Day 8

but still
kinda far
for a decade
stars shift
in the sky
each new season
we are
in the night
a way to reach out
when it becomes
too hard to breathe
live without
we live within
like the sun
the moon
at dawn



The moon is heavy

Day 7

The moon is heavy
Frost glass orb
Balanced in the darkness
In my palm

I saw my heart there
Through the window
Reflected in the soft glow
Not quite as whole

I pulled the blankets closer
Against the chill
Closed tired eyes
Invited sleep
To come join me
If it would
One more time
Head pressed
Thoughts lost in the nothing
Night offers
When words cannot
Break the case
And fly


#poetry #napowrimo2019

Vigilant watchman

Day 6

vigilant watchman
at the corner
the street bare
in all directions
spared by the morning sun

a stray wanders
crisscrossing through
the shadows
windows still closed
to the night air
or the warm spring breeze
after a long winter

she sits in the ray
where the walls meet
face turned towards
the light


#poetry #napowrimo2019

I read the long shadows

Day 4

I read the long shadows
here as I bathe
in the deep forest air
like cards spread out
along fallen trees and soft moss
what does the spring breeze
carry to me
as the sun plays in the canopy?
a message of hope?
of love?
of healing?
a warning?
the ants do not care
busying themselves
with their work
walking well traveled pathways
the fish do not care
busying themselves
swimming in the current
after the melt
looking for food on the surface
the crows care
watching from the highest limbs
hopping from branch to branch
calling to each other
what do you tell me
in this quiet moment?
I breathe
I walk
I wonder
what the trees know



she walked into the room

Day 2

she walked into the room
like a dare
neck wrapped 
in red pashmina

what does it all mean?
she asked
looking me in the eye
a rumour of a smile
pulled the corners
not expecting the words
to leave my own lips
after taking a deep 
and measured breath “Love is everything”
another breath
“The universe knows what to do”
I finished with a smile
“and pie is good”

Still smiling 
I woke up 
shared the message
over coffee
and let it rest 
like a bird on my shoulder

pie is good
at breakfast time
true story.



Arrange your words

Day 1 
Arrange your words
Like tiles on a game board 
Like you know 
Life vomits, hiccups, makes love
To the moment 
The moment you let go
Of the tile
You have lost.
How does that

One face to get 
The job done
One face to get by
One face to get
The smile
One face to cry

I pick up your lamentation
Between my fingers
Your sick saccharine disgust
Burrows into the pores
My skin

A hole
In the not white enough
Too white
And privileged


It’s a big fuck you
Very much
And a thank you
In the ass

Do something

I don’t care
For this not caring
Not giving a damn
The roots
The love
The beginning

Where did you come from?
Do you think 
A vacuum?

You are on the silk
Stuck struggling
In the construct
While the spider licks her lips
For the next meal.

Get that.

Like it is the last

I am grateful
For the next

Like it is loving

I am grateful

Your voice
Like it is mute

I am grateful

I walk my soul’s Estate



the simple math of eating

instant oatmeal falls
free from the torn pouch
to wait for boiling water
where ceramic curves
stuck in thick paste
to fight with the spoon

I want breakfast pie.
I want to live on
caffeine and mascara.
I want to forget the balanced meal
in the bottom of a wine bottle.
or ice cream tub

kettle whistling
breaks my reverie
one shoe sits forgotten
in the living room
my shirt is on inside out and backwards
judging by the reflection
in the microwave door

day’s end

Broken frames tilt
in staccato steps across the wall
corners separated,
paint chipped and fading
Hanging by wire and finishing nails

landscapes not been seen in decades
I watch them leading across the room
silent parade
to the gold dipped window glass
witness the end of another day.

river stones on the window sill
are a reminder of strength I never had
but wished for
drawn in white quartz lines running around
the edge of granite smoothed by water’s constant breath

I turn the switch of the milk glass lamp
let the soft light fall over me
my feet hang off the edge
toes barely touching hardwood
one push back and I fall

night steals long shadows
dresses them to dance
in corners and stairwells
while I wrestle with the day
still living in my head

sleep comes to curl up beside me
a dent on the pillow
while I stare at the ceiling
willing the space between
one breath and the next
to bring more than it does


la fraser
September 2017