Curse these hormones
They make me cry
More for the plight
Of others – for kindness
At joy, or pain,
Or seemingly nothing
Than any worst of mine
Experience of life to date
How can I tell my eyes
To shed no tears
For those who die by fire
For those who risk
Both life and limb
To save another’s child
I cannot make myself
Immune to the suffering
Of animals, women, children
Nor even violent, middle-aged,
Mercenary misogynists
Whose words belie their actions
What are these thoughts?
These feeling of unexpected
And even unwelcome
Compassion for all things
All creatures, living and dead
Even mosquitoes, crushed
For being as they are
My bleeding heart would nurse
What good is such weakness
Am I now infirm of purpose
So blind to the darker side
Of human nature
That I would embrace it
Heedless of my own
And others’ safety?
tears
Winnipeg
Cry me a red, red river
A river of dust and bones
Of hearts that bleed and shiver
From broken and bruising homes
Blow me a kiss of willow
To echo a mourner’s moan
The ache of an empty pillow
Another child’s fate unknown
Cry me a red, red river
To fold me within its bed
And comfort the cares that slither
Through thoughts of unending dread
Bring me a message, finding
Too late what you had to face
My anger a knot, a binding
A coiling of thoughts that race
Cry me a red, red river
Reflecting a distant star
A chorus of souls, a quiver
That calls to me from afar
Paint me a cold moon rising
Surrounded by frozen waste
Still warmed by a hatred, blinding
For victims that leave no space
Cry me a red, red river
From words that no longer mean
An end to the dreams that linger
Its path a forgotten scream
Soothe me to sleep through Winter
To wake in the roar of Spring
With gifts that are carved to splinter
Where birds cannot bear to sing
Cry me a red, red river
And lay there upon this shore
The past where I long to wither
And hold you again, once more
This was written for the Red River Women.
Silent
It has been a quiet week
With the tongue still in my mouth
As though words had simply left me
I wait, patient, resigned, for their return
They tell me it could be weeks
Another two, perhaps will pass
Before I can taste the letters
In their shades of coolest blue
And burning crimson
I cannot let myself slip
Tripping into watery terror
They will return, they must
We are lost alone
The Half Life of Romantium
Take a fragile shell of base metal
Iron, or lead will do nicely for a first attempt
Then find somewhere to keep it
While the experiment progresses
Prop it against a shady frame
Darkened doorways work well, then
Seal it with the finest salt water
Washing repeatedly until all planes
Have been carefully soaked in brine
Set it aside to drip-dry on a doormat
Paying careful attention to placement
More progress is made in the hours
When darkness covers the sun’s curve
Applying topical heat at intervals
Until the surface shines with salt specks
Carve your initials into this skin
Making the cuts deep, clean, even
You should still be able to see them
A clear inscription In fifty years or so,
Once things have cooled to room temperature
Press Night
The show must go on
As if pain were so much motley
Your costume for the close of Act One
Calls for something jolly
The lighting grid that follows closely
Every tiny truth
Is signalling for sequence two
So hit your marker, move!
No tears may fall upon your cheek
For make-up will no secrets keep
And running down your chin to seep
Through dry-clean-only, borrowed, cheap
Steal hope for critic’s mild misgivings
Drowning in depressing clippings
Uglified by wig and ribbons
Pantomime with all the trimmings
Make dumb show and mime for laughs
How things are fine – they’ve rung the half
Don’t let us down, we’ve paid to see
Up close, what’s not reality
Prière
Mon père, qui m’a donné de vie
Je vous demande plus rien
Mais la possibilité de le vivre
Sans interruption, sans me plaindre.
Je manquerai des choses –
La détresse, la douleur –
Ce sont des dons particuliers
– gardez-les pour toujours
Et je garderai ma joie
Ma félicité, mes sourires
Contre ceux qui me voudront
Faire pleurer – gardez mes larmes
Pour vous.
Tout va déjà si bien
Je n’ai pas d’envie de changements.
A kind parting
What summers I spend in the depths of your gaze
While the half hours tick past with a sigh
How cool is the breeze, yet how warm is this haze
As I watch my life, lonely, drift by
There I sit and I bask in the glow of your sun
In the chill of your evening mocks
And I love you with all of my heart every morn’
So I suffer your slights and your shocks
‘Tis in vain and I know it, your heart is aflame
With the gas-lit by some other spark
And I see nothing here for me but future pain
As I talk to myself in the dark
Try to speak me some sense to this dull wit of mine
I will do what I must to survive
For to keep up my status through your frosty clime
One can barely call ‘being alive’.
So my mind is made up – without heed of my heart
And the tears join my smile on the floor
I must put them both back, though it may not be smart
For I’ll not hurt my love,
My one precious love
This only true love?
As I slip out the door.
Ode to a lost love
My love lay down in pastures green
As I cried out return to me
That which you took – I willingly
Would give again, but can’t you see?
I needs must show a worldly face
And so in public can embrace
No more my lusty jackanape,
Alone I cried – my heart did break
To see you turn away from me,
Thus leaving me to misery.
Where once was sworn repeatedly
In youth to Love a fealty.
I no more young, to work must go,
And try to find some youthly glow,
Reconquering what seemed as sure
To me as sea that meets the shore.
My daily task has thus become
To go in search of further fun:
To find new worlds of memory
Within this gulf where once was thee.
Katherine Shirley 