Cynthia Sharp's Blog, page 6
October 2, 2017
Reading A Tribute to Orange in New West
Reading at THE LONG POEM EVENT
A Tribute to Orange
the changing leaves in the cherry tree by my balconywelcoming cooler morningsof coffee and cream, the moon in harvest timetea and tiny cakes, my first Mid-Autumn Festivalin an apartment in Burnabyas I tutored students in poetry,
the generosity of the girls serving me with two open palmsand sending me home with extra
the colour of the tie-dyed skirt I admired in the window of a high end Granville shopforty-five dollars I didn’t have that whole summeryears later I returned and purchased an orange top at Rootsthat I wear with the memory of the window skirt from the summer of ‘97when I had been sleeping on two separating couch cushions in a smoky basementamazed at the possibility of a new life in BCthe first time I saw a four dollar coffeespending all of what I had left of my savings on beverages at Starbucksfor the family that housed me in their basementthe light of the sun as I purchased my first book in BC Timothy Findley’s Memory at a second-hand store on Granvilleeight dollars a shock –eight times more than what we charged at the Book Market in my old hoodand totally worth every last dollar
the hue of fall when I returned to BC for workand the moon I fell in love underin my thirties off Commercial Drivemy Wiccan boyfriend singing tunes to the spiritsthrough all nighters and essaysstudent teachingand me falling in love despite the fact he was leaving
the embers in a film I saw in kindergartenhow they held me in meditationthe first time I lost myself into a moving imagelike I had with the orange and yellow angel in the Advent calendarI stared at her so longperhaps seeking my spirit selfthe shaman within
the colours of the healing chakra lightin my raven dream sparks of yellow and orange as children danced safely in a circle and my spirit protected themmy calling to become ravenhe didn’t miss the colours at allhe is all of them
the pencil I chose for the triangles in my grade eight math bookthe notebook I sat up in the early morning redoing in bedin fear it was not neat enough the first timethe light orange shade calming my anxiety and post traumatic stress disorder
the piece of clothwe got for two dollars in Montrealcovered in stars and the candle I got to matchhow I imagined it as the floor of the mud hutin my first novel of street lifebefore it travelled with me into videos of loss and healingand finally the student productions of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream
the colour of the first imageI imagined in Frenchwhen I was tutoring a beloved studentwho could read my mind
the shiny hue I chose for my first pedicureand admired all summer barefoot at English Baysoft sand between white toesand a rhinestone that I valued like a diamond
October in the Elgin Street Parkwhere my grandparents metthe roses my Australian friend paintedwhen I presented them to her a hostess gift for the home cooked dinner, preceding their children’s evening recital
my favourite Cotton Ginny shirtmy grandparents bought me in Florida the day we sampled fresh squeezed juice in tiny cups from the back of the truckmy grandma’s adoration even richerthan all the light of Miami
the cover of my belovedAlice Walker poetry bookpainted like the wallsof my Thirteenth Avenue apartment
the glow of the neighbor’s porch light through rainamber warmth reflected in puddleslike Paris café candles in the night
the first colour I seemixed with violetwhen I close my eyes
A Tribute to Orange
the changing leaves in the cherry tree by my balconywelcoming cooler morningsof coffee and cream, the moon in harvest timetea and tiny cakes, my first Mid-Autumn Festivalin an apartment in Burnabyas I tutored students in poetry,
the generosity of the girls serving me with two open palmsand sending me home with extra
the colour of the tie-dyed skirt I admired in the window of a high end Granville shopforty-five dollars I didn’t have that whole summeryears later I returned and purchased an orange top at Rootsthat I wear with the memory of the window skirt from the summer of ‘97when I had been sleeping on two separating couch cushions in a smoky basementamazed at the possibility of a new life in BCthe first time I saw a four dollar coffeespending all of what I had left of my savings on beverages at Starbucksfor the family that housed me in their basementthe light of the sun as I purchased my first book in BC Timothy Findley’s Memory at a second-hand store on Granvilleeight dollars a shock –eight times more than what we charged at the Book Market in my old hoodand totally worth every last dollar
