I Wonder How Many People in This City from “The Spice-Box of Earth” by Leonard Cohen
I wonder how many people in this city
Live in furnished rooms.
Late at night when i look out at the buildings
I swear I see a face in every window
Looking back at me
and when I turn away
I wonder how many go back to their desks
and write this down.
This traditional New Year’s anthem is based on an 18th century Scottish poem by Robert Burns.
‘Auld Lang Syne’
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
And days of auld lang syne, my dear,
And days of auld lang syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pu’d the gowans fine.
We’ve wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin’ auld lang syne.
Sin’ auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin’ auld lang syne,
We’ve wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin’ auld ang syne.
We twa hae sported i’ the burn,
From morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin’ auld lang syne.
Sin’ auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin’ auld lang syne.
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin’ auld lang syne.
And ther’s a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine;
We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness
darkness
cloud hides moon
you disappear
Glossy waxed floors
smooth as clean shaved skin
reflect everyday busyness.
A white stove and fridge stand stark
like your absence during the week.
The wooden table pushed in a corner
harbours nicks and scrapes
where noisy kids scramble in and out
with mouths still chewing as they leave.
Slippery floors mimic
sticky fingerprints on walls.
A shaving strop hangs by the phone
frayed from angry outbursts
that hone in on pink butts
sharpening fear and resentment
instead of blades.
(personal photos)
a raven
freely plays
high above the prairies
we too
look down on foothills
The road winds into the distance
rocks, roots, puddles and mud
draw them higher.
Each step one closer to the lodge
built years ago by others
who passed beneath more youthful trees.
Trees that now bend and sway
creak and groan as they lean
to hear conversation below,
chatter to ease the monotony
of the upward stretch.
Clouds twist and tumble
tease with grey and blues swirls,
jackets on and off
in rhythm with their play.
Each stride squashes every day worry.
Layers of adult responsibility shed
as boots splash and smiles spread.
Friends greet each other,
prairie dogs happy to ascend to the alpine,
to explore new territory.
Covered in mud they giggle,
children who play in the rain
because they can.
(photo credit: Arnoud Jansen)
lazy summer heat
stops time
papa naps in shade
(internet photo)
Yahoo, yee-haw, yippee-ki-yay
another Stampede is underway.
The city is buzzing
with tourists from afar,
chuck wagons and horses continue to star.
Cowboy hats, and cowboy boots
two-step, stomp and dance to wee hours,
the midway offers spinning rides
and exotic food to devour.
It’s a great big party
for one and all,
Calgary’s Stampede –
better than a Game of Thrones ball.
(internet photo)
My tongue lolls
like a dog on a hot day.
It hangs out
day ’til night
to catch shooting stars
from our first date.
No clouds are too dark or too grey
to dampen the spark you ignited.
I stand in the rain.
Your scent washes from my hair,
so recently twisted through your fingers.
My squeaky-balloon shoes
squish along the sidewalk
each step one further from you.
If I had a rooster right now
I would make it wear these noisy shoes,
take away the annoyance of your departure.
Already your absence is a giant egg beside me.
The truth as much a surprise to me
as seeing a rooster wear shoes.
A quart-berry basket full of water
is easier to manage than your absence.
I would powder my nose with an ax
rather than be away from you.
I would eat plastic grapes, breathe fire,
drive a truck with a screwdriver
if it meant I would be back with you.
My mind has shrunk to the size of a pea
my body no longer exists.
I want to wash your feet, honor you
for blessing me with the gift of your love.
As each step takes me further from you
I walk like I have a tail between my legs.
I pretend it isn’t mine.
I pretend you are still with me.
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 