Category: poem new writing
Poem of the day
Homegrown Terror
The people who walk down back alleys
must have something to hide
subversives, if not terrorists
avoiding prying eyes
They seem poor and tired
but that could be just a front
they’re probably a sleeper cell
dreaming of martyrdom
Perfect poem for a cold November day
New poem
A few days ago I was sitting in my favourite pub in Saskatoon, having a pint of Guinness (and to hell with the Celiac nonsense), with a chaser of Tallisker, occasionally glancing outside at passersby—
—and then suddenly I was scrabbling for my notebook as the following came to me:
See World
window people
framed for a moment
like aquarium fish
exotically drifting
Photo: Sherron Burns
New poem
Relativity
Tomorrow feels like
yesterday
only newer.
Today is a fresh
coat of paint.
The past is right
behind the present
but losing ground fast.
Weep for the future:
child of our sins
waiting to be born.
New Poem
Faust
no deal:
your terms
too strict
your demands
too steep
the return
too small
my soul
too precious
© Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)
Disappearing people (poem)
Los Indignados
Maybe you were a subversive.
Part of a cell.
Or you ordered some questionable books.
Matching some profile.
Compromised by a friend.
Betrayed by a rival.
Brought in for routine questioning.
Vehemently denying all charges.
Tragically expiring while in custody.
The official inquiry tactfully deflecting blame.
A closed casket, to spare your poor mother.
© 2016 Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)
Photo credit: Liam Burns
Viewing the world through wary eyes (verse)
The Taxonomy of Passing Faces
None of them seem capable of it.
They all appear so innocent.
Smiling, engaged in conversation.
You’d never suspect them of wrongdoing.
The terrorist they conceal within.
© 2016 Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)
Photo by Liam Burns
Missing you…
Song for You
If I shouted your praises
this morning
climbed King’s Hill and
through cupped hands
serenaded the painted valley
with my corrido of longing
would you hear it
where you are
a whisper, a susurrus
pitched beyond sound yet
strangely pleasing to your ears?
(C. Burns)
