Poetry Train Monday - 35 - Writers' Lunch

This one is so new it's barely wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Tomorrow is the One Year Blogiversary of A Piece of My Mind. Drop by and celebrate with me!

















Writers' Lunch


Real faces
I could touch
If I reached across

Words tumble
Not in my mind
But over the pasta

Morsels nourish
Even on my fork
As heads nod

I carry souls
In my heart
In my mind

Clink and clack
Drown them out
For an afternoon

Hungry muse
Happy with laughter
Plucked like a brass ring


Copyright - Julia Smith - 2008

Poetry Train Monday - 34 - The Look That Passes Between Them

This is a reworked poem from my high school years. The original version is quite long. One might even say overly long. I had a look at it recently and decided a much shorter version could be picked out of it.




The Look That Passes Between Them


Even then
She chipped away
The cornerstones reduced
To so much rubble

He grabbed the hammer
The chisel
Dashed them to the ground
Screamed and spit
Grabbed her by the hair
Dragged her to the door
Kicked to smash it open

She landed upon jagged edges
The stones she'd chipped from the tower
The pain was blinding

Trembling
She rose to her feet
Her skin raw
Without the shell
He'd pried free
Still buried in a pocket

One day they'll meet again
His blue eyes no longer charged
With desperation
No shutters to keep a breeze
From tussling his hair

In his outstretched hand
A shell
In hers a polished stone


Copyright - Julia Smith - 2008

Poetry Train Monday - 33 - Pedigree

This poem was inspired by the relationship my late father-in-law suffered through with his father. I've been thinking about that a lot since he passed away. I admire him for working through his own pain enough to raise three sons who grew into caring men.


Pedigree














Word-stones bruise. Clammy face, chill with pale fear,
Washes over with hope for escape. Hands
Grab, shove till boy sprawls, choked by dust. By tears.

Leather whistles through loops. Skin prickles. Stands
Over him - snaking back, father's coiled strength -
- washes over with hope for escape. Hands

Grip the straw. Body curls. Jerks. Yet arms' length.
Slash/burns. Grits teeth to bite back howls. He fails.
Over him - snaking back, father's coiled strength -

Granite fury geysers hot. Leather flails.
What trigger for this scalding? ...many names.
Slash/burns. Grits teeth to bite back howls. He fails.

No action, word appeases him, nor tames.
His mother's horror serves a new rebuke.
What trigger for this scalding? ...many names.














A bond that festers, flares as quick as puke.
Word-stones bruise. Clammy face, chill with pale fear -
His mother's horror serves a new rebuke.
Leather whistles through loops. Skin prickles. Stands -


Copyright - Julia Smith - Jan. 2008


Warning: link to clip shows blood and some violence.

Photos are stills from the 2003 Swedish film Evil (Ondskan) by Mikael Håfström, starring Andreas Wilson. It was nominated for an Oscar for Best Foreign Film. I've only seen parts of it, but it's on my to-watch list.

Switching gears entirely - just think of all the hotties out there that we don't even know about...

Poetry Train Monday - 30 - The Test

Since we're tucked into our house riding out a major snowstorm tonight, I felt like posting this older poem I wrote when I was still in high school.


The Test


Winter moon
White and clear
Snowy dune
Icy spear
Silver wisps
Line the sky
Patient stars
Wolfen cry

Haunting hush
Waiting wood
Powder crush
Soft wool hood
Anxious turns
Shuts the door
Stands outside
Full heart sore


Slanting square of white lamplight
Cuts the sameness of the night
Out before the rough hewn house
Vigil flame I pray to douse



Don't fret so
Tighten cloak
Loosen then
Twist and choke
Doubts arise
Hopes spin/fall
Lonesome claws
Poise to maul
Gaze pans night
Worried sighs
Dark beneath
Sharp cold skies

Flat gray fields stretching silent
Streams of ice floes ripped and violent
Clumsy fences trailing far
Clutching branches grasp and scar
All is still and all is screaming
Emptiness and fury teeming

He'll get through
I can feel
Snow beware
He's of steel
Gaze won't leave
Icy road
Sparkling shine
Eerie bode

Body shakes
Not from cold
Heart awakes
Life takes hold
Winter moon
Shines on two
Run embrace
Love is true


















Poem Copyright 1980 Julia Smith

Poetry Train Monday - 27 - The Fairy Glen

Here's a real trip down memory lane. Believe it or not, I wrote this when I was 13. Obviously, I was channeling my inner Victorian poet.





The Fairy Glen

As I was walking down the lane,
Streams of sunlight rare


Because the trees had formed a veil,
Shadowing the country trail,
My head empty of care,
My heart empty of pain,

I chanced to find among the grass
An old an tarnished ring.
I rubbed it clean and saw inscribed
Something written by one which'd imbibed
Too much of an intoxicating thing.
It didn't make sense to me; alas!

