Poetry In The Woods

poet Rob Smith

This weekend was our annual neighbourhood poetry gathering, Poetry In The Woods. A few families get together, go for a walk in the conservation area and share some poems we like. We also eat chips and drink wine, and the kids feed the chickadees build teepees. For the past couple of years Rob and I have also been trying to write a poem for the event. Since I've been inspired lately, I had one prepared, but Rob sat down in a burst of creativity and wrote his piece this morning. 

Here are are poems. 

 

Love In the Hood

by Rob Smith

No, no, upon reflection, there is little to change.

Perhaps,  only my time to spend among the living.

A fools wish, a common hope,

our being, fleet of wing,

flies blind down the axis of time

So many of the parameters of life are we born into.

Other’s accidental, and some,

few, mutable by our own hand.

Divined by God or not

willed by choice or

accidental as a Royal flush

on a Saturday night’s ending play

I find myself here in the woods

loved friends stand as trees to witness my thoughts

strong and true as always

being as always was

Tonight in my nest with my love

I will again be thankful

For the love in the hood

and as the poet Orpheus,

ponder wondrous happenstance

Jonah wants a Spring Solstice Parade

by Leanne

My friend’s son Jonah wants a spring solstice parade

To celebrate the day when there is as much daylight as darkness

I shrug, and invite the neighbours

And even though there is still snow and boots and mittens,

The evening is bright, bright!

And so we march down the street

beating drums, clashing cymbals, to announce spring,

Or as my husband says, to scare away the snow.

Despite our attachment to electronic items that beep,

our distance from farms, we are hinged to these seasons

My kids try to understanding time

When the pond freezes its my birthday, right?

Yes, and when the snow melts into dirty wrinkles

it is time for Easter and Pesach chocolates.

School ends when it is hot enough for the sprinkler.

And so we beat our drums and eat our pizzas,

Christians, Jews, mostly pagans

The noise showing our desire for nights warm enough

to eat in the backyard, for the sizzle of barbecues,

for children with soccer balls and tiki lamps, and sundresses,

for cold drinks shaken not stirred.

Jonah you asked for a parade, and I was only too happy to provide.