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.