Posts Tagged ‘poem’
abandoned gardens: a pantoum about lilacs
Over the years, faced by change, some communities continue to thrive. Others, once vigorous, may decline and disappear. Sometimes, communities may hang on but individual homes may be abandoned. Abandonment can occur if the owner moves away or dies, or if aspects of the home become unsustainable (for example, a water source dries up).
~
~
When a home is abandoned, what becomes of the vegetable garden, so carefully tended, or the flower gardens, each plant chosen with love and care?
~
Annuals are usually the first to go, although biennials may continue to grow for a year and some plants, like sweet William or pansies, may reseed. Perennials may thrive, sometimes for years. Rhubarb, chives and berry crops often continue to grow in a vegetable garden. In the flower garden, peonies, day-lilies and phlox may bloom year after year. Trees and shrubs often persist.
~
rhubarb persisting in an old garden
~
In my poetry project about abandoned gardens, I want to learn more about various poetry forms. The poem below is written as a pantoum. A pantoum consists of four line stanzas. The second and forth lines of the preceding stanza are used as the first and third lines of the next. The first line of the poem may also be used as the last.
~
The poem below is written about an abandoned house in central New Brunswick. Keep in mind, these properties are still owed by someone and the owners may care a great deal about them and perhaps use the property if not the house.
lilac bush next to an old house
~
lilacs persist
~
delicate scribble of winter wren
lilac, a cushion of shadow and green
props the abandoned house
roof rusted, clapboards and shingles grey
~
lilac, a cushion of shadow and green
at night leaves peer in windows
roof rusted, clapboards and shingles grey
features sculpted by overlapping leaves
~
at night they peer in windows
stare, front windows to back yard
features sculpted by overlapping leaves
scented panicles of purple bloom
~
stare, front windows to back yard
noses tuned to lilac sweet
scented panicles of purple bloom
lilacs persist and thrive
~
noses tuned to lilac sweet
roof rusted, clapboards and shingles grey
lilacs persist and thrive
delicate scribble of winter wren
~
~
~
~
Perhaps we can learn from the lilac …
persist and thrive.
All my best,
Jane
talking trees
~
~
trees in conversation
~
they say
if trees communicate
they do so
beneath the ground
communication network
of rootlets
and mycelia
~
I still listen
above ground
to the friction squeal
of trunks
rubbing together
flutter of birch bark
whisper of leaves
~
I think they try
to learn my language
speak to me
of longevity, the cycle
of the story in layers
added year to year
bilingual trees
~
~
~
All my best,
Jane
Ball’s Bridge’
In southern Ontario, the Maitland River winds through fields and woodlands before it empties into Lake Huron at Goderich.
When we visited the area two summers ago, we discovered the Ball’s Bridge on the Little Lakes Road.
~
~
Ball’s bridge was built over the Maitland River in 1885. It is a rare example of a two-span pin-connected Pratt through-truss iron bridge and one of the oldest wrought-iron Pratt bridges in the US and Canada. The bridge was built at a time when horse-drawn carriages and carts were its only traffic. In 2006 the bridge was declared unsafe for the weight of modern vehicles. In 2008, the bridge was saved from further deterioration and eventual destruction by the Friends of Ball’s Bridge.
~
~
The poem below tries to capture the interplay of light and shadow as we crossed Ball’s Bridge and drove the local roads.
~
Ball’s Bridge, Maitland River
~
on the first day of fall
landscape is criss-crossed
in lattice and wire
spider web and the flight paths
of pigeon-flutter
to the high lines
of the iron bridge
~
rays of light
find solar panels
and the backs of turtles
sunning on river logs
the inter-lacing
of dark water and light
the shadows of metal and truss
intercepting wire
~
cornfields
and winter wheat
embedded rows
a river and its valley
and a hawk follows
panels of air, first frost
and meltwater collects
on oval lily pads
yellowed leaves
rusted wire
~
~
This is the second metal bridge we have visited in Ontario. A few years ago we photographed the South Nation River Bridge, in Glengarry County, not far from Cornwall. That bridge has been removed, another loss from our built landscape. For the story of our visit to the South Nation River metal bridge click here
~
All my best,
Jane Tims
colour: solemn, sombre
October in New Brunswick is an explosion of colour. However, as the red and orange leaves fall, browns and yellows begin to dominate the landscape.
~
View of Nerepis marsh looking south. The ferry is crossing the river, barely visible in the mist.
~
Colour variety in the marsh grasses.
~
Hay-scented fern adds yellows and browns to the ditches.
~
solemn, sombre
~
walked out to see you
once again as you
lay dying, somber
the soft light, marsh grass
leaning in the rain
autumn colour fades
tones solemn, ochre
of poplar and birch,
straw-pale, hay-scented
fern, Solidago
and tansy, shadows
in the ditch, the heads
of Typha
burst to seed
~
~
Copyright Jane Tims 2019
~
Best wishes everyone!
Jane
abandoned spaces: remnant plants
On a drive towards the centre of the province, we found the property below to exemplify what happens to the surrounding vegetation when home sites are abandoned.
~
~
~
On the property, I could see the old home, the roof fallen in, the tin roof rusted on the half that was not shingled. All around were wildflowers, most noticeable, the fireweed. There were also remnants of cultivated plants:
- lilac
- rose bushes
- hops
- orange day-lilies
~
~
Street View, Google Earth gives a glimpse of the property back in 2009.
~
~
~
remnants
~
Not meant to sprawl but climb, hops
crouch between grass, fireweed.
