lei fraser

the first row
is the hardest
set up the pattern
count from the edge
to see if the numbers work

sitting in my head
a piece waits for translation
from air into wool
needle exchange
sometimes the twist works
sometimes it does not
row after row
silent meditation
conversation
between fingers

the eyes wander mostly
to the screen, the room
to what the shadows are doing
in the corner
knowledge is not held there
in the seeing

it’s like breathing in the end
bringing a blanket
out of nothing
to lay across my lap
and grow to wrapping size

a gift of embrace
waiting to be held
by the next person
so my hands can go back
to their work
~

Leigh-Anne Fraser March 6 2017

I just wanted to try
and it felt like breathing
for the first time
after plunging into the sea
getting lost in the waves
the undertow
turning me over
lungs bursting
until finally
I find my feet again
in the ever-moving sand.

I just wanted to try
before the sun set
before the snow fell
before the ice formed
before the last leaf curled
before the river dried
before the stone rolled

I just wanted to try
~

leigh-anne fraser march 5, 2017

you carry it
so carefully
an empty bowl
across the room
as though to try
not to spill
what is inside

keep imaginary soup
from spilling over
the gold trimmed rim
until you can sit
at the table
dip your spoon
and drink the air

when the last
is drained
sit back against
the chair
arms crossed
and breathe a sigh
of relief

send it to the kitchen
to be cleaned
then tucked up
on a shelf
away from the light
waiting for
the next meal

la fraser. March 4, 2017

II

secret machines
chew glass
in corners

you spit daggers
with your eyes
in the sunshine

what happened
in the shadows
that tears
dig trenches
in your skin?

where do I begin?

secret machines
dig through
the boxes covered
in dust
begging you
to look
while
they polish
the mirror
with a sleeve

held up
to the light
what falls through?

wind passing
the woven threads
lifting a little higher
to the open window

secret machines
turn
just far enough
to remember.

~
la
March 3, 2017

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

secret machines
fill the space
cracks leave
torn concrete
broken ground
forgotten

gears turn
energy flows
words tumble down

cannot breathe
through the night
heavy with fear
and loathing

cannot see
through the darkness
empty rooms
and hallways

cannot be
more than who I am
to please you

secret machines
listen to
the turning

grinding the song
into dust.
~

la fraser
March 2, 2017

the promise
fell
into my arms
unbidden
unspoiled
like raindrops
in early spring
touching skin
with cold, fresh lips

I was safe here
within these walls
afraid to move beyond
the lines
curves
dug deep
in the wooden floors

I could not say
where my feet
bare and bleeding
walked for years
skin cut
and callous
trailed
behind

the promise
stuck like a tick
in long wild grass
as I passed
through

I was the sky
in dreams
while storms raged
sun shone
and the moon
floated
above the fields

I was safe here
and the promise
was broken.
~

la fraser March 1, 2017

The winter limps along and my head is already in spring. It is only the beginning of February I know, but Spring feels closer. I like that. January was a blur. So much volatile energy and events going on in the world, I did not make much time to post or write. I made no resolutions at the beginning of the year, not formal ones anyway, and as this month begins, I am not sure that I will attempt any new projects until the spring actually arrives. Instead, I feel like I am on retreat. Other than going to work and doing some teaching, I am spending my days writing poetry and meditating. It feels like the best thing to do. Of course, tomorrow I may change my mind and I will launch into a brand new project, but not today.

