i found you used
in the back of a book store
silvering with age
dog eared
smelling of mold
100 sides of you
for five dollars
i brought you home
fingered your pages
as a new lover might
slowly
with intent
then faster and more furious
i found myself
nourished
pregnant
inspired
post-coital tristesse
not with the work or words
or the scope of my inability
rather
that I could buy you
cracked spine
torn
in a used book store
for five dollars
Michael Lorne Leard
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
My submission to the Toronto Quarterly
Michael Lorne Leard - Michael has been writing for 15 years, and believes the idea is as important as it's execution. He has been published in Quills Poetry, Carousel Magazine and Monkey Bicycle among others. Currently, he continues work on a collection based on the concept of loss, and its effects on the young.
unacceptable
i've been told
it's unacceptable
to dwell
on echoed words
stained with blood
from flesh torn to pieces
by words ripped from poems
read aloud into a mouth
dark with want
no longer am i to
linger in burning vineyards
singed as the wings of icarus
or extinguish flesh flames
in water
used to cool your
fevered forehead
the night we roamed
a fairy tale
never written
i've been told
these things
are unacceptable
instead
i turn to craft
gloria
curls of fire
bold black eyes
sun singed skin
beautiful
60 stories tall
with answers
i write her into my arms
to my bed
face frozen with longing
legs lusting for stability
hands rake flesh
strawberry lips quiver
two bodies one
cupped as hands
then
silence
the loneliness
of stranger sex
and awkward rest
sleep
i wake
and erase the whole affair
somehow now
unacceptable to me
Michael Lorne Leard
kingfisher
the room is quiet now
only the scent of lust
ghosts loitering air and i
perched at a table by the window
are proof of life
the locals are coming for me
torches ablaze
sicles in hand
i have their princess soiled in my bed
the scents of outrage and boiling blood
rise from beyond woody hills
asleep on the bed
she’s motionless
legs apart
open to me
she is beauty
bruised brown skin and
bite marks on the small of her back
make her love me
broken flesh
makes her need me
i’m a virus in her indian heart
our lines mixed
the damage done
still
they are coming
she was mine for a time
in a moment of raging release
wide-eyed, tight gripped and panting
foreign
a queen wrapped round the
milky body of an aging poet
a beggar
while she rests
peacefully
nakedly
they are coming
like smoke on moonlight
i disappear
gone when she wakes
she’ll be thankful
not for having me
that i was gone when they came
the flames crest the hill now
they arrive to find me gone
hands high in the air
they cry
injustice
black and blue
my wings spread wide
soaring
above the tree-line
i’m the kingfisher
slicing through fog and rain
i leave her behind
making my way south
trying guiltily to escape suicide
on the hills of jatinga
Michael Lorne Leard
the lovers
The lovers formatting:
the lovers
escape
to grass
together
merging
steps
step
hands
hand
mouths
mouth
faces
face
mInds
mind
trees
reach
embrace
with branch
buds blossom
new petals
sticky kisses
feet
foot
root
they fall
ground
melting
body
soil
seed
the lover
we can only
observe
Michael Lorne Leard
In the hours since last we spoke
across an ocean
a portrait was unpainted
oil thick brush
spun over
rosy cheek
plushy pink
pupil
strokes birth blank canvass
ghostly white
my hair has grown
voice went raw
i’ve aged
a little
you wouldn't notice
like you i’m still alive
in the Midwest,
a dance was undanced
tender tendons snapped
under pressure
toes unwilling to bend
broke
Music came
briefly
and the dancer lay
outstretched on the floor
rhythm gone for good
it’s silent here
the darkness screams
electric
window-light climbs rippled ribs
to embrace my failures
a poem was written
Words spit to paper
ruin it
to bruise it
the author lost the thought
abandoned the exercise
the work became snow
called it art
the morning came
uninvited
as it always does
the calendar rolled
like a titan
dragging down the dream
as it must
In the east
a friend was lost to
another
drowning
water hugging a body
like a wet suit
Forcing out warmth
tides unkind
as loss
I've slept
More than I expected
Drifted more than I hoped
even worked
Eaten
Cleaned
a moncton a man
was arrested for child
pornography
the lady upstairs lost her
cat to cancer
a heart attack in the food court
then there was nothing
in the hours since last we spoke
the world united
indifferently
Michael Lorne Leard
Confession
i ran my hands across
your sweaty naked
breasts
stopping only
briefly
at your nipples
swollen
sticky
freezer burnt
gumdrop's
dismissed
shoulder
smoke
you've finished with me
and begun working a
marlboro.
i keep the souls
of twelve
catholic priests
trapped
in a shoe box
under the bed
for moments like this
when i lay naked with a
woman who hates me for
loving her
and i have enjoyed it
i must confess.
i must confess.
