The Olympian

The sled run swooped:
so steep, he zoomed – 
and almost left the ground,
as the saucer barrelled sideways, 
and then, turned itself around.

Just like a magic carpet ride
on white on wings sky high –
like: an Olympic racer
as the world
spins – brightly – by. 

With little woolly fingers clenched 
red cheeks, rosebud lip bit –
he braved the mighty 
two foot slope
whoop-whooping:  I DID IT ! ! ! 

note:  The prompt from Poetry Jam this week was the Olympics.  This piece is inspired by an  old verse of mine, that I dusted off and rejigged, about my grandson's first "race" down a snowy hill.

photo:  Sled Ride - W. Bourke

© 2014 Wendy Bourke

poof

somewhere 

from the depths

in pitter-patter footsteps 

and light-hearted

breaths

and woven words  

and gentle laughter

and dream-magic 

shadow silhouettes

and wafts of mud pies  

and green grass 

and sun-drenched backyard 

wooden steps . . .

my sweet memories  

come to me

and float  

like bubbles on a breeze

– lovely – and then . . . 

 

poof.

photo:  Burnaby Mountain Park Poof - W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

Guest Speaker

HEAD DOODLING BACK

 

The speaker - unaccustomed
to such oratory feats -
cleared his throat, a bit too loudly,
while he fumbled through his sheets.

The crowd sensed, early on,
that they were in for a rough ride -
when he called the "ladies" "laddies"
and knocked the podium off side.

It teetered like a clanging gong upon
the discombobulated stage;
and when he tried to set it right
off flew, his last speech page. 

Soaring high atop the group -
a dizzy, darting, dazed white dove -
elusively zig-zagging,
landing on the light above.

But still the speaker moiled on -
and on - with his tall task.
He had come to speak and speak, he did.
What more could people ask?

It's true:  he rambled on somewhat
and forgot where he was going.
But, by then, he had them all on board
without his even knowing.

They agonized each coming word
and prayed that that man knew it.
The only thing that mattered now:
just let the guy get through it. 

Every jaw was clenched with dread.
Hands gripped in fists that pleaded.
Perspiration ran like rivers
as they willed the words he needed.

And, when at last, he'd "Um'ed" his last -
and the speech ground to an ending;
they applauded with great gratitude.
- And no one was pretending.

photos:  Lecture Room (Hotel Vancouver) and Applause (sketch by W.B.) - W. Bourke 

© 2012 Wendy Bourke

Surprise Me (An Ode to Valentine's Day Paradoxes - Everywhere)

He flashed, 
an undecided smile – 

as he walked off:  nonchalant . . . 

though, the man has, not a clue  

– about the color – of the flowers . . . 

of the flowers, that I want.

Think back, my dear, 
(a long way back – back to that magic day)

and you may: 

remember, yellow
ROSES – IN YOUR LOVELY BRIDE'S BOUQUET

AND 
perhaps, you recall 

DAISIES – NODDING, IN YOUR BOUTONNIERE

AND 

yellow swags like icing on

THE HILLTOP BELVEDERE.

AND THEN 

the yellow
GINGHAM NURSERY –

cast your mind back (way back when)

AND  

the lemon yellow 
CROCKERY

that cheered our humdrum white kitchen.

TO SAY 
nothing of 
THE MARIGOLDS

I planted by the fence.

OR
the polka dotted 
TABLECLOTH  

beside 
THE YELLOW BACKYARD BENCH.

YELLOW  

– A LOT OF YELLOW –

and frankly, I must say . . .  

SURELY . . . 
you did not forget, 

that
YELLOW NEGLIGEE ! ! ! 

BUT, HEY . . .  

it’s just a color, 

and so (REALLY) pardon me. 

I realize it’s only been . . . 

a mere
HALF CENTURY ! ! !

Almost fifty years of 
YELLOW ! ! !

(I know, a man has GOT TO think)

After fifty years of YELLOW . . .

she'd probably like PINK ! ! !

 

notes:  Happy Valentine’s Day!  (And good luck to getting it right.  Smiles.) 

paradox:  a statement or proposition that, despite sound (or apparently sound) reasoning, leads to a conclusion that is senseless or unacceptable.

photos:  Flower Shop in Yaletown and A Million Shades of Pink – W. Bourke 
  
© 2014 Wendy Bourke