Poem
Good Friday Poem
Friday April 06 07:03
Written on Good Friday, 2007.
Good Friday Poem
And so he walks into an impossible love
as Jesus once walked to his crucifixion
Good Friday Poem
And so he walks into an impossible love
as Jesus once walked to his crucifixion
Comments
The Life of Wind
Thursday April 05 09:26
Written two years ago—seems appropriate for today.
The Life of Wind
sitting in the waiting room
waiting for the wound specialist
to put on my mother’s
new dressing
her mastectomy was a success
but my friend’s mother’s
cancer has come back
there is no one
in the waiting room with me
there is only the hum of
a coffee machine
quiet chat of a doctor and nurse
outside the lone window
wind is upsetting the new maple leaves
tossing and shaking the buds
tearing at them
but the sun is coming out
breaking up the rainclouds
my mother and I
will walk down Isabella street
away from St. Mary’s
the lane is full of blossoming lilacs
cherry trees
magnolias
white and rose flowers
and the scent of sweet bloom
she says she doesn’t want to go
that she is too weak
so I tell her it will be good for her
the walk
the air
the purples and pinks
all the rain soaked aromas of Spring
the Life of wind
Moon
Tuesday April 03 12:20
Moon
When she is gone
and I'm back on the
internet dating again
that's when the moon will come out
and turn the summer air to ash
like a baying dog at her sinister beams
i'll force myself to forge
a new heart
one that won't crack at the
torched chasms of days
a cathedral of folly
wincing at my own regret
while over darkened seas she flies
silent in her thoughts on me
and my fickle heart's
changing
waxing
and waning
Prime Love
Saturday March 31 10:00
Written I don’t know when...
Prime Love/The Two Of Us
Eleven birds fly
Three as you walk on by
Seven toes in sand
A child’s tiny curling hand
Your thirteen bluer than sky
Prime Love/The Two Of Us
Eleven birds fly
Three as you walk on by
Seven toes in sand
A child’s tiny curling hand
Your thirteen bluer than sky
Poem for Soccer Sunday
Sunday March 25 12:15
I know it’s unusual, but here is a poem for football (soccer) enthusiasts.
Football
Every night I
Sit at the computer and
Watch goals from half-centre
Like Wayne Rooney’s cracker
Or a Beckhaming bender
Le Tissier’s sweet sizzlers
Di Canio’s flying scissors
Some Ruud from the area
After Touré malaria
A Cantona chip
And a Keaner clip
Nutmegging Gaúcho
Zidane’s header on Marco
The flyer from Scholes
Or Old Master’s Dutch goals
Then Pelé the Conquera
Handing on to Maradona
Impossibilities from Carlos
Christianities from Ronaldos
Aging Teddy
Young Thierry
Crouching taller
Shorting Sneijder
Messi Del Piero
Rummenigge
Negrete Okocha or
Tony Yeboah
They are strikes from the past
Our love kicks in the grass
And like you—in your absence
I connect on your passes
Banff
Wednesday March 14 09:59
Banff
Everyone heads out west from here for
The Rockies are young and vibrant and sharp
While Laurentians
Old
Worn
Tired
Blackboord
Tuesday March 13 09:58
Freelance
Sunday March 11 12:20
Here’s a little poem about career choices—written a few years ago…
Freelance
at age thirty-seven
i now know people in
Law
Medicine
Finance
Architecture
Dentistry
Trade
Upper Management
Engineering
Tenure-Track Education
Science
Office Work
Pharmaceuticals
Unionized Labour
Business
Specialized Trade
Financial Planning
Sales
and Service
and whenever i tell them i am a freelance
actor
writer
teacher
director
producer
screenwriter
playwright
consultant
creator
coach
artist
They always ask the same thing:
How do you make any money doing that?
then i walk in the rain on a monday mid-morning
and i close the pub on a tuesday night
and on friday and saturday when everyone’s out and about
i stay home in my little apartment and i
write
© Adam Kelly Morton, 2009
recollect, please
Friday February 24 12:29
Welcome to my writing log.
The plan here is to write a lot of stuff, share things I like, and hopefully get some feedback from YOU.
Here’s a little offering to kick things off. I wrote this when I was about twenty, and fixed it up twenty years later.
recollect, please
in my youth which was not
long ago
i remembered more and cared less
now
i care more
and remember less