– la

nose pressed to the glass
they watch and wait
to see what is growing beneath
my mushroom soup skin
seconds
minutes
hours
measure
the space between
a speaker I cannot see
comes alive with sound
‘breathe’
‘do not move’
‘you are doing great’
she tells me
copper pennies sit on my tongue
pleased to settle among the rocks and mud
I wait to be born
to slide out of this long corridor
be released
please
wrap me
in lavendar
the metal sings with current
piercing through to image
save the stories of feet growing
in my left breast
for another day
pause
then wipe the vomit
from my lips
before returning again
to the peep show
lay me to rest
under the blue-green screen haze
naked
shivering
inside this magnetic resonance
let me wait
dreaming of a gentler day
before the nurse presses
another warmed blanket
to my skin
and wheels me away.
~

Jan 21, 2017
Leigh-Anne Fraser

Today I attended a poetry workshop hosted by the London Poetry Slam. It’s the first time in a little more than 21 years that I have taken part in something like this (way back in university) and definitely the same amount of time has passed since I read aloud a poem that I wrote to a group of mostly strangers.

A lot has changed in the past couple of decades, not the least of which my ability to set aside my anxiety and let my voice be heard. I used to have very few problems standing on stage to sing, to speak or act. Theatre, performance and poetry were an very important outlet for me when I was in high school and university. Sadly, things changed, and I stopped stepping on stage at all, for many reasons, but mostly because I was afraid to. I am still afraid to. Today was scary and cathartic.

My oldest came with me. This is their scene – their friends. I am the outlier, but definitely a welcome one. Those who are part of the Slam community naturally create a safe space. I am very grateful for that. Now that I am officially settled in London after moving here in June, and I have recovered from some health issues/ surgeries, I really want to find ways to be more involved in the community (in addition to my work of course).

The workshop was an incredible for me. Small in size but manageable and led by the gifted Kyra who gave us some collaborative work to do, and then some solo time to write. Throughout the process, I was intrigued by what theme continued to be returned to me. Birth. A topic I could certainly spend years writing poems about. The poem above was birthed from the collaborative prompts we crafted as a group and shared.

It is a deeply personal poem, and one that I had not really anticipated on coming up, but it did. I know from writing with my friends at DD, and our promise to ‘dive deep’, that I would honour whatever did arrive today. I did that. I cried when I read the words. Partially, I did because I was so anxious about speaking to the group and reading out loud, and partially because of the subject matter. I was safe to and I am very grateful for that as well.

I was brave, and the group was brave right along with me.

pretty cool.

la.

I started putting together a project seven years ago called 365 Ordinary Days.. it was the lead up to a book project that I did for my kids in 2012 called Any Ordinary Day. The main goal of both projects was to find a way to illustrate the beauty that I see around me every day. It doesn’t matter what the day is, what is going on in my life or around me… I have always looked for and found beauty. I wanted to be able to share that with my kids, and certainly anyone else who wanted to see.

Recently I have been going through old photo files, in a half-assed attempt to organize and archive properly and I rediscovered both projects. I may start them again, with some more recent work, or I may actually finish the 2009 project… I haven’t decided.

To have a look at the work in progress and both projects, follow the links 🙂

the original project:

https://flic.kr/s/aHskPNRwku

the book:

http://www.blurb.ca/b/390354-any-ordinary-day-by-leigh-anne-tyson?ebook=328557

One
Revolution
On the turn table,
Once around.
Needle to the groove
To free the music trapped
In black vinyl
What if instead
I slipped under the arm
Let the needle play
In the folds and curved mountains
What would you hear?
Would you hear what I do?

A thousand tiny disasters
Shut my mouth tight
For days, months, years
Today let it play
This messed up,
turnabout song
That I am in such a rush
To end
So that the next song
Can play a little louder

Revolve
Evolve
Let the needle wander
To the center
To where the hole
Meets the song’s end
Vinyl death
Stillness
And
Silence sits with me
Toe tapping and grinning
Like an idiot

Just let it turn
Let it ride over the Scars
Missing pieces
Old dried up tears
Broken dreams
Stolen voices
Ragged body
Up to the joy
You keep hiding

Let it ride
Silence says
In that annoying
Smug way
She is a smart ass
And I love her

I am the groove
The space between
This breath and the next
The music and the pause
And here
Is where I began
Gave birth to possibility
And watched it grow
Through the limbs of my offspring
One revolution
One turn
To face the music
Inside of me
~

la fraser