sun spots

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Watercolour artist, Darlene Payne, sent in these beautiful scenes

inspired by my 3 part poem 'sun spots'. 

Thank you, Darlene!

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they contemplate the existence of he and of we and of blue-bellied turtles o o o

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he traipses purple hills with a blue-bellied turtle & mongeese he can't see

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...in the harbour where they play every day

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sun spots

iii

pink sunlight casts evening shadows

on his hut, his home

where he will feast on sea

weed and electric eels

      on

the landing he empties his pocket

of pearls that he and his blue friend

amass in the harbour 

where they play every day

then settle their fine calcareous orbs

in a basket by the door

white and black and as iridescent as

the fire that he and the blue-bellied turtle

will build in the night

for the girl in the moon o o o

sun spots

ii

purple hills on his island

crawl with purple mongeese

which are very hard to see!

   sTill

in the morning

when the sun's still askew

he traipses purple hills

with a blue-bellied turtle

& mongeese he can't see

   hE's
not afraid of the invisible
and so they let him be.

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sun spots

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the briny sea air wafts ashore

there

where he sits

with the blue-bellied turtle

on the white sands of his island

silently   together

they contemplate

the existence of he and of we 

and of blue-bellied turtles o o o

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God doesn't play ball with the uni- verse.

When i was little

I used to think that the world

Was a ball

And wouldn't it be fun

To play kick with it and stuff!

But for some reason, and

                     I don't remember which

Only God could play ball with it

Now that I'm old

(like, since i turned eight?)

I know that God has more

Important things to do

With his time.

Cause teacher told me, right?

StiLl though

Every time I see a picture

Of the universe

With all of those coloured balls  ,

I think how much F-U-N

It would be to be smack in

The middle of 'em

                            and PLAY!!!

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vegetable soup

Ever since you talked

About vegetable soup

I smell vegetable soup

In every room

Of my house

     You know how you said

You haven't had any for

Three years now

Because you forgot about it

And now that I asked you to write

About vegetable soup

You remember how much you like it

And you miss it 

And you're cold

And you want vegetable soup 

RIGHT now?

       Well, ever since 

I got home from

Helping you write about

Vegetable soup and

How you burnt the roof of your mouth once
(I knew that's what you meant even 
If you did write mouse instead of mouth)

And drank lots of cold water afterwards

But the skin on the roof of your mouth

Peeled and got all gross,

But you would StiLL have some anyways?

I can smell vegetable soup

In EVERY room

Of my house!
(Even though it isn't even my story
And I almost NeveR eat
Vegetable soup )

Dragon

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“But dragons can’t fly!”

“Yes they CAN!”

“Na-ah.”

“Way.”

“They’re way too big!”

“That’s why they’re called dragon flies.” Justin was not about to give this one up.

Cassandra was so confused now. She couldn’t argue with that. There they all were, hovering about them where Cassandra and Justin sat cross-legged on the sandy forest floor and continued the great Dragon Debate.

“But –“ And just then the liquid blue damsel fly alit on her thigh, the flutter of its wings closing beneath its abdomen, barely audible - much like the chatter of her brother’s words, dissipated into the chirping, rustling, softly sound-filled forest green. Oh, how pretty, she thought. How beautiful you are, Ma Demoiselle…

A Goodnight Lullaby to the Artist

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Once upon a time, there was a boy who had trouble sleeping. His friend wanted so very much to help him fall asleep, but how to do this? , she asked herself...

One day, the boy said to his friend Maggie, “Maggie, I so, so want to sleep but when I close my eyes at night, all I can do is think...about...well...everything! And then I’m filled with colours and lines and words.”

Maggie thought for a moment, then took her friend Jacob’s hand, and led him to an old shack on the pier near their cottages on Lake Bluebird. When they entered the old shack, Jacob was speechless. “Oh my,” he muttered after rubbing his eyes, “Wherever did all these colours and lines and words come from?”

Maggie told her friend that she, too, sometimes had trouble sleeping, but she had found a way to negotiate with her imagination. She had gathered every colour she could find...from the sky and the earth and the sea, and she then gathered every line she could catch...from the horizon and the sun and the stars. Then she gathered all the words from every book she ever read and brought them all out to the old shack on the pier. All the colours and lines and words came together that night, and she sighed a sigh of contentment. Maggie went back to bed and slept for three whole days.

And so, whenever she couldn’t sleep, Maggie came to visit all that she had gathered in the old shack on Lake Bluebird, returned to her bed, closed her eyes and slept oh so soundly.

Jacob asked his dear friend if he might borrow her colours and lines and words...