the hue of fall when I returned to BC for workand the moon I fell in love underin my thirties off Commercial Drivemy Wiccan boyfriend singing tunes to the spiritsthrough all nighters and essaysstudent teachingand me falling in love despite the fact he was leaving
the embers in a film I saw in kindergartenhow they held me in meditationthe first time I lost myself into a moving imagelike I had with the orange and yellow angel in the Advent calendarI stared at her so longperhaps seeking my spirit selfthe shaman within
the colours of the healing chakra lightin my raven dream sparks of yellow and orange as children danced safely in a circle and my spirit protected themmy calling to become ravenhe didn’t miss the colours at allhe is all of them
the pencil I chose for the triangles in my grade eight math bookthe notebook I sat up in the early morning redoing in bedin fear it was not neat enough the first timethe light orange shade calming my anxiety and post traumatic stress disorder
the piece of clothwe got for two dollars in Montrealcovered in stars and the candle I got to matchhow I imagined it as the floor of the mud hutin my first novel of street lifebefore it travelled with me into videos of loss and healingand finally the student productions of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream
the colour of the first imageI imagined in Frenchwhen I was tutoring a beloved studentwho could read my mind
the shiny hue I chose for my first pedicureand admired all summer barefoot at English Baysoft sand between white toesand a rhinestone that I valued like a diamond
October in the Elgin Street Parkwhere my grandparents metthe roses my Australian friend paintedwhen I presented them to her a hostess gift for the home cooked dinner, preceding their children’s evening recital
my favourite Cotton Ginny shirtmy grandparents bought me in Florida the day we sampled fresh squeezed juice in tiny cups from the back of the truckmy grandma’s adoration even richerthan all the light of Miami
the cover of my belovedAlice Walker poetry bookpainted like the wallsof my Thirteenth Avenue apartment
the glow of the neighbor’s porch light through rainamber warmth reflected in puddleslike Paris café candles in the night
the first colour I seemixed with violetwhen I close my eyes
September 2, 2017
Horizons
Surrender to the rich tangerine reflectionthat perfect momentwhen the water itself is the colour of sky and you fall into itbeyond three dimensions to the winding curves of dream time
August 12, 2017
August 2, 2017
For All Our Dreams
The white misted sky opens to reveal a cerulean canvas,bluebells in the wind,ladybugs in lavender.The strength of spring unfolds into summer,shedding fears with the retreating winter.Like butterflies returned from the future,spirits flying ahead, we go forward to answer our calling.
July 2, 2017
Bliss
the shade of orange in the petals of a flowerthe scent of summer in the seathe beach on a Tuesday eveningions in the wavesall the paths I choosesand beneath my feetthe sense of eternity we find in dreaming
June 1, 2017
Nirvana
delicate droplets mist new leavescherry blossoms flutter like butterfliesfor all of the things in the world on edgeimmerse yourself amid the petalsthe exquisiteness of light
April 29, 2017
Trusting the Sacred Within
it’s all in the shade of a blossomthe mystical flow of spring the way spiderwebs shimmer in evening light
ever in processcontent with the paceallowing ourselvesto breathe outside
April 7, 2017
A Favourite Selection from Guest Poet & Reader Mike Mercer
"Spring" from William Blake's "Songs of Innocence" has been selected by guest poet and reader Mike Mercer to welcome in National Poetry MonthSound the Flute!
Now it’s mute
Birds delight
Day and Night
Nightingale
In the dale
Lark in Sky
Merrily
Merrily Merrily to welcome in the YearLittle Boy
Full of joy
Little Girl
Sweet and small
Cock does crow
So do you
Merry voice
Infant noise
Merrily Merrily to welcome in the YearLittle Lamb
Here I am
Come and lick
My white neck
Let me pull
Your soft Wool
Let me kiss
Your soft face
Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the year
March 29, 2017
Light Come to Life
Here, by the scent of cedarin late afternoon sunI will wait forever.
March 12, 2017
Fall Beauty by Guest Poet Alex Penz
leafless treeslittle rustles of windbells from nearby citiescold wind rustling through our clothes
