Poetry Train Monday - 113 - Special Indeed

Fresh on the heels of my step-niece's wedding yesterday, I thought I'd share a memory of my dad from another wedding 16 summers ago. The piece of found poetry is taken from a prose piece in my family history book.



This took place at the pre-wedding breakfast for my cousin, Julianne.















Special Indeed


The morning of
Julianne's wedding

Julianne's wedding to Stephen

The family gathered
Gathered in the dining room for breakfast

Breakfast in the mansion-turned-hotel
The hotel rented out completely
To the wedding party

Dad had arranged
On the morning of
Julianne's wedding
Arranged for a floral delivery
That morning of Julianne's wedding to Stephen

Dad gave all the special women in his life
A beautiful red rose

A red rose for the bride-to-be
A red rose for his daughters
A red rose for Mom
A red rose for Auntie
A red rose for Gram

On the morning of
Julianne's wedding
All the women in Dad's life
Felt very special indeed

- Julia Smith, Aug. 9, 2009 / original text 2000

Poetry Train Monday - 112 - Before They Went Up the Stairs

I have a collection of family stories which I coax out of as many relatives as I can. For today's found poetry, I've taken a prose entry from this collection and turned it into a poem.

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Before They Went Up the Stairs


Great-Grandpa Meuse would take
Two weeks' vacation

Would come home
To see his family
During the 'teens and 20's

"No wonder
The children were born
Every second year,"
Gram chuckled

Eugene Meuse
Travelled throughout Canada
Picking up work
Wherever he could find it

He worked
On a ranch in Red Deer, Alberta
On the Welland Canal construction
In Ontario
In a logging camp
Deep in the winter woods

He worked many jobs
In the days before
Social safety nets
It was find work
Or
Your family starved

He took out insurance
When he travelled on the train
Insurance so his family would be
Taken care of
If anything should happen to him

Once he got home
Gram remembers her parents
Retiring to their room

At the time
She didn't realize
What they were
Up to

"I remember them
Goin' up the steps, you know,"
Gram said
Putting her hand over her mouth
Laughing at the thought

But before that
They would head over to his mother's

Gram remembers seeing them
Walk over, arm in arm

"They went to see his mother
Before they went up the stairs,
I think!"
Gram said

Laughing again



















- Julia Smith, Aug. 2, 2009 / original text 2000

Poetry Train Monday - 111 - In His Neighbour's Boat

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For today's piece of found poetry, I'm heading back into my 1980 diary.

That summer I lived the thrill of my first romantic relationship. This is from an afternoon and evening spent at my boyfriend's house. He lived on a lake and was one of seven kids. Coming from a family of two sisters myself, I just adored being gathered into the mob of his large family.


In His Neighbour's Boat


Mr. Savage found me a
Bathing suit

Philip, Barney, Brigie and I
Went swimming

The water was
Warm

I stayed for supper
Clam chowder, which was
Good

Pat lent me his
PA High School grey sweatpants
And an orange jacket

I went sailing
With Philip
In his neighbour's boat

While the neighbour
- Peter -
And Philip
Set up the boat

I held onto Hannah
Peter's delightful little baby

Sailing
Was a lot of fun
We had to
Watch out for
Speedboats
Skiers

The waves
They made
Were fun

- Julia Smith, July 26, 2009 / original text July 22, 1980

Poetry Train Monday - 110 - Forest Bed

Saturday would have been my friend Pam's birthday, so I was thinking about her all day. She passed away a year ago last week.

Today's found poem is taken from a prose writing exercise from March of this year at my writers' group. We were doing a workshop on color, and I had to write something focusing on the color green.

Who else could I think of for green but my Eco Hero friend, Pam Langille?
















Forest Bed


Deep
In the Acadian forest
I sit

Under the canopy
of fir trees
Deep

Green needles sway
In the breeze
Filtering the light

Through greyed
Brown branches
Emerald green leaves

Poke through the firs
Beech and birch
Bright moist green moss

Coating fallen trunks
Gathered back
Into the soil

Soft feathery green
Lichen clings
To rock

The rock that marks your place
Your place is among the roots
Of the shining ancient hemlock

Soft
Little
Green

Needles draped
Over
Your forest bed

- Julia Smith, July 19, 2009 / original text March 2009













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Poetry Train Monday - 108 - A Saucer and a Jar

This piece of found poetry is a journal entry from six years ago.

