nichepoetryandprose

poetry and prose about place

Archive for the ‘eight days’ Category

eight days – hide and seek

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I love small sculpture.  On my eight-day trip to Ontario, one of the things I was inspired to draw was a small stone carving of a man.  He was purchased in Greece… the little carving is a modern example of a sculpture done in the Etruscan style. 

His head is down, resting on his knees, encircled by his arms.  He reminds me of the games of hide-and-seek we played as children.  For a few moments, the one who is ‘it’ covers his or her eyes and knows only the small space between knees and arms.  Then, after counting to ten, the eyes can open and perspective returns to normal.  Then it is the task of ‘it’ to hunt down companions who have hidden while he or she counted to ten.

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count to ten

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arms enfold head

wrapped in knees

zero perspective

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count to ten, unfold

expand horizon

dark to light

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seek what imps

have hidden

name them

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send them home

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© Jane Tims  2012

 

Written by jane tims

February 3, 2012 at 7:10 am

eight days – brass dragonfly

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Our cabin at the lake is situated at the top of a hill where the wind is always blowing.  In summer, this wind keeps the black flies and mosquitos at bay.  Any remaining flying insects quickly become the prey of our vigorous dragonfly population.  Like mythical dragons, they swoop down and, as sunlight reflects from their transparent wings, cast glints of fire on the landscape.

On my recent trip to see family in Ontario, I was reminded of our insect dragons … on the hearth was a small brass dragonfly, contemplating his next fiery foray!

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brass dragon

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burnish absorbs light

conjures spirit metallic

re-invented as transparent

breath as vague as warmth

of dragon wind

lift beneath wings

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© Jane Tims 2012

 

Written by jane tims

February 2, 2012 at 6:37 am

eight days – antler

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During my trip to Ontario, we spent lots of time, on cold days, enjoying the wood stove. 

On the hearth was a deer antler, found on a walk in the woods.  Usually they are hard to find since the mice chew them to nothing very quickly. 

I was drawn to the antler because of its resemblance to a bony hand.

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antler

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ivory hand, posed

for incantation, shadows in unexpected places

relic of a woodland walk, artefact

enchanted, deer rub

cedar bark to summon

mist, acknowledge the passage

of days, manifest between

separation

and the gnawing of mice

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© Jane Tims 2012

 

Written by jane tims

February 1, 2012 at 6:33 am

eight days – ice storm

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During my eight-day stay in Ontario, the highlight of uncertain weather was an ice storm.  The freezing rain fell for hours and coated every surface with a layer of icy glass.

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freezing rain

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trees, bare branches, wait

wood snaps in the stove

budgies peck at cuttle bone

pellets of rain, tossed

at the skylight

a second transparency

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bare twigs turn in wind

to even their coating

in these last moments

before temperature turns

the snowpack on the picnic table

shrinks at the edges

shoves over, makes room

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branches gloss so gradually

candles dipped in a vat of wax

over and over, acquiring thickness

the sky, through the skylight

dimpled tile, rumpled mosaic

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rain stipples bark as narrative

appends to memory, pane here,

light there, layers of glass

cedar twigs turn downward

as fingers, ice builds

layers of skin

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© Jane Tims 2012

 

Written by jane tims

January 30, 2012 at 6:49 am

eight days – witch ball

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When I was visiting my family in Ontario, my eye was constantly drawn to a window where plants were growing.  Suspended above them in the window’s light was a ‘witch ball’.  The ‘witch ball’  is a hand-blown glass ball with glass threads in the internal space. 

The ‘witch ball’ was used in 18th century England to ward off evil spirits.  In its modern form, these balls are used for decoration.  When the light traverses the glass and enclosed area of the ball, it creates patterns of light and shadow, beautiful and mysterious.

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witch ball

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topsy-thwarted, turn

and tangle, strands

of glass and atmosphere

in innerscape of melted

ash and sand dendritic

paths a maze and morph

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light and shadow

confused

congealed

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©  Jane Tims 2012

 

Written by jane tims

January 28, 2012 at 7:25 am

eight days – snow storm

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During my eight days in Ontario, we had a snow storm whose memorable characteristic was the size of its snowflakes.  They were the biggest I’ve ever seen, as big as large marshmallows.   Every fluffy snowball must have been the composite of a dozen individual snowflakes.   After the storm, the trees were coated with white.  The cedar were particularly beautiful, with their evergreen leaves each hanging beneath a personal burden of snow.

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deep snow

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snowed all day, sealed us in

knee-deep, snowflakes

the size of mittens, wrists

of cedar hang

weight of snow, on backs of hands

boughs of fir, three-thumbed

and frosted, fists on fence posts

impressions of boot

in the hollow of leg-prints, fingernails play

the wind chime, brief

reminder of summer, signals

in-coming cold

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© Jane Tims  2012

 

Written by jane tims

January 27, 2012 at 7:27 am

eight days – glass floats

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In days before plastic and styrofoam, fishermen used glass and wood to make floats to keep their nets buoyant. 

These floats are colorful symbols of the people who make their livelihood from the sea.  In fishing communities in the Maritimes, we often see fences and walls festooned with painted wooden floats and buoys. 

Glass floats are rarer because they are so breakable.     At home, my Dad’s collection of sea shells was always accompanied by a couple of glass floats he found at auctions.  On my piano, I have a small collection of glass floats in my favorite color, green. 

The tradition lives into the next generation… when I visited my family in Ontario for eight days, earlier this month, I was delighted to see a basket of variously-colored glass floats on the hearth of the wood stove.

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glass floats

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the fog’s still glow

penetrates glass

and air incorporated

an age ago

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weightless, flamboyant

on salt water

swell

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glass inflation

tethered by hemp

on an ocean

whipped to froth

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© Jane Tims  2012

 

Written by jane tims

January 25, 2012 at 6:57 am

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