All posts by fhaedra

Contemplate. Consider. Learn. Listen. Photograph. Play. Question. Sing. Wander. Wonder. Write.

Nine Oh Three

Here, a room

a floor bed near a window

On, a radio

a cacophony of voices down low

A glass of red

A notebook and pen

A resting nest

An introspection

A pack of we’ll see

A lamp to illumine

A night vision

A solo tour

A hovering

A view of two tall winter trees

A crosshatch sky

An obscured moon

On the wall, a clock

An hour and minute

An absence and presence

A ritual

A candle flame

A flickering reflection

A faraway

A song sung

The CBC

Nine oh three

Nine oh three

Nine oh three

The Riders

We are behind our masks

but recognize humanity next to us

Eyes tell stories, sagas and series in shades

darkness makes reading more difficult

She asks me which number

I’m waiting for so I awaken to focus

We are travellers here and back

drawn to stand together in this littered space

I read the graffiti yesterday

or the day before but tonight I read it again

Which number are you waiting for

the woman asks as if I know

I listen to her story as stories needs telling

maybe it’s worse or better

I listen for hints of breakdown or sorrow

but she is factual despite

Tomorrow she will ride again she says

ride every day for eternity and her grandson

We are the riders of the bus

grateful for mundane recurring schedules

We are the quiet constant vigil keepers

careful not to wish for a break in the pattern

Ready

The book I will take with me on this journey

is not the book I chose from my shelf

last night

Then, I was looking

searching too hard for the right book

But this morning I am not yet long

awake, not yet separated from dream

The book I reach for now and read from

has not been hunted

It’s not anything except here

Quiet

Inside are words ordered

in a form and language that speak

with a clarity

I can hear

I am either weak or strong or neither

Their wisdom resonates

Even through the blur of emotion

I receive their message

I am receptable

Not yet am I ready but I half understand

one thing better:

Walking toward dilemma is a slow

deliberate walk, without fear or resistance

To know how to navigate comes

not through anticipation of what I think

might unfold but through experience

Stepping into the moment as it is

unfolding around and within me

If I can stand still inside this unfolding

maybe afterward, when I step out of it

Climb up from the river on the other side

I will have new understanding

or I will not

Either way, I am on the move

forward

Shivering only slightly now,

Ready🪶

Morning

While I lay restless dreaming

Moon slipped behind the mountain

Still I trust she was there

I am a reliable witness to events past

Therefore—

In the lambent light of this new morning

Remnants of my vivid dreamscape linger

A part of me remains present there

A mime with an indecipherable message

While I sip cinnamon coffee, breathe slow, read words from my morning text

Then read the same line again to embed

Both there and here

Presence and Absence

Which scene is this then and what act

Who’s offstage to feed my forgotten lines

Is the sky out my window the opening

Or the denouement

Is there a pause feature in this plot

I have questions to answers I think you know

Beginnings and Endings

At the close of each year

I like to reflect upon all

to note what it is I might have learned

before releasing the past forever to

the freedom of prevailing winds

Then I inhale deep and smile

my gaze upon the new year’s opening sky

anticipating the fledgling wonders

unfolding like a boardwalk through

the forest light of future exploring

Endings and Beginnings

Silences between

Gratitude for every moment

Every song and every scene🪶

Is There No Perfection

Who is there to ask

for definitions not yet discovered

A lonely imagination

pausing to look out upon darkest night

What layers comprise

perfection in form or grace or sound

Spirit of winter

Instruments built from ice of frozen lakes

cut from their melancholy depths

Are there screams

echoing from the drawings to surface

Is there acquiescence

breathless upon a reluctant entrance

And why forever

is it never quite good enough to placate

Our perpetual longing

like Alcyon waiting for Ceyx