nichepoetryandprose

poetry and prose about place

Posts Tagged ‘poetry

fetching water

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C. 'water bucket' October 23, 2018 Jane Tims

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fetching water

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‘Strength in those arms,’

says Mama. ‘Fetch

me a bucket

of cold water

from the well.’

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‘Need one of those

pumps,’ says Papa.

‘Painted iron,

hornbeam handle.’

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‘No need,’ says Thomas.

‘I know how to drop

the bucket

so she fills

the first time.

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‘Echoes lift

from well-stones.

My face down there,

winks on the water.

Strength in these arms.’

~

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Copyright   2019   Jane Tims

~

All my best,

Jane

Written by jane tims

August 9, 2019 at 7:00 am

hauling wood

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D. 'hauling wood' Oct 25, 2018 Jane Tims

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hauling wood

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The draft horse answers

to a click, a shake

of the reins, the squawk

of a blue jay, flushed

from the thicket. Long

tail hairs scatter flies.

Chain rings, loops around

the log, its cut end

a brake, ploughs up duff.

Nostrils flare and hooves

find gain in gather

of leaves, paw for ground.

Lather under tack,

he lowers his head.

Takes the woodlot incline

as though he’s navigated

these hardwoods

all of his life.

~

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Copyright   2019   Jane Tims

~

All my best,

Jane

Written by jane tims

August 7, 2019 at 7:00 am

making snowmen

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In winter, the snowy roadside slopes keep a record of events. Animal tracks, snowmobile trails and sledding runs each tell a story of adventures in the snow.

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On a drive to Mactaquac, we saw yet another story being told. Narrow tracks, each with a small snowball at the base, document the activities of gravity and wind. I think they are taking the first steps toward making snowmen along the roadside.

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snow balls.jpg

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snowballs in dirtch

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snow games

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at first

wind and gravity

collaborate, roll

the heads of snowmen

down the grade

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wind nudges

the tracks, plays games

of parallels

and criss-crosses

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gravity tires

of rivalry, abandons

bodiless heads

in the snowy ditch

~

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May you encounter interesting stories on your winter travels!

All my best!

Jane

 

Written by jane tims

February 13, 2019 at 8:19 pm

ice falls

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Last weekend we took a drive along Highway 8 from Fredericton to Boisetown, a relatively new road to bypass Marysville and the older winding road along the Nashwaak River. For some of its length, the highway has been carved through bedrock and includes several impressive road cuts. I find these interesting because they show the geological formations in the bedrock. In winter, they are beautiful, a result of the frozen curtains of runoff and overland flow.

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Some of these cuts show thick ice flows, frozen waterfalls and dripping icicles.

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Most are browning in colour, probably from inclusion of sediments, but some are clear and blue.

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In a few places, it’s possible to look through gaps in the flow, and get a glimpse of the still, cold spaces lurking just out of sight.

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curtain of ice

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frozen land drools, and water

follows contours of rock

encounters cold, sculpts

cataracts and waterfalls, builds

frozen walls, solidifies

panes of glass, stitches

curtains of frost and filigree

icicle knives

~

behind the curtain are caves

spaces where light glimmers,

diffuse where whispers shiver,

muted, protected from wind

glimpse inward layers

through flaws in rigid curtains

frosted shards of rock

icicle knives

~

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For more on ice falls, including another poem, see

https://janetims.com/2012/03/10/snippets-of-landscape-ice-falls-on-rock-walls-2/

~

My best always,

Jane

Written by jane tims

February 8, 2019 at 2:30 pm

Ice dance

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In southern New Brunswick, we are recovering from a snow and ice storm. My husband has been in the tractor, removing snow and ice, for two days. Between runs with lunch and diesel, I am reading Ann Cleeves, one of my favourite UK detective authors. The phone rings and I am wrenched from a very different kind of storm in the Shetlands to a neighbour who wants the services of an ice-gobbling tractor.

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As the sun goes down, I re-live the beauty of the day. Chickadees, a downy woodpecker and a red squirrel spent the afternoon competing for the sunflower seeds in our feeder. Every tree is laden with ice and the wind stirs up powdery snow-devils across open places. The evening begins with memories of glassy trees and the faint tinkling of their twigs and branches.

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Every twig wears

A diamond bracelet.

A wrist turned,

Just so,

To join in the dance.

~

~

All my best,

Jane

Written by jane tims

January 22, 2019 at 5:05 pm

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pantoum on morning

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A couple of months ago, a friend from my Fictional Friends writing group suggested the image below as a writing prompt. The image reminded me of my once-daily morning commute where I would often see the settling of the morning mists in the low valley of the Saint John River.

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poem one

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morning mist

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wake in morning, wool-headed

reluctant to start the day

fog settles as droplets of dew

webs woven over pasture

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reluctant to start the day

fleece teased over hollows of hill

webs woven over pasture

hesitation of a solitary ewe

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fleece teased over hollows of hill

disperse as sun stretches arms

hesitation of a solitary ewe

drowsy as dreams feather into deed

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disperse as sun stretches arms

push back pillows and duvet

drowsy as dreams feather into deed

woolen blanket of valley mist

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push back pillows and duvet

wake in morning wool-headed

woolen blanket of valley mist

fog settles as droplets of dew

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I have been thinking about prompts for writing: images, collage, words, phrases, sentences, and so on. Just google ‘writing prompts’ for a barrage of ideas. Writing prompts can be used to combat ‘writer’s block’, to suggest new pathways for writing or to find new metaphors.

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For a poet, I think another type of prompt is ‘form’. Form suggests new patterns of expressing an idea. For the poem ‘morning mist‘, I used a photo as a visual writing prompt and the pantoum form (with modifications) to explore new ways to pattern ideas about morning.

pantoum – a poetic form written in any number of quatrains with an abab rhyme scheme and repeating lines: the first and third lines of any stanza are the same as the second and fourth lines of the preceding stanza; the first and third lines of the opening stanza are used as the second or fourth lines of the last stanza. The last line of the poem may be the same as its first line.

I like the interweaving of ideas and emerging images as the pantoum proceeds. The repetition slows the poem and establishes echoes within.

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All my best,

Jane Tims

 

 

Written by jane tims

November 28, 2018 at 7:00 am

rural to urban

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In one of my recent posts, here, I wrote about a course I took using collage-making as a writing prompt. To help us visualize the method, the teacher (Lynn Davies) gave us examples of collages she had built and asked us to do some response writing. Here is a facsimile of Lynn’s collage and the poem I wrote in response.

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collage 2.jpg

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Relocating the Rhino

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We move,

rural to urban.

Exchange night song

for traffic noise.

Swap canopied trees

for storied buildings,

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night stars and Jupiter

for wall switches

and tic-tac-toe

of energy leak

from offices

in skyscrapers.

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Beneath our feet,

rocks become fluid,

magma, electric blue.

Footing uncertain

on rocks

that wobble.

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We armor ourselves,

chose tenement addresses.

Turn off lights

to save our silver,

wish for stars

in the night sky.

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See only

tired workers,

keeping

the lights on

way past

quitting time.

~

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Since I am a community planner and environmentalist, the interpretation of the collage comes as no surprise. The surprises (for me) are the rhino as metaphor for humans moving into the urban setting and the comparison of the twinkle of office buildings to the twinkle of rural stars.  Implied is the irony of rural workers, seeking a better life, working even longer hours when they migrate to an urban life.

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All my best,

Jane Tims

Written by jane tims

November 26, 2018 at 12:00 am

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