Everyone is born to a hello.

October 27, 2014

Everyone is born to a hello. It’s in the arms that hold you. It’s in you waking up every morning. It’s in that introduction of home. What I was never ready for were all the goodbyes. In all the soft lines that tear down your childhood monuments. In the people that must go the way of the tombstone. It’s human to die. We can’t live forever. But I am never ready to let go of all I hold in my heart so close. I am not ready to learn to say goodbye ever at all. Sometimes I just shut down. It’s easier than feeling the drawn out pause in the arm’s length or the pale hand that holds yours shakily as they go. Even without feeling those memories come flooding and I remember. I feel lost in the loss sometimes. Perhaps I’m not equipped with the understanding of balance between life and death. Or perhaps I’ve not swam in enough tragedy to accept the natural course of the world. Too well blessed with wonderful people. So afraid of what? I don’t know. I know I don’t cry enough. I just hold my breath and continue on trying not to get close enough to anyone so that if they go they won’t leave behind a hole. An absence. I writh knowing something good was a part of my life once. Unforgettable. Irreplaceable. Now it’s gone. And my brain runs in circles trying to figure it out. Death is eternal and is unsolvable. People leave without dying. They just go away. I am left. No big deal. But it hurts and when I hurt all I do is lick my wounds. Stitch up. Never cry. Chin up. Shaky hands of a little girl who fell in love with the golden world. Her eyes tear up. Change comes and takes away her teddy bear. She spent the whole night crying the day before grade two because she didn’t want to grow up. Didn’t want her sisters to leave and knew it was inevitable. Change erodes my heart. Yet despite my best efforts, in the night I can hear my heart reach out; touch someone. In the dark, my heart grows. Maybe there is something that continues on beyond death. If so, then I’d call that something love.

flame up trees

October 27, 2014

flame up trees
set the world on fire

remind us
of these last warm days

remind us
that all things change

remind us
that winter comes
with it so should hibernation

remind us
of the sun we’ve long forsaken
as we have too long sheltered ourselves

remind us
of how disconnected we’ve become
as we’ve plugged in permanently

how many

October 27, 2014

how many
walk around
hearts removed
good intentions set in stone
tongues taken out
speeches prerecorded
mind intact
imagination castrated
wallet full
dreams lobotomized
crushed by the weight of the bell that tolls
smile fixed in place
clothes immaculate
skin as smooth as a mannequin’s
going through the motions
of another vanilla sky day
as the tears fill up their soul
?

the apple

October 27, 2014

“pray dear seagull
come and set me free”

“I long to soar
spread my seeds
over the wide land below”

says the apple
trapped in the overflowing trash can to the scavenger.

“eat me
please”
(capital p pleading)

“I can’t bear to be discarded
I’m right here
barely visible
buried by so much debris
cascades of humanity”

“don’t let be suffocated
by such neighbouring
detritus”

“they left me here
half devoured
but there’s still so
much of me left
to be eaten”

“please dear seagull
let’s sprout trees
in inappropriate places”

“let’s give them things
to wonder over”

the scavenger balked
at the curious fruit’s
demands
and scurried off in search
of better sources
of trans fats

luckily later in the night

came a raccoon
who made all the apple’s
wishes come true

so if you see a sprout
growing in the sidewalk
think twice of picking it out
remember the apple
of grandiose dreams

the glare of the glitch

October 27, 2014

the great hand of the unseen developer
placed six town guards
in a circle
a foot above the cobblestones
and told them:

“go forth
be true to your programmed patrols
and cease the glitches
as per the decree of patch
four point one point three”

unbeknownst to the game
was the glare of a glitch
in progress
by which the gamer
became a witness
to the whole affair

said gamer
was uneasy in her
awareness
that town guards
were secretly
spawned from the sky
based on her proximity

she spent the rest of
her time
trying to teach her
mountain climbing
dragon fighting
horse
to fly

just to meet that unseen hand in the digital sky

Hello tree outside my window.

October 27, 2014

Hello tree outside my window just beyond the chain link fence. The quiet observer. The foreteller of seasons ever changing. The marker of time’s progress.

I like to stare at your leaves waltzing in the twisting wind. You’re an off step leading to my imagination as my gaze grows more diffuse: your leaves become a time traveler voyage through space, a woman’s embrace, a child playing.

I’ve never sat beneath you. Your newly minted PRIVATE PROPERTY sign screaming it’s fluorescent yellow warning along the neighbourhood has only cemented in the obvious what was always implied. Brave children still flaunt their casual, yet appropriate breed of anarchy by dancing beneath you. And I applaud them unnoticed in my room.

You are my tree, and I, your writer. Others may stare at you the same way as I do, but they lack my vantage point from the master bedroom in this condo. They have not my eyes that can pour into your details and filter down into your sap. They cannot feel your chlorophyll as I can. As I do every single day.

You may look upon me tree and feel tremendously sad for the girl who seems always alone in her room furiously typing some new mad thing on a glowing screen sometimes deep into the heart of the night. Only you are the one to be pitied, for I am beyond content dreaming up the schemes I take such delight in.

You are a tree who knows not the grace of a casual reader sitting under your boughs in warmer weather. You know nothing of children climbing freely along your strong trunk and up into your highest branches. You’ve never had lovers longingly part at the base of your trunk. You are a tree who was planted with purpose. You are a lawn decoration; as interactive as a garden gnome.

You are a tree who is more like a show piece. Cast beyond the chain link fence. You are a do not disturb tree owned by someone extremely possessive. I feel sorrow for your inability to live wild like a tree should.

Who knows in a few short centuries, maybe our progeny will know nothing of your existence save on paper made of your pulp. Maybe then you will be solely a legend; spoken in whispers of great grandparents who had actual Treehouses.

I love you, tree beyond the chain link fence.

I hope you turn wild in your old age.

I hope you outlive us all.

I hope your rise up as the signs peel and fade with age until they are utterly unrecognizable.

I hope you stand tall when the fence finally rusts and falls down.

‘Ever,
Your Writer

bus stop gym socks

October 27, 2014

someone forgot their gym socks at this bus stop
lady pokes at them with the tip of her rainbow umbrella
as if they are contaminated darkly
they look like grey cotton blend with elastic sewn
they are inside out
but I would be to
if I were a doomed pair of socks
abandoned
forgotten
on a rainy day such as this

Screen protector of your soul:

October 25, 2014

IMG_1353.JPG

Skin

October 24, 2014

(For my birthday this year, a very dear friend @simon2271 from Twitter gave me a lovely present. He made a photo of my son and I with a poem mine overlaid. The following poem is my first attempt at such “photo poetry.” So be gentle. Xoxoxo Nette)

IMG_1343.JPG

dance on lovers

October 11, 2014

last candle burning on the table
lights are dimmed
bodies on the dance floor slink together
as if from the same mould
fit together in all the right ways
seeking fortune
through touch
it’s warm in here
like the Amber in my glass
bass booms
dancers sway
their grace is contagious
eyes are glazed
mine caught by flame
seated at the table
lone wolf
preferring observation
than devout participation
lips smiling all the same
joy is as catching as a flame
they may pity me
but I can’t be brought down
the mirth in my eyes sparkle just the same
I am aloof
but present
just the same
dance on lovers
you captivate me
I pen this for you
last candle on the table burns out
the fire burns on into the night
in our hearts
eyes
and minds
great night to be alive

© 2014 Nette Ford: @ClubNette All Rights Reserved


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