~
Recline, each five-fingered leaf
with spaces between digits.
~
Remnants of pink rose bushes
and an apple tree, apples
~
green but plentiful. Lilac
lifts spent and skeletal blooms.
~
The two-track road still leads to
back pasture, woodlot beyond.
~
Orange day-lilies echo
the rusty reds of tin roof,
the house fallen to decay.
~
~
All my best,
Jane
in the shelter of the covered bridge – through a spider’s web
April 4, 2015 ‘web’ Jane Tims
~
web
~
after the rain,
says the spider,
I am purveyor of worlds
~
peer through my web
800 raindrops
inverse images
~
each a replica
of roof, walls and passageway
joists and beams
~
loops of lenses
strands of crossing
binocular bracelets
~
built a web to catch
the rain? I don’t think so
but insects never came to call
~
so I am content
with captured
covered bridges
~
swimmers, girls gone fishing
and the occasional
Chevrolet
~
~
Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
how high the snow?
Last week, we had our first substantial snow. My husband is happy because he plows driveways with his tractor. I am happy too because the snow makes everything clean and white.
Both of us wish we knew how much snow will fall this winter. Even the weather station does not make any attempts to guess the snowfall in the coming months.
However, I enjoy the old ways of prediction … my Dad used to say the snow would be as high as the wasps built their nests. Last week, while walking one of our trails, my husband found a wasp nest at chest height. Last year, in 2011, there was a wasp nest in our arbour, at a point just above our heads. Therefore, we have concluded… this year we will have less snow than last.
By April, I should know if this method works!!!!
~
~
prediction
~
had a lengthy meeting
before the Queen OK’d the plan
and started the nest – concise, globular,
paper contract with winter
~
she ordered us to work,
to strip wood from
the human house next door,
chew the pulp, publish the bulletin
~
takes stacks and layers of paperwork
to predict with certainty
where home will be safe and above
the snows of December
~
the secret in fine print,
on paper walls –
light grey from the patio fence
dark grey from the shingles
~
~
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
a moment of beautiful – November leaves
the space: the November sky
the beautiful: oak leaves, not yet fallen
The oak is one of the last trees to give up its leaves in autumn.
I love the look of oak leaves against the sky. Individually, their deeply lobed pattern is striking. As a group, the leaves make a kind of randomly tatted lace.
These leaves are a frail, ineffective barrier to rain and snow, but to me, they are a statement of defiance against the coming winter.
~
~
password
~
my palm
and its splayed fingers
against the glass
defy the cold
demand the secret word
~
the way the oaks construct
tattered shelters against
November chill, cling to
their leaves, whisper
misinformation
~
~
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
tough to follow
In high school, in Nova Scotia, I belonged to a history club. We did an interesting project in about 1971, tracing the route of an old stagecoach trail through the woods between Lower Sackville and Fall River. We were able to follow the road since it had been raised above wet ground. We also found old culverts still intact. One of the things we made was a relief map of the area, with the hills built up in plaster and the old road marked in red. The project created, for me, a lifelong interest in old roads.
old trail obscured by a Bracken understory
~
tough to follow
~
the old road at the edge
of the hill is tough to follow
no clues, no footprints, no bent twigs
~
eventually all familiar ways
grow over
~
a layer of bracken
covers the track
like a cloth over biscuits
at the dinner table
~
primo-canes of bramble
claw you back
your mother reminding you
to wear your sweater
~
better to look up
follow the ribbon of sky
marked by the absence of branches
~
~
Published as ‘tough to follow’, Canadian Stories 15 (85), June 2012
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
‘cold’ place names in New Brunswick
Yesterday morning we woke to a dusting of snow on the roof of the garage and deck table. I am not too crazy about the perils of driving in bad weather, but I love the look of new snow.
cold day in December 2011
Thinking about new snow reminded me about the several communities in New Brunswick named for adverse or chilly conditions:
Snowdon, York County – perhaps after the family name.
Coldbrook, Saint John County (now part of Saint John) – originally thought to have been called Moosepath, then Three Mile House … renamed Coldbrook in 1889, reason unknown.
Coldstream, Carleton County – first called Rockland, was renamed Coldstream in 1852.
Blowdown, Carleton County – originally called South Richmond, the community was renamed in 1869, after a significant leveling of forest as a result of the Saxby Gale (October 4-5, 1869).
Frosty Hollow, Westmorland County (now part of Sackville)– originally called Mapleburg, the community was renamed in 1927 because the first frost in the Sackville area is said to settle there.
~
For information on other community names in New Brunswick, you can use the search feature at the Provincial Archives of New Brunswick http://archives.gnb.ca/exhibits/communities/.
new snow on car roof
~
~
newfall: words escape me
~
the white ephemeral
perhaps frost
the fir boughs divided
the sculptured steel
of a flake of snow
~
try again
~
paper stencil
on chocolate cake
powdered sugar
sifted on the rills
of the new plowed field
~
again
~
sweet in my mouth
the bitter melted in morning sun
white hot on my cheek
the writing lamp
~
a lamp to the left
casts no shadow
(the shadow of a pen
or a hand)
~
(unless you are wrong-handed)
~
chimney shadow
on a fresh-snowed roof
or trees on the eastern edge of the road
where the sun cannot warm
~
the morning
dusting of ice
~
try again
~
~
Published as: ‘newfall: words escape me’, The Fiddlehead 196: 147, Summer 1998.
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
