Sunday Scribblings: December

Here is a poem I wrote a while back that I think is fitting for this theme (although it was written in November :) )

First snowfall

quiet night

seems like only yesterday
tiny spidermen, princesses and ghouls
clamored for candy on our porch
tonight darkness fell so soon
you on the computer, me
watching chick shows
comfortable in the knowledge
you're right
here

commercial break

you wander upstairs

to the windows that frame our door
the one you spent three days painting electric blue
last summer

beckon me over
to watch the world outside
car, trees, driveway, rooftops, last month's pumpkins, darkness blanketed fluffy white
big chunky flakes drifting
softly

quiet night
so quiet
think I hear the snowflakes fall
warm orange glow of streetlights
bright gleam of a neighbour's Christmas lights
two weeks early
we chuckle at his zeal

lean into the checkerboard of your flannel pyjamas
into the circle of your arms,
our house
cozy

together
breathe in the soft crisp whiteness
of the year's first snowfall

~Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Guidance

As this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is "guidance," I was hoping to seek guidance from the group on this poem I wrote last week. It came to me at around 4am and I banged it out, and personally I've felt like it just came together, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it. I've also been struggling with the title, so any guidance would be appreciated. Thanks!

Untitled

the thing about poetry is,
once it finds you, it is very hard to let it go

suddenly it is everywhere
in the gush of a blueberry
running hot and purple on your tongue
when all you wanted was pancakes on a quiet morning

it is there at a street corner
in the slant of light through buildings,
the sheen of a puddle,
tugging at your sleeve as you wait for the light to change
it wants to dance a slow tango with you across Quinpool Rd
toying with you
till you want to share it with strangers

in the darkness of 4am
suddenly poetry is there with you in the room
there in the hum of words in the corner behind your right eye
roll them around in your mind like a marble
hear them like a new song played over and over again
can almost taste them, their metallic twinge
poetry is the imp at the bottom of the bed that takes hold of your blanket
tugging at the corner
there in the feverish warmth of the pillow that you flip over and over
searching for a cool spot to rest your cheek on
then when at last you cannot take it anymore
throw open the laptop
its quiet glow on your knuckles, your eyelashes
bang on the keys
words creeping black across the snowy wilderness of an empty page
hoping to stay the rush of words in your head
release the torrent behind your eyes
then

silence

for awhile...

because poetry knows that you'll be back

~ Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Antidote

long day at work today hardly came up for a breath
trying to keep up with all the moving pieces
putting out fires better than a fireman
reading through the proofs one last time
finding yet another mistake
another crisis brewing in an email
yet another person wants their copy rewritten
wants to use a new image
someone else worried we've let the delivery date slip
begging, pleading with designer, printer to help me, help us
scramble to keep up with my inbox
placing phonecalls to follow up on a loose thread
mad dash of production before we hit the presses
today gave me a headache, a jaw-ache, neck and back so tense
I am a jumpy ball of caffeinated nerves
funny
I never had a coffee

shut down the laptop
drag tired heels outside
turn the key in the ignition
mind still whirling reeling tumbling
green and orange bars of MacDonald Bridge flip flip flip by car windows
thrum of tires on tarmac over ebony water
BlackBerry message light blinking blinking blinking
buzz buzz of yet another email
barely notice how I made it across to Halifax

drag tired heels through your door
jacket, bag, everything feels so heavy
wait for you to shut things down

you hug me to your chest
plant a kiss in my hair
I can tell by the way your shoulders droop
the tilt of your head
you've had a long day too

but

in a moment, you have me chuckling
smiling
at a silly joke you just said
I make some witty rejoinder
suddenly we're both laughing

you're my perfect antidote to a long day

~ Ceebie

First snowfall

quiet night

seems like only yesterday
tiny spidermen, princesses and ghouls
clamored for candy on our porch
tonight darkness fell so soon
you on the computer, me
watching chick shows
comfortable in the knowledge
you're right
here

commercial break

you wander upstairs
to the windows that frame our door
the one you spent three days painting electric blue
last summer

beckon me over
to watch the world outside
car, trees, driveway, rooftops, last month's pumpkins, darkness blanketed fluffy white
big chunky flakes drifting
softly

quiet night
so quiet
think I hear the snowflakes fall
warm orange glow of streetlights
bright gleam of a neighbour's Christmas lights
two weeks early
we chuckle at his zeal

lean into the checkerboard of your flannel pyjamas
into the circle of your arms,
our house
cozy

together
breathe in the soft crisp whiteness
of the year's first snowfall

~ Ceebie

Saturdays - what a difference a day makes

I used to hate Saturdays. Waking up to an empty (save for two quarreling cats) and cold condo in North York, I'd force myself out of bed and try to decide how to spend the next two days. I could spend the entire weekend wandering the busy city and feel completely disconnected from my "neighbourhood." Although I was surrounded by people, I never felt more alone.

But since moving to Halifax and settling in to my life with S, I've claimed Saturdays as my own. And they're one of my favourite days of the week (the other is Sunday because I get to spend it with S).

Since S works most Saturdays, I've now settled into a Saturday routine that is mine, all mine (insert evil laugh ;)!!! Sure, I could spend the day doing household chores, but instead, Saturday is a day for indulgence, relaxation and me.

It first starts with a trip to the Halifax Public Library (the bookworm in me can't wait till the new building opens!) to pick up a book or two that I may or may not read and grudginly pay fines (I am notoriously bad at returning books - I'm sure York University could have opened a wing with the fines I paid while I was in grad school). I love the smell of a library - the scent of musty paper is the smell of stories waiting to be discovered, folded between two covers. I typically pick up more books than I can stuff into my gym bag, or read. I'm a kid in a candy store.

Next, it's over to the Second Cup or Starbucks on Spring Garden Road for a latte (aka snooty, overpriced coffee) and a breakfast sandwich, where I crack open one of the books I picked up and delve into it for an hour, or tap away at my netbook and do some writing.

Then, I meander my way down Spring Garden Road, browsing through stores and glancing at pretty things I can't afford (shoes, earrings, dresses...I'm sure the store owners now know me as The Girl With the Pink Yoga Mat Bag). And off to yoga at Nubodys (now Goodlife) or Ashtanga Yoga Shala for their Karma class, where I will spend an hour breathing, stretching and - cliché though it sounds - being in the moment.

I leave the yoga studio feeling like I've just woken up from the best sleep. My body is stretched clean. Perhaps I'll go for a run, but most often my afternoon ends with some more reading and writing, my short legs curled up on an armchair or sofa  in a coffee shop, surrounded by the buzz and whir of a cappucino machine and the chatter of coffee-shop conversations...

Then around 5:30 I pack up my yoga mat, my gym bag and my book and head to S's store, my frizzy hair smelling of coffee roast, and we drive home together.

Saturdays may be a day to myself, but they're no longer the loneliest day of the week. I now know how to be alone (the filmmaker and producer for that popular video happen to be based in Halifax, too - is it the city, I wonder?).
~Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Skin

Skin...

Wow...I've been away from this for far too long. I hate the verbal constipation!

Getting to know you

we've only met twice
but already,
I want to write about your skin
skin that I've only just touched
only just smelled
explored furtively
stolen kisses
hands grazing hands
fingers sneaking in between the buttons on your shirt
with our second kiss goodbye

but my mind has already
traced the scar you told me about
above your heart
a constellation among fine chest-hairs
waiting for the day I do know you well enough
to know you through your skin