“Of course!” Maggie answered. “What are friends for?”

Jacob smiled. Maggie gave her dear friend the only other gold key to the old shack on the pier. Oh so very pleased, Jacob said 'Thank you' , and the two friends walked back to their cottages hand in hand.

“See you after supper!” Maggie shouted from her porch.

“Okay!” Jacob hollered back, “Meet me at the boardwalk. I’ll let you use the purple chalk tonight.”

Yellow purple orange /.<friend love key sleep

L'il Folk Tales

Y Y Y

LOVE IS IN THE AIR:

I rise from my desk and walk towards the built-in pencil sharpener on the back wall of the classroom. I can see him from the corner of my eye. He's sooo cute! Why won't he look at me?

I sharpen my pencil until it almost dissapears into the hole and hoping now that no one is looking, I stuff the pencil shavings in the pocket of my dindl skirt. The teacher seems too enwrapped in her words to notice my dissapearance.

I sit back down at my desk. I guess all I can do now, is wait.

The teacher finishes her lesson and hands out a question sheet. I take one and pass the others to the student behind me. That's when I see him.

He looks down at his pencil and stands up. I push the lead of my pencil against the edge of my desk until it snaps off. I want to run to the back of the room so that no one will get between us in line, but I must keep my cool...I cross my fingers and slow down my steps. I so much want him to fall in love with me and I think I've finally found a way. It came to me last night, just as my eyes were closing.

I am standing behind him now, my hand holding tightly to the pencil shavings hidden in my left pocket. His beautiful, blond hair glistens while his hands are busy with sharpening his pencil. Then he turns to walk back to his seat.

Okay. Now...no...NOW! And the love dust flies through the air, landing on his beautiful, blond, glistening hair.

But, well, umm...when he turns around at my expectant eyes and my smiling lips, I see that his face is totally covered with my love dust and he's rubbing his eyes frantically. And though I can't make out his words, I see them coming out of his mouth in a fury. What went wrong, I wonder. Why has my love potion not worked? Maybe I just used too much...

Y

histoires de la rivière aux rats

un petit roi:

~ tu as le chapeau. aujourd’hui tu es roi – le roi du royaume de la rivière au rat, et moi, je suis ton sujet…je lui dis çà comme je baisse ma tête et hausse mes bras en respect du petit roi.
il sourit. il veut rire de moi. il ne me trouve pas raisonable. le voyant là avec son chapeau trop grand me ramène à l’histoire du petit prince, et moi, je veux jouer. mais comme l’après-midi devient soirée et miguel et moi se promène main en main sur le gravier qui nous emporte vers le lac, je lui demande s’il aime être roi pour un jour. il me dit que non.
~ tu ne veux plus être roi?
~ non.
~ tu veux être quoi?
~ rien.
~ pourquoi?
il me répond sans hésitation, je suis trop petit pour être quelque chose de grand.

moi, j’hésite. je veux lui dire qu’il n’est pas trop petit, qu’il est plus important que les rois grands. mais je comprends prochainement que miguel n’a aucun problème étant petit, que ce n’est pas une mauvaise chose du tout, que c’est moi qui voudrais bien être petit comme lui et comprendre la vie sans effort.

nous sommes maintenant près du lac, et je lui montre le gros drapeau canadien qui se balance là-haut dans le vent. je crois qu’il aimera ça, comme la seule chose qu’il dessine, ce sont les drapeaux.
~ c’est quoi ça? il me demande.
~ mais-c’est un drapeau, comme ceux que tu dessine. tu aimes les drapeaux, non?
~ oui… mais lui, il veux me montrer le signe de traffique au loin…
~ regarde! stop! ça dit STOP!
~oui…
j’essaie encore, pourquoi tu dessine les drapeaux?
~ je l’sais pas.

cette fois, je me sens perdue. je croyais le connaître un peu. mais j’accepte sa réponse…ce n’est pas toujours nécéssaire de comprendre afin d’apprécier.

plus tard, à la rivière, je lui demande de me dessiner un drapeau. il me dessine un drapeau, pendu sur un poteau…
~ c’est pour toi, il me dit souriant, et m’explique que je devra planter mon poteau dans la terre.
j’apprécie son don, mais je ne le trouve pas complet. je le redonne en lui demandant s’il peu, s’il-vous-plaît, dessiner une fleur sur mon drapeau.
il me dessine une fleur qui ressemble à un homme bâton, mais je suis contente. je place mon drapeau entre les dernières pages du petit prince, et comme le petit prince, je me sens soudainement apprivoisée…