Updated "Ode to Kelowna"

Ode to Kelowna

1. It Doesn't Rain Here, Ever

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so the cedars you bought for your hedges all died
in May. They stand now like the terra cotta soldiers,
(only from a distance, with a quick glance.)
They look sad.

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so these clouds are like ladies gathering gauzy
hems up around their knees so as to
never cover fields of grass
in morning frost.

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so my skin cries out for wetter air,
for home, and for somewhere
that I can taste the ocean
in the sky.

It doesn't rain here, ever.

2. Now

Now, I miss the closeness of hills
the comfort of a beginning and an end
well within sight. I miss what your long valley cradles.

Now, gone, I am torn between people and
places. Green bedrooms beckon
and I am unsure whether I want to look
upon those mountains or nestle in their arms.

Now I miss the dry winter nights
naked sky and frightening dark become
familiar and yet I love this current wet
and grey so opposite so equally
desired.

I left
and every time I go
back it's harder to return to this place.
The great ocean that holds such sway
over me does not have your
arms or words or compassion.

3. A Slow Descent on the Connector

I can only see one line on the pavement at a time
like small arrows
hurtling at me through the fog.
I am aware that I should be more afraid
of this shallowness of sight but
the road is familiar and too beautiful
to be terrifying.

The cold is disquieting
sudden and unexpectedly upsetting
the cocoon warmth of my truck stolen
by white

The clouds stay in the mountains
and I drop into the valley, around
a corner to the first glimpse of lake.
A final long sloping curve down to the water
and a bridge which carries me
home

Routine

Late summer mist lays like a tired lover
over fertile land. The idyll sky pales above
the fields, silhouetting lilac mountains against
the easy morning light. A decaying barn frames

slivers of sky with sharp angles. I drive the lonely
road home, the same every morning, watching
invisible stagehands dress the set for each new
day. The ocean still sleeps in its cradle bay

As I search out the silver key and step
up onto the front porch; a key cut so many times
I have to coax it, persuading the lock to give way.
Fingers eagerly pull pins out of tidy hair

while I climb the stairs, freeing a mess of curls
onto tired shoulders. The house is dark; I leave
lights off as keys clatter onto the kitchen table.
Walking down the hall, I unbutton the stiff collar

of my shirt and peel it away to reveal grateful
skin, enjoying the cold air blowing in
through the bathroom window. The bedroom
door opens with a nudge from my foot, the latch

faulty from too much time. Uniform slacks are left
deflated on the floor and I fall into bed, pulling
a quilt over weary limbs. The sun spills onto the floor
as I wish the day

good night.

The A - Found Poem

[called the indefinite article ]
adjective
used when referring to text or conversation:
a man came out of have
you, I, we need people with a knowledge
of measurement to mean one such unit :
I simply haven't a someone

this for each; when stressed
("He gave you a flower?"—that is,
you a flower ?"—that is, the emphasis
is on used before words
before words beginning with h, see
also usage a ( an before a vowel sound)
someone or something for the first time
it has been an honor of languages. Compare with the.

someone like (the name specified)
in, to, or I cost as much as eight dollars a dozen.
ORIGIN [one.]
The article a can be pronounced either only one flower),
or, when unstressed ("He gave a flower, not on the number of flowers).
The form sound.
On the question of using a or an.
more people or things already mentioned or assumed to be I
the phone rang. Compare (with a unit of time)
the present; the current

he made of her I
used I
he taught himself to play the violin to indicate that it represents a whole species
(he hoped to publish “the”)
he was the hot young piano prospect in jazz.
(all the ——) used to emphasize the amount or the more desirable
by their rarity. what's the matter?

refer to a person, place, or thing
that is unique denoting a disease or affliction : I've got the flu.
dish of the day, man of the moment. used the speaker or person
addressed is associated : I have done the best I could.
make a generalized reference to something rather than
identifying a worry about the future.

with quality described :
they are trying to accomplish the impossible.
if only he could find the money. (pronounced stressing best known
or most important of that name or type used adverbially
with comparatives to indicate how one amount or

the more she thought about it, the more devastating it became.

Craigellachie

just off the highway
this is what tied it together
from the peaceful to the vengeful

a coming-together-of
a ringing and the word
"nebulous" and sweat

ties and ribbons
the 7th of November, 1885
far beyond remembering

a photograph of top hats
a white beard and a hammer
this new rocky hill

prints in the snow from the hooves of elk
and four robins fluttering
over dead grass and last year's leaves

nothing suggests the momentousness
of here (except, maybe,

the trees)

A Notable Absense (A Poem for Kelowna)

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so the cedars you bought for your hedges all died
in May. They stand now like the terra cotta soldiers,
(only from a distance, with a quick glance.)
They look sad.

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so these clouds are like ladies gathering gauzy
hems up around their knees so as to
never cover fields of grass
in morning frost.

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so my skin cries out for wetter air,
for home, and for somewhere
that I can taste the ocean
in the sky.

It doesn't rain here, ever.

Found Poem

Shakespeare's Sonnet 18

shall thou lose all day?
a lovely eternal heaven buds;
May growest untrimm'd:
Nor gives thou more
But shade can owest
Thou Summer's to thee,
When in Summer's hot date too
shall thou wanderest from thy Death

or can thou his lease shake
in a time more dimm'd;
Sometime temperate:
And every fair as sometime shines,
Nor to the eye of men,
And short fair winds too.

By long compare that complexion of lives
thee and I his nature's changing:
So this, this life
Shall a gold eternal breathe,
Summer shall hath declines,
Rough, or not oft' is to see, eyes
art and fair lines do chance
And brag the possession long
So fade



of course darling

One Thousand Steps

Seven years old, she is pleased with the limpet she found clinging to the bottom of a slick rock. She counts purple starfish but her small hands are not deft enough to snatch one from its spot. A crab darts from behind an overturned rock, startling her. The quest continues, and finding an anemone she strokes its orange tentacles, giggling as it reacts to her intrusion. She hopes to see the great fin of an orca slice open the surface of the ocean, wonders what it would be like to swim in the grey Pacific and call to the whales, with whom she feels a deep kinship. A gull is pulling small soft things from between the rocks, his yellow beak the only colour not hiding below the water. She finds a sand dollar - white, dead - and places it carefully beside several barnacles huddled on the top of a large rock. It joins the three perfect shells she has found; two smooth white clam shells, and one dark, shiny purple mussel shell, almost magical. She hopes to discover evidence of mythical creatures under some yet unturned rock, but is satisfied to take home a few pretty, if unremarkable, souvenirs. After all this time she is at home on the rocky shore, navigating gracefully across treacherous terrain. Days here, in the cool Vancouver grey, are perfect.

She is older now, but still finds her peace in that formidable coast. And she still hopes for evidence of Atlantis under some yet unturned rock.