| February 2008 |
All work copyright
the owner. No
reproduction
without consent.
the owner. No
reproduction
without consent.
FEATURED POEMS
Poems by Calgary's Marie Specht.
accumulation
a charred bent nail in my camera case
brings about events worth photographing
while the loose strings, ribbons and beads
--little gifts worn until worn out--
inhabit old purses just waiting
for fumbling fingers to renew them
I keep the strangest things close
each talisman a quiet reminder
it’s hard to find a book on my shelf without leaves, notes, petals and pictures
pressed between pages
time and pressure changing paper to thin onion-skin
brittle and semi-transparent
the act of reading releases the butterfly-fluttering
of so many accumulated moments drifting to the floor
I’ve always kept comfort-shaped pebbles
in the hip pocket of my jeans
smooth stone curves around thumb-flesh
bringing me back to the river bank or dry creek bed
in hopes that my pocket could take the place of a river my footsteps the current
I yearn to create my own erosion
my path could meander around boulders and splash waterfalls over cliffs
if I walk a thousand years will my pockets sift a fine silt?
earning your rings
brown eyes now flee
when they see me coming.
so many indigo children around
there’s no room for hazel or brown
these people who carry the sky in their eyes.
larger than life
head in the clouds
I’m sure I can hear the surf
if I gently place my ear
next to your eye
or is it the crisp, clear silence
when the snow finally stops falling
and the sky is so deep
and the world is clean.
it’s been too many years of my face
absorbed by the soft soil of his eyes
he always was about the earth
with his fingers like roots
but the cloying smell of germinating seeds
made me forget about flying
my feet were firmly planted
and my vision
could not reach over the tree-tops
I learned the science of soil
the chlorophyll dialects of the forest
how to live so close to the ground.
all valuable wisdom but
somewhere in those years
I misplaced my clarity
my poetry
my art left it
somewhere in those layers of soil
tangled and lost in forgotten roots
we change slowly
like a tree earning it’s rings
the clouds were so far
when I was concerned only with growing things
decaying autumn
humid earth
I forgot about the clarity of blue
insects trapped in sap are
slowly absorbed or
harden to amber
cocooned in the hard shell of history
I have to sever these roots
dust off and oil my wings…
but
seeing my face reflected in blue again…
I feel distilled
refined
crystallized with a hard edge
ready to break light
into rainbows.
Stretch(marks)
One searchingly soft first night kiss….
by morning I have made a world of myself.
a narrow stretch
a mountain range
To fill this room
(extended on the floor)
my body meanders around obstacles
satiating every empty space
gradually eroding overtaking
table legs and book shelves
streams and rivers accordion
falling over themselves
(its been raining for days)
hip bones draw skin taut
making mountains and subsequent valleys
toe-tips misty with atmospheric perspective
at the end of legs stretched so long
impossible femur highways
heading north
(but south of my belly button)
where I fold the universe
my feet go on forever now
(unending prairie byway)
and I realize my toes
are advancing on the back of my head.
can
A Lesson in Origami:
tell me
how to fold this impossibly long body?
project myself upright
construct such a rude intrusion
to break up the puritan prairie horizon.
One seemingly sacred first night kiss and…..
I find I’m easy to avoid
because I’m hard to miss.
Marie is a frequent reader at Passion Pitch Poetry, third Wednesdays of every month at Oolong Tea House
in Kensington.
Poems by Calgary's Marie Specht.
accumulation
a charred bent nail in my camera case
brings about events worth photographing
while the loose strings, ribbons and beads
--little gifts worn until worn out--
inhabit old purses just waiting
for fumbling fingers to renew them
I keep the strangest things close
each talisman a quiet reminder
it’s hard to find a book on my shelf without leaves, notes, petals and pictures
pressed between pages
time and pressure changing paper to thin onion-skin
brittle and semi-transparent
the act of reading releases the butterfly-fluttering
of so many accumulated moments drifting to the floor
I’ve always kept comfort-shaped pebbles
in the hip pocket of my jeans
smooth stone curves around thumb-flesh
bringing me back to the river bank or dry creek bed
in hopes that my pocket could take the place of a river my footsteps the current
I yearn to create my own erosion
my path could meander around boulders and splash waterfalls over cliffs
if I walk a thousand years will my pockets sift a fine silt?
earning your rings
brown eyes now flee
when they see me coming.
so many indigo children around
there’s no room for hazel or brown
these people who carry the sky in their eyes.
larger than life
head in the clouds
I’m sure I can hear the surf
if I gently place my ear
next to your eye
or is it the crisp, clear silence
when the snow finally stops falling
and the sky is so deep
and the world is clean.
it’s been too many years of my face
absorbed by the soft soil of his eyes
he always was about the earth
with his fingers like roots
but the cloying smell of germinating seeds
made me forget about flying
my feet were firmly planted
and my vision
could not reach over the tree-tops
I learned the science of soil
the chlorophyll dialects of the forest
how to live so close to the ground.
all valuable wisdom but
somewhere in those years
I misplaced my clarity
my poetry
my art left it
somewhere in those layers of soil
tangled and lost in forgotten roots
we change slowly
like a tree earning it’s rings
the clouds were so far
when I was concerned only with growing things
decaying autumn
humid earth
I forgot about the clarity of blue
insects trapped in sap are
slowly absorbed or
harden to amber
cocooned in the hard shell of history
I have to sever these roots
dust off and oil my wings…
but
seeing my face reflected in blue again…
I feel distilled
refined
crystallized with a hard edge
ready to break light
into rainbows.
Stretch(marks)
One searchingly soft first night kiss….
by morning I have made a world of myself.
a narrow stretch
a mountain range
To fill this room
(extended on the floor)
my body meanders around obstacles
satiating every empty space
gradually eroding overtaking
table legs and book shelves
streams and rivers accordion
falling over themselves
(its been raining for days)
hip bones draw skin taut
making mountains and subsequent valleys
toe-tips misty with atmospheric perspective
at the end of legs stretched so long
impossible femur highways
heading north
(but south of my belly button)
where I fold the universe
my feet go on forever now
(unending prairie byway)
and I realize my toes
are advancing on the back of my head.
can
A Lesson in Origami:
tell me
how to fold this impossibly long body?
project myself upright
construct such a rude intrusion
to break up the puritan prairie horizon.
One seemingly sacred first night kiss and…..
I find I’m easy to avoid
because I’m hard to miss.
Marie is a frequent reader at Passion Pitch Poetry, third Wednesdays of every month at Oolong Tea House
in Kensington.
Eleventh Transmission is Calgary's
arts, culture, media, and activism
magazine. We feature the work of
emerging and established writers and
artists from Calgary and beyond.
Eleventh Transmission believes that
Eleventh Transmission believes that
connection -- to the community, and to
art involves awareness and art
involves awareness and connection --
to the community, and to what goes on
in the world at large. We have a
special interest in work that is socially
engaged.
New issues debut the first Monday of
every month. Next issue March 3.
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content in particular, please take a few
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Facebook group.
arts, culture, media, and activism
magazine. We feature the work of
emerging and established writers and
artists from Calgary and beyond.
Eleventh Transmission believes that
Eleventh Transmission believes that
connection -- to the community, and to
art involves awareness and art
involves awareness and connection --
to the community, and to what goes on
in the world at large. We have a
special interest in work that is socially
engaged.
New issues debut the first Monday of
every month. Next issue March 3.
If you like the magazine, or any
content in particular, please take a few
moments to share the link with your
friends.
Feel free to join our Mailing list or our
Facebook group.