Souls in Stasis (Senryu Series)

memories are souls
separated from moments
we make in this life

they contain remnants
of feelings and emotions
of our yesterdays

and we display them
on the mantles of our minds
’til they live again

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019


The Second Dynasty

i place memories
of our time together
in canopic jars
seal each one
with a kiss
and set them
at the head
of love’s sarcophagus
adorned with
glyphs of Hathor*

there they will lay
entombed in the valley
of my heart
for all eternity

*Hathor is the ancient Egyptian goddess who personified the principles of love, beauty, music, dance, motherhood and joy.

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019

Awaiting Sunrise

March 24th, 2019… Yorkville Ave., Toronto

morning pours
cement and steel
the quiet of sunrise
breached by hurried
traffic stalled
at sleepy intersections

last night’s drunken
shadows shorten
ever so slowly
like receding glaciers
inching away
from their terminal moraines

pre-programmed bodies
march quickly
between street corners
their rhythmic shuffles
complimented by the
horn section of
impatient drivers

between the skyscrapers
air settles sickly and sweet
the heavy scent of exhaust
mixed haphazardly with
hints of coffee, cinnamon, grease

i wink and nod
at passersby
(some grin, some watch their feet)
and think to myself
it’s a far cry
from the quiet boat
moored to a shoal
waiting to be kissed
by the sun
rising over
Change Islands

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019

Yonge & Dundas to St. George’s Station

*Some of you witness this every day but I don’t, not where I live. In my region, there is poverty but there isn’t anyone living on the streets. I am not rich, by any stretch of the imagination, but the gap between me and those who live on the streets is still quite large and my recent visit to Toronto brought that home. Make an effort today to give to someone in need – time, an ear or a little change. 

‘spare some small change
for a homeless woman’
quivering hands
holding on
to a filthy
tin can
walking among
who avert their eyes
and ears
between subway stations

i am fraught
with despair
and shame
uncomfortable in
my seat
for i’ve
no change
small or great
from which
to part

change is relative
isn’t it?
not all change
is good
and some things
never change
like the growing gaps
between us

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019