Chatterbox Poems

Silence

by Sandy Day, Posted on


The long cold silent winter
stretches out like a thin blanket
on a loveless bed.
I trust
life is breathing –
a barely beating heart
in hidden leaves and sunken acorns
frigid bulbs.
The silence menaces me.
No birds
no dogs
no screen doors slamming.
No ribald teenage calls
at two in the morning
from the bus stop across the way.
No songs
ringing out on six strings
sung with laughter
and too much red wine.

The sun colours the sky as it rises.
The bleakness blushes
and I am reminded
this too shall pass.
The patience taught by winter
cold but not frozen
nor forgotten.

From Poems from the Chatterbox

California Cold

by Sandy Day, Posted on

I flee outdoors
to the sun.
Cold
in California
where the altitude
or latitude
or some other damn thing
like oceanic air
renders caffeine neutral
in my blood.

Chilled
and drunk on words
from my host’s stack of books
unread
or read
in our parallel universae
a year ago
or ten.

He laughs at me
‘cause I am cold
and reminds me
again
You’re from Canada!
as though I could forget.

And I marvel at this
October morning glory
silken
and blooming
a violet trumpet
in the Hallowe’en sun.

A golden copper bug lands
on my fingers and
suddenly
I am warming
to this country.

Air Show

by Sandy Day, Posted on


Just wanted to say,
on this fine dull morning,
how yesterday
you sat at a picnic table
grinning at me
from a face
I’d never seen.
And you reached out
and into me
and expelled an obsession
taxiing there for take off.

My ears are open
not full of sand
or pain.
Open to hear the wind
and the rumbling thunder
of a stealth bomber.
I look up
and see a gull gliding
and a kite flying.
And all that sound,
all that noise,
is in my head.

Your kindness flies
like sand over my feet
like music and swaying hips
like laughter on my lips.
And I hear you
and feel you.
The comfort as big as the sky,
as opaque
as this overcast day.

 

 

From Poems from the Chatterbox

Right and Left

by Sandy Day, Posted on

Pooh Bear by E.H.Shepard“Pooh looked at his two paws. He knew that one of them was right, and he knew that when you had decided which one of them was right, then the other one was the left, but he never could remember how to begin.

“‘Well,’ he said slowly-”

from The House at Pooh Corner by A.A.Milne

from Poems from the Chatterbox

Salt & Pepper

We match
like a set.
A slight difference
the hand detects
as it reaches for
a dash
of seasoning.
But matching –
meant to stand next –
lonely if the other breaks
bereft, and pairless.

The Collector finds us,
dusty and alone,
at separate Church bazaars
and cries, Eureka!
Sets us together
at His feast.

And I am shaken
this sweat
these tears
crystallizing.
These years of searching
ending
in my match
my sombrero
my windmill
my ceramic heart
stops breaking.