Another poem from the recently released anthology “easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles” with deep thanks to editor d. ellis phelps. It was inspired by my beloved stepmother and happy childhood summers in Annan-Leith near Georgian Bay on Lake Huron.
My little poem THE THIN MAN is now up in Volume 12, along with many wonderful others. Many thanks again to editor Robert Nazarene for his enthusiasm! And may 2022 bring glad tidings and good health to you all!
This poem is one of four just published in the anthology “easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles” and has also been nominated for a Pushcart prize. My deep thanks to editor d. ellis phelps for this honour and for its inclusion in such a heartwarming book! And for those who’d like to read further or gift it, it’s available for a very reasonable price on Amazon http://easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles (US) and http://easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles (Canada)
Thrilled to have my quirky take on love poems published in Stone’s second issue, with thanks to editor Damian Ward Hey: https://stonepoetryjournal.com/lynne-burnett/
is to find pleasure in postponing
happiness awhile, letting the lights
dim, and go to those rivers
you have drowned in before
where lament, bronzed with
longing, hovers in the air,
and fill your lungs with it.
Melancholy is gorgeous when
it’s not just yours: no grape
more often crushed
for its fabulous blue note,
no glass emptied as slowly,
the bubble-burst of sorrow
like champagne on the lips,
no melody more played,
strung, as it is, like a bridge
you can cross now—
weep of the guitar,
moan of the sexy saxophone:
all that was,
and all that might have been.
I had the concept of “saudade” on the brain this morning, probably because of Ada Limon’s introduction to today’s poem on The Slowdown. My poem was written quite some time ago and was inspired by a painting by local artist Lenore Conacher.
Americano coffee in a mug,
time alone to savor
some timeless good words,
the day, for me, just beginning,
unfolding sip by sip
from the generous cup
in which it is first held.
Yes, wars still rage
on either side of the heart’s door.
But lucky me—a colicky baby
born into a colicky world,
a world, it turns out, impossible
not to love
with all the muscle
of the grateful arms
in which I was first held.
This seemed like the perfect poem for me to post, as I’m still in the glow of my son becoming a new father, the little guy a month old now. It was first published in 2008 in North Shore Magazine.
I have an ear for silence, the not-said and almost-said
of a voice in the room
or the once-said so long ago it’s gone to the stars and back
like a plucked and quivering string.
Call it the music of the spheres, that insistent ringing
of a divine bell
or the toll for living: thump and blood-hum of a heart’s
no yawning matter for the mouth that opens only to
close without a murmur.
Call it an old couple’s secret handshake, and keep it:
after years together, no need for words.
This poem won honorable mention in the 2017 River Styx International Poetry Contest and was published that fall.
May I just add my apologies for “disappearing” for so long – on top of many other events, we took our usual 6 weeks on our boat, mostly media-free, soaking up life on the water, emails and news unavailable in most of the little bays we stayed. And I forgot to post that.
After a long dry spell, I’m happy to say that my little poem HALLOWE’EN is now live at The American Journal of Poetry, along with a feast of others! My thanks again to editor Robert Nazarene for giving it a home.
on a vase of tulips:
the pinks whites yellows
reaching upward outward
way over the edge
opened wide to their silken centers
until inside out
suffused with the vibrant morning
they surrender who they are
with wordless grace
small soft footprints
across the kitchen table
should I wish
Another “golden oldie” from two decades ago, first appearing in North Shore Magazine in 2005.