However, as I stood beneath
The ancient limbs of a giant oak,
There happened to me a curious thing.
I spoke the words on the little ring,
Its meaning quite clear as soon as I spoke.
Magic hung over me like a wreath,

Colors of red and purple and green
Twining around me in an eerie dance.
The tingling of bells greeted my ears,
Calming my wild and anxious fears.
I opened my eyes; in a single glance
I beheld a thing I'd ne'er before seen.


Brownies and fairies, pixies, too,
Stood in a ring around me, so;
Bewildered, I stared, my thoughts awhirl -
How could this happen to an ordin'ry girl?
I guess my thoughts my face did show -
A pixie, clad in shades of blue


Stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear.
Stretching out a friendly hand,
He welcomed me to the circle, thus;
Everyone made a royal fuss
As if I were something really grand.
I looked at the ring that had brought me here.

It shone with golden beauty bright.
Transfixed, I held it in my palm,
My eyes, from it, I could not tear.
A voice spoke from I knew not where.
It said, its tone so soft and calm,
"Home do you wish to return tonight?

Or would you rather stay among
Us fairy folk in this magic glen?"
I asked, "I cannot return again?
Can't I go home and visit when
I wish to?" The pixie shook his head. "Then
It's home to stay that I do long."

The blue-clad pixie nodded slow,
His eyes understanding.
When night encased the fairy glen,
Closing day's petals upon the stem,
The pixies and fairies and brownies standing,
Uneven, row by row,

I took a last look and said my goodbyes,
Feeling my tears well up.
Through a misty haze which blurred everything,
I read the words on the magic ring.
Then I was doused in the color cup,
The tingling of bells and the small fireflies,

Made of the sparks that swirled to and fro,
Taking me from the fairy-ring there.
The colors disappeared, and in their place
The lane uncovered its friendly face.
If it weren't for the ring which I did wear,
That the fairies were real I couldn't know.


The ring again dirty, the sun still a-shine,
I didn't know even if I were real.
Home I went and found time had not passed.
Had I dreamt the bit of the fairy blast?
I only knew what was mine to feel:
My adventure, if true, had been one divine.

Copyright 1978 Julia Smith

Poetry Train Monday - 24 - A Donna Poem

I enjoyed a wonderful trip to Toronto a few weeks ago, when I was so happy to spend an afternoon with my friend Donna. We share November birthdays, and since I'm just back from a family dinner celebrating the six November birthdays on my side of the family, I'm also thinking of Toronto November birthday people.

When I first moved to Toronto in 1986, I was 21 years old and very lucky to be hired by Donna to be her daughter's nanny. I lived with them for two really special years. Here's a poem I wrote for her just after I turned 22.


A Donna Poem


Your lashes drift awake
Your eyes see a different view

Not the red of your mother's womb
Exploding into the anticeptic green
The latex palm in which you were cupped
The cheesy residue of your old life
Erased as gently as those who have forgotten
Can manage

First impressions
A blessing
That newborns are half blind
In that way
Every mother is beautiful
Her smile wide
Words a tonal haze
Floating past the insular life
Of hunger, confusion, sleep-escape

This date looms out from the year
The anniversary of your entry
The letters, numbers have no bearing for the rest of us
They were your co-ordinates
You chose midnight
Riding the cusp between days
You knew even then
Essential freedom
Would be immeasurable

This day finds you
The former channel
Your own daughter sleeps downstairs
Her crib housing her thoughts
Her emergence spun you around
One destiny fulfilled
Leaving you open
How many more before you

What you understand today
Took years of interpretation
Each survived second
Unrecognized victory
You scan the molecules
Swimming transparent
Unlike the murk of past practical jokes

You've learned that a greased pig is hopeless
The days ahead have their own plan

Why not lay in bed
This time to yourself
It really is yours
People will sing you that song
While every nerve is attuned
The earth vibrates with your frequency

It's your day


Copyright Julia Smith 1986

Poetry Train Monday - 23 - The Red Joy at Last

The Red Joy at Last

On battlefields he'd watched it spray
Spattering cross his face
Slickening his hold on the
Pommel as he swung

His horse's hooves swirled the
Russet color of it
Sucking through mud and men's sodden hair
Floating facedown

The smell of it
Clings to his memory
Slime of a man
Swiped from his cheek

He'd seen this look before
Most often from a height
The solid weight of warhorse
Dearer than a lover


Now he steps close
Fear rich as lust
He hears the heart clench
Pulse like rain on his tongue

Shining terror turns
Blue eyes into torch flame
Lighting his way
To the feast

Fangs descend against lips
Curling back
Arms pull the trembling man close
Dearer than a lover



The night's battle looms
No sword for such as he
Could this man have been
A shield brother once?

His worth shines like gold
Twin points sink deep
He sighs as he tastes of
The red joy at last







Copyright - Julia Smith - October 28, 2007