the talk on the street

on the incognito street

tramping by box buildings

(bright, busy lego block

storefronts and restaurants)

strewn, haphazardly,

against the poet mountain –

rolling through:

the dawdlers and steam rollers

(popping in and out of sweet and cranky moments

in orange and gold and red

upon the blue, or on

the muddy mottled shadow splotches)

words fall – like dry zigzagging leaves in autumn.

they drift around on spittle breezes

or drop crackling to the ground,

to be crushed in happy-sad footsteps.

mysterious words, strange words

and wonderful words:

that, occasionally, soar on giggles

or are clasped, cherished, in entwined fingers.

and then, there are the words:
that are flung and left to hang,
like slimy, cold spaghetti on branches –

humiliating the trees . . .
(I can`t help but think)

and all who pass.

note:  Incognito (from the Latin incognitus) denotes that behind an action, there is someone who wants to remain anonymous.

photo:  Against the Poet Mountain – W. Bourke 

© 2014 Wendy Bourke

Iconlexia

HEAD DOODLING BACK:

I pushed on the button to go up.
And the lift doors proceeded to close.
I pushed on a button to hold for a man -
And the doors almost took off his nose.
 
The look on his face told the story:
He thought me exceedingly rude.
Slamming the doors in his face, just like that:
I've got myself some attitude.

And I thought:  Clearly, I'm icon challenged.
And all-thumbs with all-arrows, god knows.
But I do try to hit the "hold" arrow, I swear . . .
Before pushing the arrow to "close".

So . . . let me just say:  mea culpa,
And offer to share half the blame.
For I meant no offense, sir.
And in my defense, sir:

←  ↓ → ↕ ↵ ↑←  ↓ → ↕ ↵ ↑↓ →

Those icons are really a pain.

Sometimes I go up, when I want to go down.
Sometimes, I resort to the stairs.
The floors I have been to!  The people I’ve seen!

It’s a pitiful state of affairs. 

note:  A parody of:  Oh, the Places You’ll Go!  by Dr. Seuss.

photo:  Elevator Iconlexia (pictured is the elevator in the Vancouver Marine Building) - W. Bourke

© 2011 Wendy Bourke

THE ROMANTIC PERIOD

The room – just then – 

as now,  

was tinged in 

dreamy blue, soft,  

violet light

as, I recall, it often was

 

that year  

so passionate and bright –

and the hours spent  

GLOR - I - OUS - LY ! ! ! 

in the stacks

– AMID –

 

the wild and ardent words of  

THE ROMANTIC PERIOD.

And thus . . .  

I found myself with you, 

My Dear, 

in the soft periwinkle glow

impetuously moved  

to place - the fingers 

of my hand, upon 

your sweater arm 

. . . just so

and sashay them,  

coyly, 

moving 

to your shoulder . . . 

and your throat

and on your bottom lip:  

I plucked 

one bold pizzicato note.

  

Then you took my hands

and kissed them 

and you laughed . . . but with affection.

And in that kiss . . . and in your laugh,

ROMANTIC – period:

PERFECTION.

notes:

The Romantic Period (an era I took very much to heart in my university studies) was a movement that originated in Europe primarily from 1800 to 1850.  Partly as a reaction to the Industrial Revolution and the resulting urban sprawl, Romanticism validated strong emotion and spontaneity as a source of the artistic and intellectual aesthetic experience and expression.  It legitimized individual imagination, which permitted freedom from classical notions of art.  

William Wordsworth, Samuel Coleridge, Lord Byron, Mary Shelley and Jane Austin are a few of the British writers of the Romantic Period.

I think, this quote from Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Love’s Philosophy hits the Romantic Period nail of the head in the following line:  “And the sunlight clasps the earth.  And the moonbeams kiss the sea:  What is all this sweet work worth, If thou kiss not me?”

Pizzicato – Italian for a playing technique that involves plucking the strings of a string musical instrument with fingertips. 

photos:  In Dreamy Blue, Soft, Violet (the top photo is part of a water feature on the campus of Simon Fraser University on Burnaby Mountain)  – W. Bourke 

© 2014 Wendy Bourke