poem

Blooms

by Sandy Day, Posted on

Pink rose in full bloom.
I am weighted down
by the beauty of the full-blown bush.

Once upon a time
I grew a rose
but snipped its buds
in their rolled and soft perfection.

I prefer the unbloomed rose
before it opens
and begins
to drop its petals.

These bushes sag,
burdened by their aging beauty
it is too much!
And too plentiful for me to look upon too long.

I wonder
of the mistress of this house,
with shiny parked Mercedes,
she is
secure enough and loved enough
she needs not
risk the thorns
shears in hand
and sweaty cotton gloves
to offer her own
unfurled heart
a clutch of roses?

And then
there are the peonies.

It sinks in today, I’ve been dumped!
I fought this sad truth for so long; made excuses for my own and his bad behaviour; dismissed the obvious as unhealthy doubt. Ha! Today I laugh. I’ve been dumped!
Yesterday I felt unloved. I envied everyone alive because I thought you were more loved than me. The one I hung my hopes on, and whose specific love I need, is gone.
I am not asking for pity. He left me; he had his reasons, and none of them was me. What is pathetic is I persisted for so long. But believe it or not, this is an improvement. I once clung to hope about an ex-boyfriend for over ten years, right through marrying Mark.
I have no time to waste. I am almost a half-century old. I have much to give and I am open to everything. I am the rose bush in full bloom, almost obscene in my aging beauty, Ha!

From Poems from the Chatterbox

Q-Tips

by Sandy Day, Posted on

Because
the insides of my ears are wet
I put down my chore
and heed the Q-Tips’ call.

I must
swab out my canals
while the wax is soft,
and dry them
so the wind no longer
tingles through
cooling them.
Listen.

Some people, I’ve heard,
see their livingroom askew
and rush to dust and straighten,
vacuum and pick up.

The only whistle I hear
is soft-headed
from hundreds of perfect white soldiers
lying pom to pom
head to toe
like cotton drones
waiting to fly
into my glistening
ears.

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.

Chattering

by Sandy Day, Posted on

Born with this big bundle
bursting
and chattering
scattering love like dropped petals
from wildflowers
carelessly and carefully.

Look
what I picked
for you, mommy! From my
hot and sweaty hand
she takes them, but
later I find them
withered
on the sand.

But still
I am alive with love.
Its pulsing
sensate
radiance.
Never sure
it’s wanted
wasted
welcome.

She tells me
my love’s too big
to sit on her lap
without
breaking her knees
her arms won’t reach ‘round it.

My love in me is
flowing.
You squeeze my shoulder
and I turn
to see your eyes
so dark
so glowing
your smile
knowing.

I love you
and it settles
smoulders like a smoky fume.
I love you
and it flares
my kindling
charred
and crackling
consumed in moments.

I love you
and I’m lost in it.
Inside me
outside me
flowing like a lifeline.

Hang on.
I pull you out
from drowning.
I warm you up
and set you breathing.

I love you in
I love you out
teeth chattering.

First published June 3, 2011 Dr Hurley’s Snake Oil Cure.

The Difference

by Sandy Day, Posted on

From the library
I took two books
one of God poems
one of love.
And read them side by side
each day
and could not see the difference.

O’ that you would kiss me
with the kisses of your mouth!
prays the solemn Sol.

Surely God is not some gentle reaper
but a rapacious rapper
come knocking in the night – Yo
Muthafucka
this a booty call!

I find God in delight –
it’s not like He sleeps nights!

Love is tailing me down the street
a bitch in heat
a dog unleashed.
Or is that God’s purring and growling I heed?
I don’t care
he’s catching me!

Poems do not belong in books.
They read from groins
and every romance tongue.
I am certain
God is drunk and singing
in His creating
both of one.

(First published by Sea Giraffe Magazine March 2, 2011)

An Apology to Poets

by Sandy Day, Posted on
Shakespeare portrait
Da Bard

True confession. Yes, I have a degree in English literature. Yes, I’ve read the “Faerie Queen” and “Leaves of Grass”. No, I don’t read poetry.

Why? Like most readers, I don’t get poetry. It’s difficult to read. It takes effort and time. I like to read stuff I quickly understand. Stuff which enters my brain and instantly computes. Granted, I’ve enjoyed poetry, sometimes. Especially when it’s explained to me!

But wait a minute, I write poetry! How is this possible?

I started writing poetry as soon as I learned how to use a pen. Poems just came out of me. How did I know what a poem was? Well, I was read to as a child. Bedtime stories were the poems of A. A. Milne and Robert Louis Stevenson. My mom disapproved of Dr. Suess, but she read me many other books like the long poem, “Madeline”. This doesn’t entirely explain my knack for writing free verse, but it will have to do for now.

So my apologies to all the poets in the world, alive and dead. I do read your stuff from time to time. Especially when you thrust it in front of my nose. And if it’s easy to read; if it flies off the page and into my brain and gives me that “Ahhhh” feeling, which a brilliant combination of words tends to do; I thank you! And I keep on writing in my quest to pass that feeling on to you.