When Self Comes To Mind

Selected poems published in Canadian and American journals…

haiku

I am seventy
too young to live among trees
trees older than me.


 

Daughters of Mine

As you recall
Smell of earth
Amblers within my house
Say before you leave

I love the colours of autumn
Alizarin crimson and green equal black
Yellow and sienna
The smell of gold leaf
Limbs blackened by the rain

Feel the rough leaf of sage
Fennel joy of water kissing
As thyme reigns
I will not be undone
In and out of the ring
We know the dance
Mirror mirror on the wall
Faces and ferns and flower
On the proscenium of yet
another shoreline
performance


Souq

When self comes to mind          you smile

that mysterious smile

the enigmatic  i (eye)

gathers meaning an abstraction

no distraction for being just you

awakened to the ancient art of

weaving motifs mesmerized

About to purchase

a hand knotted Persian carpet

at the market covered souq

old as the Deira songs

Arabic attars  incense

majlis and music

Awed I am to stand among

medallion and diamond shapes

gazelle and the blue eye

stare of the Arabian leopard

tahr.


Burn
What should we do in this place
when self comes to mind
a hold up on the steps
of a moonlight awakening
trill of crickets     so many crickets
deafening seed pods
dry     ever so dry

The wind complains
there are toxins
heavy in the heat
full of fire

I put on jeans and a sweater
for there is a cool breeze
and you’ve heard it before
it gets personal
inside you burn
and the heat brings
a yellow leafy chill

When self comes to mind
These days    I am somewhere else
far and away.


 

Women Who Fly  (published) 

She is a water bird creature

feathered by the colour of her own moon

she softens the serrated unrelenting edge

of his intent

to be like the very rock

she dives from

But from time to time she wavers
On the lip of this – her solitary plunge
into the green and black of the lake
framed so prettily by the waterlily in July bloom
She inspects the depths of her own mirror
witness to the one who can draw her back into the
sky
her wing and webbed hand
ribbed to embrace the currents
of what she understands
is the hot and the cold turbulence
that will cleanse and fan the feathers
nurture her flight.

 

 

 

(c) 2015-2016