Shape and Sound

As I was walking on Alberta Avenue a few weeks ago, I noticed that some snow sculptures were still standing from the Deep Freeze Festival. Those remaining shapes got me thinking of the beginnings of a new world, and made me ask the question: if I were to envision Alberta Avenue only in shape and sound, what would that look like ? . . . . .

If I were to speak of you in only shape and sound

I’d speak of you as barking dogs and kittens upside down

As angry voices, yelling voices, baby voices too

stutters, yelps and laughter bright

I'd speak as one creating the world again as new

I’d speak as one creating the world again as new

I’d place into my stew.

Passionate

the corner voices, pleading as they drown

Teardrop lights roll down your face—

spilling all around

I’d speak as one creating, the world again as new

these shapes and sounds fill up my song

and all rejoice of you.

 

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The Ave We Could Have

February is a time of reflection for me. This is when I plan and ponder the upcoming year. As I walked on Alberta Avenue one evening, these were my thoughts. 

The Ave We Could Have

The Ave We Could Have

 

I walk upon this winter path at night

Instead of stars, it’s lit by incandescent light

No noble moon, no pale nor mystery

Cement and stone define its history

No wildlife skitter across this barren path

Just castoff paper lay in frozen aftermath

I stand reflecting beside the tow away zone

And gaze into this future Ave unknown

A twinkling crystal ball, which makes the darkness fear

A journey now begun can take us anywhere.   

Feeder

This November we had a sudden dump of snow, after which, a hawk began to visit our yard and eat the birds coming to our feeder. Even though we live in the city, nature still sometimes exerts itself in very hostile ways.

Feeder

Feeder

 

Sparrows mob our birdfeeder,

 as such,

brittle now with winter’s touch,

when into this idyllic scene

a hawk does suddenly careen

now one less sparrow to be seen,

a shadow in the light.

A King—he glides above his realm

this feather-laden banquet table

 reminding me life’s story’s made

of blood and bone and marrow.