STONES FOR THE FIRE PIT

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This poem was among the runners-up in The Ontario Poetry Society's "Winsome Words" contest in 2006.


STONES FOR THE FIRE PIT



On the beach where you gather stones for the fire pit
stories percolate like coffee on a cold morning,
stories as new as the first time
you ride a bike or land a fish,
old as how you couldn’t wait to get away.
But now you’re back to watch
the sky evolve from blue to blush
and the first star shines as it never could in a city.




No fan of winter, each year you long for its elapse,
grow tired of watching ice form
on the pool behind the house,
smooth as linoleum, slick as aloe on a burn.




Here, the wind has pine on its breath,
stick-figure trees unfurl their leaves,
stand majestic once again
upon the new and tender ground.

The chitter of newly-fledged flickers in the apple tree,
the two-tone song of chickadees,
evocative of every spring you’ve ever known




delights you, invites you to dance
on this sun-parched earth,
dance like an eagle on a thermal,
satisfied as any lover.

You know you’re safe here,
meandering through the seasons.

Home at last
there’s nowhere else to go.



©2006 Linda Lee Crosfield

TRAILBLAZERS COME TO THE KOOTENAYS AGAIN

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The following poem (sans pictures) appeared in Ascent Aspirations' Agua Terra anthology, Fall 2006.


TRAIL BLAZERS COME TO THE KOOTENAYS AGAIN

Witch-finger striations tentacle down the mountains
Through lodgepole pines that cling there.
Once proud peaks show signs of rust
As if left too long in the rain.
The mountain pine beetle has come to call.

Humans, too, leave marks upon the land,
Then feign surprise if anyone objects
When water from plundered creeks
And ravaged rivers slows to a last-gasp trickle
Or finds another route.

Waves slap the shore as if to keep it in line,
In line for what? Another midnight move,
Of disappearing boulders, uprooted trees

While those who are supposed to be in charge
Attend to so-called natural disasters?
When they’re manmade, they look the other way.

And will it matter, in the the end?
The lake will continue to rise and fall
As it is able, now dams have tamed it.

Yet somewhere, nearly every spring,
A river overflows its banks, reshapes the land,

Reminds us that it’s Mother Earth who’s really in charge
And she’s about had it now with all the mark makers,
Trail blazers; she’ll blaze a trail, all right;
The conflagration will be seen for miles.

There’s a developer for you,
There’s a vision for the future.

©2006 Linda Lee Crosfield

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