lei fraser

writing poetry in the waiting room
worn seats in lines 
bland taupe comfortless
oblivious 
to the pain and discomfort 
of others
I wait for my child’s return
alone in a quiet corner
somewhere a doctor watches 
over them
does what I cannot do
heal, find answers or 
more questions
all I can do is wait 
to see what will unfold
within the walls 
and pray 
the discharge may bring
nothing but relief
a familiar bed 
a hot meal
fresh clothes
a cup of tea
all of which I long for
sitting with the stench
of vomit 
and creeping malaise 
every emergency room
the same
those who vomit blood
sit next to the short of breath
the anxious mothers
daughters, fathers and brothers 
a nurse washes spittle 
from the window around her desk
a woman with a broken foot
and a scorpion tattoo on her neck 
swears at the wait time
a ninth ambulance rolls in
and we wait together
under the silent flashes
of the televisions 
hanging on wall
high and out of reach 

I have tried, I am sure of it, to join in the madness of writing a poem a day for thirty days before. I have done the November counterpart for novel writing for 9 years. The poetry month challenge popped up on one of my newsfeeds somewhere, and now I am caught in the thin, silky tendrils of possibility.

Granted, it doesn’t start until next month. I consider this my warm up to joining in. The League of Canadian Poets have set the date for National Poetry Month is set for April, but I am feeling the pull to write now. I need to dip my feet in, sink into the deep and let whatever needs to find a voice, whatever wants to arrive to do so.

Basically, I need to get out of my own way and just write. I will do it all over again next month too probably.

I haven’t the faintest idea what will come of it. I managed two days in a row to post a poem. There is hope that more poems are lurking.

If so, they will land here.

~

la

I realized this morning, thanks to a friend, that April is National Poetry Month. I don’t know who decides these things, or what nation it is celebrating but when it comes to poetry, I think everyone should join in. I make no guarantees that I will be able to share a poem a day for the next thirty days, but I am going to try.

I have written a lot of poetry over the years. In brave moments I have thrown together small collections of poetry to share with my offspring as they got older, and have certainly shared a lot of poetry here.

Thunder of a Butterfly Wing was my first collection. The title reflects the sound that writing poetry creates in my head; the pounding, relentless crashing of words and thoughts needing to be written; balanced thinly on the edge of butterfly wings.

Between digging into the archives and writing something new this month… I believe this idea is about to take flight.

la

I write you poetry
That I may never show you
Words unfinished, unyielding
On ripped notebook pages
And scrap pieces of paper

Lines of life drawn
In connecting arrows
Between us
Hushed by evening and
A touch
to remember the unknown
Like a breath into hollow empty lungs

Shards of a glass heart gathered
With each beat
A thought held in fear
threatens collapse in its wake
Still you are here

I write
And I may never show you
Thoughts barely spoken
Much less dared to be thought
But somehow reaching out to you
Like a thousand tiny wings
In that delicate wind, I find myself again

~ lei fraser 2012

Well, after a lot of prodding and cajoling from friends, I finally got around to finishing and publishing a collection of poetry that I wrote between 2001 and 2005. This is the first book in a series that I hope/ plan to release before the new year. Putting everything into a collection has been a little project that I have had in the back of my head for a long time but never took the time to put together. The photographs that accompany each poem are my own – taken around my home, at local parks and places that I love to walk as well as from some travelling I’ve done recently. As the other books are up and ready to go, I will share their launch here.

Hope you enjoy!

Thunder of A Butterfly Wing by Leigh-Anne Fraser

magnet poetry created on http://www.twittermagnet.com

…. whatever arrives:

daughter sister universe
embrace joy
warm the window
kiss to all
remember life

~

our heart dance drawn
we melt this change
speak brother young blue
laugh quiet poetry
~

embrace the dank wild dog
haunt the sacred ocean
bleed peace and look
at the fresh flower of an open smile

~

Poetry Sunday

An exercise in attracting life:

1.

heal the soft morning
light above with magic
like time has the rid
embrace change
~

2.
we embrace to heal
with the soft, slow morning light
ocean poetry
~

3.
celebrate blue sky
healing is at sacred stream
ask universe and fly
~

4.
born a blind fool
why rob his idle life?
her blaze pierces it open like a child
with secret deep joy
~
5.
heart haunts the air
a brief reproach
after every glass window becomes
clouded by eternity
~

6.
bleed red the question
shunned miserable
born as god
blind frame never look
open die we alter
~

7.