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A Saucer and a Jar


Noticed a loud war whoop outside
Mom called
Said there was fire in the woods
Just behind our house

Brad called it in
We quickly dressed
Put our dog in the kitchen
I grabbed a saucer and a jar

We ran out around the house
To the ball field
A garbage can on its side
Contents on fire

Dead tree
One end in the can
Underbrush smoldering already
Brad and I set to work

Threw sand from the ball field
Onto the fire
I went under the trees
Rolled the can with my foot

Out from the trees
Onto the grass
Kids lurking in shadows
Behind school

Kids called out to us
Said Fuck you
We returned the compliment
Brad told them to come out

So he could kick
Their fucking asses
Cowards I taunted
No one came out

Fire truck
Eventually arrived
Brad sprained ankle
Running to meet them

Three firemen
With foam spray-can
Put out remains of
Smoldering fire

They said they get called
To this area repeatedly

Washed soot
From my arms and face
Put our smoky clothes
In a bag

Put a cold cloth
On Brad's ankle
An hour later
Heard crashing in the woods

I shouted
I wouldn't stay there
If I were you
Heard a bird-type cry

Brad called it in
I got dressed
Stood in front of house
To wait

A mountie pulled up
To talk to me
She drove around the school
Told me doors were bashed in

She said I'll be
Working on that tonight
At any rate
Got a call

Have to act on that
She said
Drove off
I headed inside

Sat on the couch
Brad's sore ankle
On my lap
Our dog all tired out

Next day
Went to ball field
Rolled garbage can
Across the grass

To the brick school
Left it standing on gravel
Appealing to laziness factor
Hope they won't want to move it so far


- Julia Smith, 2009 / original text August 2003

















Photo by Ralph Maughan

Poetry Train Monday - 107 - Squandered

Continuing on with my year of found poetry, this is a short piece of prose fiction that I wrote as an exercise when I belonged to a writer's group in Yarmouth. I've reworked it here as a poem.

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Squandered


Terry glanced down
At the worn felt
Yellow, purple, blue monster sitting
On his right hand
Tusks bent for lack of stuffing

Terry had a sudden
Stabbing memory
An especially windy street performance
Wonky torn from his hand and Bill
Had actually chased the puppet
Into traffic
Nearly getting crushed
In the process
He returned with a
Drippy Wonky

Terry had felt
A ridiculous urge to
Hug Bill
For his heroism

Thank God
Bill would have thought
It was just
Terry's creative personality
Effusing over
Normal social boundaries

Terry had often
Wondered
How he'd ever been
Friends
With such a
Conservative straight arrow like
Bill

Or how Bill managed
To religiously meet with Terry
For workshop sessions
Bill the editor
To Terry's throw-another-one-out-there style

He supposed
Those afternoons
Were Bill's only forum for
Creativity

He tried to take it
From the top

One more time

The old routines
Were not
What he was
Looking for

It was hard
To shake himself up
To natter to thin air
How was he to
Bounce things
Off himself?

He supposed he'd have to learn how

Bill was gone

Bill was dead

Now
All he had left
Was a schizophrenic puppet
Who had holes for an identity

Wonky was trying his best
Wasn't he?
But all his ideas
Were duds


- Julia Smith - June 28, 2009 - original text 2001

Poetry Train Monday - 104 - I Can't Handle It All

My computer's still in the shop, so my blog schedule is a bit of a challenge right now.

Here's my latest found poem, taken from a diary entry from 1980 when I was in grade ten, my first year in high school. All through the school year I'd had a crush on Philip, a guy one grade level ahead of me. We were both in choir together.

This poem follows a memorable moment for me, one which helped me to decide that he was perhaps as interested in me as I was in him.



















I Can't Handle It All


I can see it in his eyes
Can sense it when I'm next to him
So much happened to me today
I can't handle it all

While walking to Math
He saw me
Backtracked through the crowd
Told me he'd see me
The last two periods in the afternoon

At the beginning of Study
He came right out to
The Music portable
To work on Romeo and Juliet
With me

Fate must have been with me

I learned from Mike
That I'd be getting last period off
Phil had last period off
I forgot Romeo and Juliet at home
We got our books and walked
To my house

I didn't have the key
I had to crawl through the window
And run to unlock the door
To let him in

He'd had to carry his sax
All the way to my house
The saxophone is heavy

We listened to Dave Brubeck
He got out his own saxophone
And played along to the record

We went in the kitchen
And worked on Romeo and Juliet
It's going to be funny
I can't wait

My sister came home
He helped her clean the fishbowl
He made himself and me
Some good British tea

He asked me to come see him perform
With the jazz band at 7
So Connie and I went
We came in just as
Phil was doing a solo

The movement caught his attention
His eyes flashed
As he looked around Mr. March
At me

His excitement to see me
Danced all over his face
Over the top of his music

When I waved at him
He gave me a wave back

When the band finished playing
He hurried over
To sit beside me

It's so wonderful

- Julia Smith, 2009 / original text June 6th, 1980

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