Poems - JP Melville

How Bizarre in Such an Incredible World of Wealth feb 2020 jp melville Much to nothing to report Yesterday I flew by aeroplane to Thunder Bay Today, the next day, I fly back to Ottawa Canada, that is. In Thunder Bay We talked about housing and beds and community for the poor to low to middle income people, We talked about food and food banks and distribution of food, We talked about streets and where are you from and why do you care…. I enjoy the streetscapes and housescapes of Thunder Bay. I have a heart and soul there, somehow. Open wide space and desolation… And dull colours of poor economy, written over the households long ago painted… Streets bumpy and rut ridden… Wow!… store signs faded from years of too much sunlight down in Port Arthur. I chatter with architects and managers, yes, Everybody wants a better world. Though less about improvement, my mind suspects, And more about staunching an unravelled thread that bl...

Valentine's jp melville february 2020

Gift of Words february 1984 jp melville A daughter’s mother Asks of a mother That mother to her son ‘Help wash away the pain’ He closed his eyes and dreamed… Winter’s cold darkness a blanket with sounds the trees distant barking the solitude blown over miles of fields drifting snow lonely sideroads… softly… softly… The stillness of this early morn quiet, dear for morning’s sun breaks upon the cacophonic silence in the trees chattering birds.

Fettered ?   Jamais ! march 1983 jp melville Push back the waves of despair tiding, Step out from walls to which you have backed against, Push, Push, Push, reach out Grasp and pull forward, an inch, another, sweat, Break the chains and run, Run ‘til the morning’s sun Rises once again, Slow, stop, breathe, deeply, deeply, Savour the fecund tastes of pregnant morn’s air, Sparkling dew, unwoken shadows, colours, The earth, roots, branches, leaves, fruit, And walk, open senses, open heart, Humbly.

Last Summer’s Mornings When I Woke december 1982 jp melville Last summer’s mornings when I woke I’d throw my blankets off and climb from bed Pull on my jeans then mutter my way downstairs To step outside and out beyond the house to hillside. Looking out across the valley span I’d take my morning piss And breathe damp air, cool, thick Tasting like grasses and pollen and pine - My skin would shiver against the moisture My arms, my chest, and back and belly naked My toes and feet gone numb in wet grass; Arching backwards – ugh – stretching Spreading arms and fingers to dawn’s pale sky. Down in that valley, there’s a stream In my memory blanketed By thick morning, winding mist Wending its way wherever the waters beneath it did… And the old leaning willows and cedar groves looked all asleep Because it was darker down there in the valley Darker than the hillsides where dawn’s morning light Sunrise just skimmed over our hori...