for
and the next and the next
a quest for the newest stimulation
ultimately in vain, because
it too shall becomes tiresome
and the cycle shall repeat and repeat
the quest the resolution and again
why the unsatisfactory quest
just to be doomed to seek, find and lose?

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

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Gasp! Another two-fer!


This poem was brought to you by the letter I. And inspired by Writer’s Island.

Incomparable

Indomitably idealistic,
I idolized her intellect.
Incomparable to the idiots
Ignoring ideas for industry,
I sat irritably idle while my
Iconoclastic ingenue
Irrigated iron minds,
Impelling them to interchange
Instinct for inductive reasoning.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

But wait! There’s more. This is kind of a response to this poem.

don’t know if this is senryu or haiku or just fun

relief comes pouring
in cool torrents from the sky
breaking the heat’s back

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

Thank goodness for today’s thunderstorm. I love watching them, hearing them, smelling them- the whole experience.

Both short and sweet. Let me know what you think! And if you know what I should be calling that haiku-senryu-thingy, help a sister out 🙂

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Three Word Wednesday Two-Fer


I thought I might mess around with that Fibonacci thing I did before. Since I spaced on last week‘s Three Word Wednesday, I figured, why not do both this week? Last week was erratic, luminous, and omen, and this week is alter, fond and tranquil.

Also, these might be a bit weird; I have Baba O’Riley by the Who stuck in my head, and I’m not sure if that’s related to the weird. It’s a good song, don’t get me wrong, but I’m usually more for Led Zeppelin than the Who.

Bottom of the Ocean

watch
out
for the
luminous
bait of the fearsome
anglerfish-  soothing light luring
its erratic  prey closer to the jaws of their doom.
it’s tough living at the bottom
of the ocean; see
omen of
rising
sea
heights.

© Bridget Noonan, 2o11.

Shakespeare Said It Best

Love allows no impediment to it,
Alters not with the changing winds. Instead,
It flows like rain from the heavens, collects
In our hearts, overflows in everything
We do.  Love is the bright sun in the sky,
Warming the seeds of fondness in this earth.
Turbulent seas calm in the face of love,
Stifling afternoons fade to tranquil nights.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

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Wanderlust


Perhaps I ought to start with a definition, just to make things perfectly clear.

wanderlust n.
a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about.

And now, the poem itself. It is posted to One Single Impression, for this week’s prompt rambling.

Wanderlust

the wail of harmonica and voice
reminds my ear of a lonesome train
limping along barren rails to nowhere
and so wanderlust grips at me,
drags me by my feet into the world.
I ride the kilometres from
Waterloo to Peterborough,
Lake Ontario to Lake Simcoe
and before me I see blurred lights
the tail lights that stretch from here
to infinity; each one of them chasing
the next hour, next kilometre, next pit stop.
will this longing ever end?
can I be satisfied not knowing
what town or vista lies over these hills,
where the end of this road lies?
I am limited only by the gas in my tank,
and the money in my pocket.

the dust of a thousand days
clings to my worn shoes, while
I trudge on top of this busy road.
the rhythm of life: wheels spinning,
children playing, and dogs barking.
and I, weary traveller, pass through-
a shadow on the stone, nothing more.
my broken-down car lies behind me as
I gaze at the stars in the sky,
the burnt out pixels on a dark screen.
the only peaceful thing is to look up to
tiny points of light while the frantic pace
of night whizzes all around me.

this is my blood spilled across these pages,
my mind blown like a tumbleweed
along the empty miles between
myself and this empty chased feeling.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

I cannot tell you how much Elliott Smith has influenced my life. And by extension my poetry. If you have struggled, he has a song that feels like he ripped it out of your mind and put beautiful and heartbreaking music to it.

If you want to feel this poem fully, listen to the Decemberists do his song Clementine. It’s from an album of songs, made as a tribute to E. S.’s music. And if you put it first on a mix CD of driving music for roving far from home, think of me when you listen to it. I’m probably on the road with you.

I was going to post a silly freestyle rap thing I wrote at work today with/for a girl I work with, but I was feeling melancholy, and definitely had itchy feet. Maybe tomorrow.

do you miss me, Miss Misery, like you say you do?

EDIT: This has also been posted to Poets United.

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Thoughts on the Shore of Balsam Lake


I wrote this on vacation last summer. Well, most of it. I mixed it up, and I’m sure a couple things got cobbled together from other bits I wrote that week, and there wasn’t a resolution until just now. I had vague plans of turning it into a multi-page epic, but… that requires serious effort. I deem this good enough!

Thoughts on the Shore of Balsam Lake

The cries of gulls and children
Echo across a sandy beach
I’m building castles in the sand
And castles in the sky–

At once, a man in uniform
And a young woman in white
Pass slowly, hand in hand,
Smiling, in a dream, in love–

The waves, the shining lake,
Seem more real than the sky
With its painted white clouds
And insipid fading blues–

It is late afternoon now:
The gulls return to gather
Food left behind by the children
And still I wait for sunset–

Sunset! when our life-giving star
Flings colours in bands across the sky
Like a frustrated painter with a
Rather curious and smug cat–

A cat digging trenches in canvas,
Sharp claws dunked in shades of
Reds, oranges, purples, and golds, and
Wearing a sphinx’s enigmatic smile–

At last, the grandest light in the sky
Dips low in its dance with the horizon
And, with a flick of her long skirts,
Sinks over the edge of my sight.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2011.

Also, I gotta say, pen and paper are best for first drafts, but for editing, you gotta have a word processor of some kind. At least, I do.

This is also my offering for Friday’s Big Tent Poetry prompt.

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August 20


August 20

the atmosphere is oppressive
weighing the world down
with clouds of words
synonyms for pity

tornado warning for the area
but the sky is
a perfect shade of purple
just enough green-grey
to make things
that much more interesting

a cloud wraps around my arm
dragging down my sleeve
while beer cries
drink me drink deep
and whiskey
sings a drunken lullaby

that oppressive atmosphere
lifts a sodden arm
jubilation jubilation
take comfort in a friend
of a friend or a stranger
not as though the world is empty

as I fall asleep on a couch
the rain tap-dances
on my consciousness and
a closed window
the storm will pass so
light may come again

hailstorms hurricanes blizzards
a whirligig of creatures in the night
hold onto your umbrellas friends
it’s a rough night for the wicked.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2011.

Wrote this a while back, as you may have noticed from the year listed. Headache is kicking my ass. I took some crap for it, which worked for a little while. Not even a dark quiet cool place has helped. If an ice pack and more ibuprofen doesn’t help, I’m out of ideas.

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