Aubade @ Corked

Yesterday, Corked Wine Boutique in Fredericton, NB, was the scene of a creative writing reading (Sunday, 26 March, 2016) for two writing groups: Fictional Friends and Wolf Tree. A reception was held in order to celebrate award winning writers from these two groups and about 25-30 people, group members and family friends, were present. I would like to thank all those who made this event possible. A special thank you, in alphabetical order, to Ana, David, Jane, and Neil, for making me feel welcome in what was for me a new environment. And a great big thank you to Charlotte, for allowing us to read in Corked.

For my contribution, I read Fear of the Hawk and followed it up, in a second reading, with the three poems that appear below.

Three Poems

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 1.

Aubade

The crows in the garden complain of the cold,

cawing from their look-out points

with short, sharp calls.

A life of ease they seem to live,

but when the mercury descends and water freezes

icy blinds inside our window panes and snow-

squalls bluster in from north and west,

who knows what’s best for those poor birds

aloft in their crow’s nest spars,

sailing snow’s seas,

steadfast in their skippering of wind-bent trees?

This Arctic cold is such

that neither man nor beast can love it much,

crouched close to whatever warmth there is,

shivering in the wind’s cold touch.

 2.

 Fore-shadowing

Yesterday, a dozen crows pecked at salt grains

scattered over the road.

A black-clad chorus, they rejoiced

when sunshine drew the white-tailed deer,

from winter depths of banked up snow.

Not long ago she was alive;

now she lies stiff and broken.

Soon she’ll be picked up by workmen,

dumped, and forgotten.

Stars drift hidden through the sunny sky.

What magic spell invokes what beginnings?

To what end do we prolong our days?

What myth,

this fairy-tale I call my life?

3.

Driving Home

Driving home from the hospital,

bullied by fierce winds

on a snow-packed road,

I dream as I drive.

I envision a past

that never was, a future

that may never be.

As I hibernate in that past,

last summer’s flowers

flourish in my mind.

The car skids into a snow bank

and my world shakes in shock.

A thirty wheeler rumbles by:

there are so many ways to die.

21 thoughts on “Aubade @ Corked”

  1. Hey, R: With Poem #2, would it have been too obvious to have begun it with ‘Yesterday a murder of crows pecked at…

    Just wondering (you know I love to play with words). Chuck

    On Mon, Jun 27, 2016 at 9:28 AM, rogermoorepoetdotcom wrote:

    > rogermoorepoet posted: “Yesterday, Corked Wine Boutique in Fredericton, > NB, was the scene of a creative writing reading (Sunday, 26 March, 2016) > for two writing groups: Fictional Friends and Wolf Tree. A reception was > held in order to celebrate award winning writers from these t” >

    Liked by 1 person

    • My first thought is that “crows don’t murder salt grains”, nor did they murder the deer. Now, ravens and lambs in the springtime … that is a different matter. My second thought is that the group names are sometimes overused, especially when their secondary meanings are exploited. Feeling vigorous in my current opinions, I have now come up with “an England of idiots”. This works for the pro- and anti- Brexit as well as for the soccer team. I’ll think about your suggestion: there’s always room for revision in my world. Thanks for being here and glad you’re back.

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  5. This Arctic cold is such

    that neither man nor beast can love it much,

    crouched close to whatever warmth there is,

    shivering in the wind’s cold touch.

    I loved this piece, Roger, especially the line about “hibernate in the past”. We have squirrels in our backyard. When it gets cold in the winter, there is one squirrel that loves to come and scratch at the back window to try to get IN my house. He must really detest that cold! And yet, it is his reality, isn’t it?

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    • “Jack of all trades, master of none” — that was the future my grandparents predicted for me. They never mentioned “masters in one and doctorate in another”, but when I look back, I don’t think they were fortune-tellers, in spite of their efforts.

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