Tag Archives: sunset

White Noise


This was an experiment with onomatopoeia.

White Noise

crackle crackle hisss
rustle buzzzz whirr
grind hiss pop! whistle
crinkle crackle whine
whoooshh fizzle hummmm
ssshhhhhharcklacklshhh…

hear the setting sun
the scorched forgotten dinner cooking
and the colour of the undisturbed snow–
what do you hear when you close your eyes?

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Have you ever just sat and listened to nothing? In a house, there’s all these little noises you don’t notice until no one is moving, or talking, or anything. It helps to have no one home, and turn off all the radios and televisions and all that other crap. Try it. It’s kind of neat. Even better to try it if you don’t live on a main road- then the car and city sounds won’t intrude. It’s hard for me to get peace here between the bus stop behind my house; living in a decent sized city; living with my mom, step-father, brother, uncle, his dog, and my cat; cell phones always going off… No wonder I meditate daily- I’d go batty without a calm half hour or so a day to centre myself.

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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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The maiden voyage of my blog


Hello world. I’m Bee, and welcome to my shiny new blog. My intent is to post at least once a week a new or old poem that I’ve been working on. I like constructive criticism, but if the only thing you have to say is liked it or didn’t like it, that’s all right by me.

Today’s post is actually a two-fer. How cool is that?

We Get Along Like a House on Fire

His smile was like dying in a best friend’s arms
Bittersweet and warm, so comforting in its truth,
Teeth glinting through the haze. And how can I say
What is right or wrong when the stars hang low
And everything is illuminated in red and blue,
Flashing on the sidewalks and bricks while my home
Burns to the foundations, drowned in uniforms and water.
At least you’re alive at least you’re safe, but
How can I be safe with no place to go home to?
I must begin again, molt and shake off these ashes.
I must build again after the waters recede, and find
A new place to belong. Insincere apologies and pity are
Worse than worthless – this much I know is wrong
In this limbo I sit in, neither lawn nor street,
Surrounded by faceless gawkers and uniforms and
I have never felt so alone with their eyes all on me.
Under the endless cloud of smoke belching out of my wreckage
His smile seemed independent from his soot-stained body
As he held his reflective jacket on my shoulders with
Whispered reassurance that this too shall pass,
Among all else, this loss will diminish until the day comes
When a lit match no longer conjures dreams of the inferno.
And how can I say he is wrong when I hardly know my
Hands from my elbows, my knees from my ears, and
My lungs are still screaming that there isn’t any air left?

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

Sunset Over Oshawa Creek

The trees are black against a pastel sky,
Twigs and branches feathered outward.
The water is fire, and the sky is water,
And I feel I’m floating on the breeze.

Their voices call me but I wait here
Floating gently with the water of fire
The sky of water and the solid souls of trees.

Don’t wake me, don’t tear me from
This peaceful vista, such pleasant escape.
If I had some skill with brush and colour
I’d capture this world and bring it with me.

At last I turn, extinguish my cigarette
And nod goodnight to the sun
Splashing colours over this town’s face.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

And there we have it. As I said on my Facebook, I’m not entirely happy with Sunset, but I’ll fix it up as I go. I’m going to repeat what I posted there:
“This obviously doesn’t come close to the feeling I wanted to capture: standing in awe of the sharp orange-red-gold light rippling on the creek while the sky is fading to indigo and the trees are so clearly defined without their leaves, and then someone texts me but I’m soaking up nature’s beauty so fuck that they can wait however many minutes while I watch something amazing unfold right in front of me.”

Let me know where you think I can improve. Any author or poem recommendations would also be lovely. Thanks folks.

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