Walking on Rocks

For a moment,
I recalled wading
on the rocks
beyond the lily pads,
that ringed the edge of Hawkeye Lake,

looking down at my funny feet
morphing comically
below the water -

happy -

with my-best-friend-forever
walking with me, in squeals
of plopping slip-sliding steps -

without a care in the world.

Without a clue:
that life could take away

bitterly, take away -
that which it bestowed so freely

in the glory of youth.

photo:  Walking on Rocks - W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

something in the air

the sunbeams fell like lace
upon the place, where we paused
to lean against a wooden rail

that framed a shallow brook.

a black capped chickadee

whistled a lovely three note melody

in the grace that fluttered

in green caressing breezes:

the two of us amongst the trees - 
in birdsong and breaths -
his words tossed into the swirl

of life and mirrored reflection, and for a moment,

they were lost - to the sweet soothing tranquil air.

though, I’m sure that, as he stroked my hand,

drinking in that lovely forest whirl

he said something he had never said before

and whispered – softly whispered:  my dear girl.

photo:  Little Bridge in the Woods – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

I still love patchouli

I dreamed

I was standing by a stream 

in wafts of patchouli air

and, as I gazed at a far off wooden bridge,  

I appeared there, much younger - 

staring back at my olden self.

And I remember thinking:  

I hope she likes me – I haven’t changed . . . 

all that much.

For one thing:  

I still love patchouli . . . it would seem.

Though, I later realized:  

my little clay fragrance burner 

sat extinguished on the stand beside my bed

and had, I gathered, insinuated its latest scent  

upon my mind – in covert, exotic wisps.

Nevertheless, I do – still love patchouli:  

as the vial of oil plopped atop 

my trinket box, indubitably, attests.

I still love stinky, pink patchouli. 

The girl on the bridge would like that about me . . .
At least . . . that's my best guess.

Note:  published:  Verse Afire (Ontario Poetry Society) May-Aug. 2015 Edition.
  
Patchouli, a whitish pink herb that is part of the mint family, is a common ingredient in East Asian incense and oils. Both patchouli oil and incense were wildly popular during the youth movements of the 1960s and 1970s in Canada, the United States and Europe.

photo:  The Wooden Bridge in Nitobe Garden, Vancouver, BC – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

the funny thing about Como Lake

the path round Como Lake 

winds like a verse 

in greenish blue and blue and green

and aqua notes that stir peaceably  

in the pleasance of that quiet scene

where hours while away in hushed geniality  

and introspection

all there, mindful of the tranquility of the place

 

but for the ducks who, from time to time,  

let loose in cacophonous honking quacks 

that careen off the Como Lake pool of serenity

like a hilarious joke on their guests

 Note: Como Lake in Coquitlam, BC is a sanctuary for ducks.  Many varieties including wood ducks, goldeneyes and mallards can be spotted when you walk the trail that loops round the lake.

Photos:  Shots of Como Lake – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke