Category: poetry

Sanctuary

Giving way from branches on high
Ripened and sweet, a dream is then caught
Nectar from light, new hope arises
From those who have been abandoned
And tossed aside, trampled
Sanctuary, sanctified, life everlasting
True purpose is found, where others fail to care
What awaits the dreamer, in said corridors?

Much to be sought after, protected and loved

-Alex Reed

The True North

A poem dedicated to our King, Prime Minsters, Canada and all Canadians.

Since time immemorial

We but dreamed of a country so

Of vast emerald forests of the boreal

Where the woken winter winds blow

Colossal trees, our silent sentries

Leaves of maple, dance upon the road

The timberwolf howls, the raven envies

Brooks babble from whence they flowed

Where those who dare greatly

This young nation and land of old

Where those who care innately

Warm those hurt by the cold

This shield we wield from coast to coast

Our strong and liberating land

Harmony, peace and love foremost

A mosaic, we join hand in hand

We, of many origin and creed

As a collective unite to defend

We stand on guard to help those in need

Our finest bravely seek to amend

Within open field or wintry abode

Or at the foot of mountainous ranges

From this land, our strength is bestowed

The True North, a nation for the ages

– Alex Reed

Observer of the Slain

A battlefield of wishes, scattered and dead,
Comes the witness, unknowing what for they bled.
The crows pour in, a dreaded feast to behold,
Two heroic armies lost, once proudly bold.

The clouds then break, revealing truth clear as day,
Of lords too prideful to keep weakness at bay.
He leaves all the wiser to what has been wrought,
“Decisions do last, though emotions do not.”

– Alex Reed

The Overstory

There are tales of wonder, that all may have heard
From under the story, that gift beast and bird

From leaves that are shed, and their temporal tales
The fruit they do bear, other foods, in truth, pales

The ones who once picked, want for green-hidden seams
The briefest of songs are their greed-ridden dreams

Wishing and wanting all night and all day
The answer does lie where the children do play

The simplest of stories that still do ring true
Are simply the stories that all had once knew

– Alex Reed

The Wind Behind the Tides

We’ve loved and we’ve lost
At early morning’s frost
Giving way to virgin dew
And ray of sun too

We try and we take
Risks until daybreak
Brought forth by the wind
Spinning, twirling, pinned

The laughter brought kites
And merry morning rites
Telling what time
The waves, pattern and rhyme

Steady as the gull
On a sea stained hull
And quick to ignite
A fire fury fright

The vibrant wings
Move all unseen things
Until all is perfectly matched
Serendipitous and patched

– Alex Reed

Bitter? Better. Holes in Sweaters

Every day eventide, every way all the while, tip tapping, gums flapping, wile and wanted, dashed and sauntered, true peace, truce please, thimble fumble, staying humble, which way, that way, is it night or is it day

Topsy turvy, windy curvy, buy out, sell out, who decides, not me
Wishful wantings, it’s not so wanted, to give in or to be put out
Strange dreams, pleasing knees, kneading, pounding, shaping, feeding

Fear is strange, as is life, it will heal you and cut you like a knife
Bleeding, sorry, nothing sorted, just threads and streams, not knowing, not knowing

Reach out, reach in, one gives way to truth, not doubt
Trust this, trust that, trusting self? Not a good track record

Ground up, pound down, stamping feet on my neck
I’m tired but willing, and I suppose that’s all I’ll ever be down this road

Leap, leaped, looped, this is quite the doozy

I’m tired, Lord. Forgive me.

Selfish ramblings, incoherence but what is coherent right now?

Crazy boy, stupid boy. Seen too much, said too much. What’s a crazy, stupid boy to do?

Learn, I guess. And pray.

Doesn’t look like work, but I assure you, I am broken.

God repairs the broken. So with golden resin for the broken pieces, this bowl will continue to fill with water, may it be holy.

What’s a crazy, stupid boy to do?

Write, I guess. And pray.

Is this poetry? I hope not.

Teeth are grinding, back is aching, stomach is retching, eyes are tired from backed up water. It beats against the dams, but with little giving way. The heart is squeezed, breaths, shallow. Creases on my face, deepening like a valley from ancient, dried up waterways. Knees buckling, no good for running. Feet sweaty, but good to stand on. Hair tumbling down, giving way to a scraggly beard. Always a bit of spittle stuck in the throat, can’t swallow as I brace myself against the wind. Hands, spidery, buttocks, tense. Lips, bitten for words unsaid.

Don’t walk this mile, just laugh, cry and smile.

-Alex Reed

Wind’s Strength & Subtlety

Truth and home, wherever she waits
Lasts as well as trees yearn for the carver
Elegantly whispering from flower to flower
All manner of creature, within her care

From earliest seed to late time’s frost
She laughs and cries from moment to moment
Without missing a key on her harmonious clamour
All would be bereft without her touch

-Alex Reed