Living the Dream

I am off to Richard’s launch March 8th.  I can not wait to have his book launched.  It is going to be a best seller. 

Invitation to a major book launch
by Moncton author Richard Doiron
Moncton Lions Center
473 St. George St.
Moncton, N.B.
Thursday March 8, 2007
At 7 P.M.
1: Blind Man’s Bluff, The Lyle Hogan Story
The true story of Moncton businessman Lyle Hogan
2: A Crowning Glory
A boxing novel dedicated to the late
Yvon Durelle, whose blurb appears on the book.
3: StraightWalk
A novel depicting the life of a young Native
North American man of vision.
Plus eight additional books of poetry & Prose done in e-book format.
See website: www.spiritsinpeace.com
Refreshments will be served.

Tags: Poems by Shewolf
No Comments »

People and their little judgments, tying us up in neat little packages
so we are easier to manage from their wee world view.  We shall give them
a world of hurt to wonder at, if that so wounds them:  that, being
our unique way of defining ourselves~ come let us wear red
when red means sin to them, wrap up in black when they side
sunshine with good.  Let’s worship Salvation Army lines while they pray
to their financial gains.  Let us eat beef while they eat their sautéed veggies.

I want to wear brave plaids and tie-dye neon
all the days of my old age, dread my locks and streak rainbows
in well-hidden roots.  I don’t want to be any more plain than you do.
I want to go on cruises and dance with a dozen old men,
have them meet me at a circus and ride the Ferris wheel,
while my nitroglycerin stays on ground-level with the fearful.
I want to go to raves and get caught up in the emotional movement
of sound and sight and deep bass driving new notes into my bones.
I want to stand on a cliff and dive off, when I am eighty, to see
if old arms can drag at parachute chords better than they did at twenty.
I want to run away from those who would pack me in steel-framed bed
with little buzzers and cheeky bird noises above my head.  I want
double bubbles that get stuck on my chin and to make love
in the meadow or belong to the “mile high club”.  I want everyone
to know I love rap and that it is not so hard to understand, if you bloody listen
for a minute and don’t make your decisions so rapidly.  Let life move you.

I want people to envy the youngest and oldest even more than they do. 
We are wild and wonderful as we were meant to be.  Talk is free, life is long
and we have a million new things to do before they drag us, kicking and screaming
to that bland old music, a bland old suit, in a bland old grave.  Wrap me
in an map of my adventures there and now and tomorrow.
 

Tags: Poems by Shewolf
No Comments »

Thoughts, like blood, scroll through vast
mapping of journey I test surface of

words, bursting like brain bubble
leaving me weak and one-sided
for as long as it takes for relief
by a shunted sluice onto some printable
material that soaks up my poems
like gauze gains color at a heavier weep

phrases, unrolling themselves; given birth
by flick of eye on a particular prism
bouncing off an evocative ellipse
that reminded me of home  of them  of you

of me, shouting, singing, mumbling
crying, moaning, laughing syllables
into the ether to roam round Universe
and find their way back to me

poems, like young faces, waiting in heaven
wistfully hoping I find a place for them
here in Muse’s womb.  Want for a spouting breast
of nuance’s nectar, restlessly pokes at my shoulder
saying, “Write!  For god’s sake, write!”

I conspire with creation, dare destiny to make its marks
Being a willing witness to history in the making; my history,
my aching.  I have traveled a road of madness
in the making, if not for this pulse of pure passion
pulsing somewhere in between skin and bone
belief that I have something left to pen.

Tags: Poems by Shewolf
No Comments »

She is a journey
her sunken valleys
moundy hills
veiny rivers
amniotic seas
teary lakes

she has been traveled well

her foreign countries
city dressings
skirted villages

domed chapels
worshipped at

she has led strangers
up her paths,
stopped invasions
of private homes
barred door
to her vestry

she has invited friends
to come up buckled and creased
old skin sidewalk
for chance visits

she has been mapped
by love’s fingers
shaped by madmen’s hands
surgically shifted
by rusty scalpels

she is her own adventure
routes, well-traced,
are carved in the canyons of her heart

Tags: Poems by Shewolf
5 Comments »

Where did Spring go?

She wandered out on the cusp of winter,
got swallowed up by a crusty lip
while she was looking for crocuses.

I see her muddy footprints
frozen in cold bindings
all for a purple blanket
to curl herself in.

I should not have left the door open,
hoping for fresh air
and fine furry faith in winter’s dying.

My girl is out wandering,
pink cheeks blossoming
with childhood’s fuzz.

If you find her,
wrap her up and bring her in
so I might make a monument
in my crystal vase
at my shut-in table set for two.

Tags: Natural Nuances, Poems by Shewolf
No Comments »