I could listen on day breezes
remember myself
but my heart bleeds
beat by beat
time always kept
~

8.
concrete prisoner
you bellow and die
words in lies
poison liquid poetry
why listen to dark nights
when the circle is blind
~

Yesterday, I felt the pull to write some poetry. It feels like it’s been a long while since I’ve felt that pull to write poetry – at least not very strongly. There was a time when I couldnt’ seem to stop. The words flowed like water from my fingers, and then slowed to a trickle while I went to work on other forms and projects. Now, it seems the dam might just be opening up again. These eight short poems were written while playing around on www.twittermagnets.com – just a fun site and exercise in becoming open to whatever arrives. The results, for me, are interesting. Have a go at it – have some fun 🙂

It is strange sometimes how the past creeps up and knocks on the door to remind you…. I woke up very early this morning after a bad dream. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up, did some yoga and then remembered a time eight years ago when life was very different. I had forgotten to some degree about that period in my life. My children were 4 and 5 years old, just starting to go to elementary school, and I was home full time with them, working out of the house. I was also writing quite a lot back then too. Going back through some of the old poems and essays that I wrote, I find myself wondering who that person – who wrote all of those words was. It’s surreal in fact, to go back and read some of it, to remember and compare that person to the person now who is writing. It is almost as though the universe dug deep this morning, breathed in and spit out a period of my life when I was perhaps at my most vulnerable and fragile for me to remember.

The why of this all returning now is for another time to discover. I am simply enjoying rereading and will share some of it here.

crescent moon
through bowed branches
light bathes me
flows through me
gentle healing
long weary day falls away
listen to her reflection
dancing in the water
gentle hands sweep
the cool shore
while a quiet breeze
stirs the leaves
only enough to carry
the cooing melody of
a sleeping dove
and lay my head
down to rest

(2001)
~

frost dances on fallen leaves
morning sun shimmers
in each icy reflection
bluest sky bows in joyful revery

(2001)

~

caught in a swirl of wind
leaf rises and falls
released from its earthy architecture
to soar
not unaided, no alone
but to fly among birds and clouds
finally to rest among
those whose journey
began and ended before

(2001)
~

cricket’s noisy
conversation beyond
the open window
silence leaps in
crashing through
pushing roughly against
sputtering thoughts
spilling them across the blankets
pages from this worn journal
cannot contain the emotions
hopes and fears claw their way
across thread and fiber
desparate reach to gather them
all within arms length
when the cricket’s song
resumes
(2001)
~

How is it
I have watched you through
The polished shop window
Hanging just so off of the mannequin
And ever dared to introduce myself
Many times, I saw my reflection
Walking by
As the sunlight danced off the smooth surface
But recently, I found myself
Standing for a long time watching
(the window not my reflection)
Thinking about the possibility
Of trying you on …
After much back and forth
I gave in to the quiet little voice shouting
“Ah yes! Try try try old girl just try”
Before I could be corralled by doubt again,
I toddled in
Crammed myself into the change room
Shoved both feet inside
Tried to haul you up
Over my broad hips…
And wouldn’t you know
The little voice piped up, triumphant
“Fits like a second skin”
– even my toes are happy
(will need something to hide the obscene rolls
And don’t think I did not notice that
The boning in the bodice will poke through
With time, to jab me in the ribs
When I move in the wrong direction)
Now I will have to try to learn to walk
With you wrapped around me
Following the wise words and advice
Of those who know you well already,
I humbly follow (trying not to pull at the hem)
As you lead me with your voice
As you guide me with your vision
You weird and lovely Hollywood poetry
Here is to you.

~

10.03.08

lei fraser