Tag Archives: truth


I like dictionaries. Confession time: I used to read our home dictionary for fun as a kid. Just picked a random spot and pored over it for hours at a time. I’m sure you’re surprised by my love of words. ūüėõ

I have been thinking a lot about a particular word this week, thanks to Mumford and Sons’ song Roll Away Your Stone. So many meanings attached to it. Many emotions as well. I chose a couple to put here; the complete definition I found is quite long, and can be found here. Words are fascinating!

grace –n.

1. elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion or action;
3. favour or goodwill;
5. mercy; clemency; pardon;
9. moral strength;
12. The Graces, from Classical Mythology: known as the Charites to the Greeks, and as the Gratiae to the Romans.

Now, a poem for my lovely readers.


Floating elegance on tender wings
Takes my breath away, and yet
Bestows upon my sails a mighty wind,
Sends me reeling into open water.

I beg forgiveness for my scrutiny-
My eyes are unwilling to depart
From you: your easy manner, your
Favourable countenance, and long-limbed

Grace. You are Terpsichore,
Euterpe, and Erato
What a muse I find in you!
Such delight in all I see.

You inspire the best in me, help me
To melt my thoughts and pour them
Into molds of honour, loyalty, truth:
With you, I am more than I thought I could be.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.


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Hello again fellas! I have written a series of piku poems before, and I thought I’d give it another go. Enjoy!


no, I won’t
from this feeling.

no, I won’t
growing bolder.

courage is

to survive.
is no reason

to deny
no more running.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Cowards allow fear to rule.
Fools don’t realize there’s anything to fear at all.
The brave know fear intimately, but do what they must.


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This is something I worked on a while ago. Just dug it out and dusted ‘er off, added and deleted a couple things. After my last couple depressing posts, I thought something a little more uplifting was in order.


In the days before,
I thought as a child
I lived as a child
I burned as a child must do.

In the nights before,
I fought as a child
I wept as a child
I hid as a child must do.

A great mist has settled
A greying cat purring, nestled
Around the dying world of darkness
To shroud any way to wisdom,
Any knowledge through pain, to the true self.

The clouds are parting
A hand beckons, insistent and kind
The fog begins to melt away.
Artists must always know truth
Perhaps the night may end.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2011.

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In Daddy’s Genes

And because I’m feeling productive today, I’ll post a second poem! This title was suggested by my best friend, because I could not for the life of me figure out what to call it. And Gene Blues was too terrible a pun to actually use.

In Daddy’s Genes

I am infected with that
Same nose, same eye colour,
Same hands, and more;
I inherited- or learned-
Arrogance, and stubbornness;
How to thrust my intellect
Up and out like a shield;
To slice others with words,
And to skewer them with silence.
My smile is a genetic disease,
My voice an unwelcome reminder.

And I wonder now
How many generations of
Lover, of thief, of farmer, of scholar,
Have shared the curve of my brow,
The same bark-brown hair,
And carved their words as I do?
I see my face, and all the faces,
Staring back at me in the mirror.

Is this my inheritance?
A predisposition for diabetes,
For cancer, for cruelty?
I see my fate in my sister’s dimple
And my brother’s blond curls.
Always the same pale pink skin
Blistering under the unforgiving sun.

And I wonder once more
How to throw off the chains
Of DNA and family;
Wonder if I could reach in
And dig out the offending
Markers and links and memories,
To hurl them down, screaming,
Defiant to the last atom.

Yes, I am infected with
Reminders, gestures, speech patterns,
Ingrained too deeply to shift at will.
My genetic makeup is immutable.
But that doesn’t change the
Small, secret, whispered wish
That one half- or all-
Of my twenty-three chromosome pairs
Were from a different donor.

©¬†Bridget Noonan, 2011

This is one I have contemplated mailing out to a couple lit mags for publishing. What do you think, could I get in with something like this?


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fake it ’til you make it

I just realized that I hadn’t posted anything in days. Thought I’d fix that. Kinda sorta fucked-up tired right now, but the poem is supposed to look like that, with the lack of caps and such. I think I was going for some post-modern lack-of-form. I remain unsatisfied, but I’ll do… something to it, later. Whatever. Tired. Poem.

fake it ’til you make it

i’ll fake it and fake
until i make it all make
some sort of sense

maybe there’s a god and
maybe the end of the road is
just as unattainable

the booze and the drugs
the lies and the stiff hugs
are no way to fix it

so i’ll fake it and fake
a smile a laugh a tear
just don’t touch me

you’ll shatter me i’ll break
into a dozen half-told truths or
a green glass bottle

the best way to confidence
is to fake it and fake it until
there is no doubt

i’m faking it until
i make it

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2011.

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Soooooo, I don’t know if you know this, but sometimes Canada has snow. I know it’s been ‘spring’ for like a month, but people here are still surprised that it snowed today.

Hate to break it to ya folks, but… look where we live! Seriously.
I have learned (the hard way) not to trust the nice spring weather until after the May 2-4 weekend. ¬†After that, we’re less likely to freeze our butts off at random. Annnnd once Labour Day hits? Snow can come any day! That is how this country works. It’s sad, but true.

Onto my reason for being: poetry. I found a cool picture, then wrote a poem to go along with it.


Three roads I see before my feet:
The left, the right, and straight ahead.
Which way to go, I do not know;
They fill me with such fear and dread.

The straight leads deeper in the woods,
Though I am now on my way home.
The left goes down toward the lake,
And I do not know how to swim.
The straight winds up beyond my sight;
My bones are weary of the road.

Where I shall go, I do not know.
They fill me with such fear and dread,
The paths I see before my feet:
The left, the right, and straight ahead.

I went the straight road in the past,
Though the steady plod had bored me.
The left path floods with every spring,
And it’s just the start of April.
The right has dangers of its own;
My mind flinches from the perils.

Three paths I see before my feet:
The left, the right and straight ahead.
Which way to go, I do not know;
My heart is full of fear and dread.

©¬†Bridget Noonan, 2011.

It doesn’t feel quite done. Then again, I’m not sure. Thoughts?

Actually, I kind of like it- except I get the lingering feeling that I’m ripping off Robert Frost in some way. But he had two paths, and both of his looked the same. Fuck that, three is a much better number.
Oh here’s the picture that inspired this whole shebang.


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