Tagged: new writing

New poem

Delinquent

Offer us a stick
we’ll sharpen it to a point.

Provide us with clear, running water
we’ll build a dam.

Show us how to plant a garden
we’ll raid our neighbors’ plot.

Teach us to sing
we’ll write anthems.

Make up a god
we’ll supply the jealousy and hate.

 

© Cliff Burns, 2017

Cypress Hills (An Idyll)

Just returned from a weekend at Cypress Hills, a park in the southern region of the province.

Accompanied by my pal Laird, I attended a “stag party” for our mutual friend Tom. Ten guys in the semi-wilderness, celebrating the betrothal of one of their own. And a good time was had by all.

While I was there, I wrote three short pieces, inspired by the environment or conversations around the fire.

* * * *

Meteorology

The weather is strange these days
overcast with a chance of melancholy;
on the weekend, the sun never shines
and the grass smells of tears.

The Elements (An Introduction)

There is a tendency to
envy fire for its clear conscience
or over-praise the transparent,
placid gaze of water.

Yet no one spoils the
earth with lavish gifts
and we frequently embarrass
the air with our coughing.

Religion, summarized

Might as well fear the clouds
or prostrate yourself
before a 1000-year old
yew tree

Jesus, put away your cross
Buddha, no thanks

I’m investing my faith
in some special place
worshipping where there
are no altars

 

 

July, 2017  (All Rights Reserved)

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

 

Poem of the day: “Absent Father”

Absent Father

God the eternal scold
withdrawn judgmental
not the touchy-feely type

No wonder we’re so
lousy in relationships
denied parental approval

The times we needed
you offering stilted prayers
on sore bended knees

While you sulked in the
Aether using the ol’ guilt trip
to try and get your way

© 2016  Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

sistine