Michael Lorne Leard
unacceptable
i've been told
it's unacceptable
to dwell
on echoed words
stained with blood
from flesh torn to pieces
by words ripped from poems
read aloud into a mouth
dark with want
no longer am i to
linger in burning vineyards
singed as the wings of icarus
or extinguish flesh flames
in water
used to cool your
fevered forehead
the night we roamed
a fairy tale
never written
i've been told
these things
are unacceptable
instead
i turn to craft
gloria
curls of fire
bold black eyes
sun singed skin
beautiful
60 stories tall
with answers
i write her into my arms
to my bed
face frozen with longing
legs lusting for stability
hands rake flesh
strawberry lips quiver
two bodies one
cupped as hands
then
silence
the loneliness
of stranger sex
and awkward rest
sleep
i wake
and erase the whole affair
somehow now
unacceptable to me
Michael Lorne Leard
kingfisher
the room is quiet now
only the scent of lust
ghosts loitering air and i
perched at a table by the window
are proof of life
the locals are coming for me
torches ablaze
sicles in hand
i have their princess soiled in my bed
the scents of outrage and boiling blood
rise from beyond woody hills
asleep on the bed
she’s motionless
legs apart
open to me
she is beauty
bruised brown skin and
bite marks on the small of her back
make her love me
broken flesh
makes her need me
i’m a virus in her indian heart
our lines mixed
the damage done
still
they are coming
she was mine for a time
in a moment of raging release
wide-eyed, tight gripped and panting
foreign
a queen wrapped round the
milky body of an aging poet
a beggar
while she rests
peacefully
nakedly
they are coming
like smoke on moonlight
i disappear
gone when she wakes
she’ll be thankful
not for having me
that i was gone when they came
the flames crest the hill now
they arrive to find me gone
hands high in the air
they cry
injustice
black and blue
my wings spread wide
soaring
above the tree-line
i’m the kingfisher
slicing through fog and rain
i leave her behind
making my way south
trying guiltily to escape suicide
on the hills of jatinga
Michael Lorne Leard
the lovers
The lovers formatting:
the lovers
escape
to grass
together
merging
steps
step
hands
hand
mouths
mouth
faces
face
mInds
mind
trees
reach
embrace
with branch
buds blossom
new petals
sticky kisses
feet
foot
root
they fall
ground
melting
body
soil
seed
the lover
we can only
observe
Michael Lorne Leard
In the hours since last we spoke
across an ocean
a portrait was unpainted
oil thick brush
spun over
rosy cheek
plushy pink
pupil
strokes birth blank canvass
ghostly white
my hair has grown
voice went raw
i’ve aged
a little
you wouldn't notice
like you i’m still alive
in the Midwest,
a dance was undanced
tender tendons snapped
under pressure
toes unwilling to bend
broke
Music came
briefly
and the dancer lay
outstretched on the floor
rhythm gone for good
it’s silent here
the darkness screams
electric
window-light climbs rippled ribs
to embrace my failures
a poem was written
Words spit to paper
ruin it
to bruise it
the author lost the thought
abandoned the exercise
the work became snow
called it art
the morning came
uninvited
as it always does
the calendar rolled
like a titan
dragging down the dream
as it must
In the east
a friend was lost to
another
drowning
water hugging a body
like a wet suit
Forcing out warmth
tides unkind
as loss
I've slept
More than I expected
Drifted more than I hoped
even worked
Eaten
Cleaned
a moncton a man
was arrested for child
pornography
the lady upstairs lost her
cat to cancer
a heart attack in the food court
then there was nothing
in the hours since last we spoke
the world united
indifferently
Michael Lorne Leard
Confession
i ran my hands across
your sweaty naked
breasts
stopping only
briefly
at your nipples
swollen
sticky
freezer burnt
gumdrop's
dismissed
shoulder
smoke
you've finished with me
and begun working a
marlboro.
i keep the souls
of twelve
catholic priests
trapped
in a shoe box
under the bed
for moments like this
when i lay naked with a
woman who hates me for
loving her
and i have enjoyed it
i must confess.
i must confess.
Michael Lorne Leard
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Cyndi (written somewehere around 2002)
cyndi
i fear your beauty
like warfare
it’s confusing
and makes me drunk
Michael Lorne Leard (Edited April 09)
i fear your beauty
like warfare
it’s confusing
and makes me drunk
Michael Lorne Leard (Edited April 09)
Friday, April 17, 2009
unacceptable
i've been told
it's unacceptable
to dwell
on echoed words
stained with blood
from flesh torn to pieces
by words ripped from poems
read aloud into a mouth
dark with want
no longer am i to
linger in burning vineyards
singed as the wings of icarus
or extinguish flesh flames
in water
used to cool your
fevered forehead
the night we roamed
a fairy tale
never written
i've been told
these things
are unacceptable
instead
i turn to craft
gloria
curls of fire
bold black eyes
sun singed skin
beautiful
60 stories tall
with answers
i write her into my arms
to my bed
face frozen with longing
legs lusting for stability
hands rake flesh
strawberry lips quiver
two bodies one
cupped as hands
then
silence
the loneliness
of stranger sex
and awkward rest
sleep
i wake
and erase the whole sorted affair
somehow now
unacceptable to me
Michael Lorne Leard
Notes:
It occurs to me that some might find this poem a bit difficult to wrap themselves around. It is actually, and here's why.
Without getting into what the content actually means, I'll tell you about how the poem works.
The first two parts are intentionally run on sentences, normally my lines are, for the most part enjambed, but in this case, I'm being told I can no longer linger in lost love; mourn these moments that only mean something to me. It's unhealthy, we'll so I'm told. So I make an effort to have you read each of the first two parts in their entirety to get their syntax.
So in an effort to refocus my mind, I create gloria.
Something to write about other than my musings on lost love.
Each of these lines, for the most part are enjambed.
They satnd alone.
They are quick and involve very little work to understand. So they mean less. To the reader and to me, the writer, at least in comparison with the level of involvement required of the first two.
I'm very involved and invested in the first two stanzas, I spend time crafting long and involved lines that stretch the syntax across their respective stanzas. You have to be involved with them, spend time with them, work at them before you get the idea. Like I did with the subject that inspired the poem.
In an effort to not mope and linger, I create something fictional to write about,
which means nothing, therefore requires little involvement, it reads fast, it's a hollow.
As it is likely to be, as it has no emotional meaning for me.
The last part is me realizing this, and waking to the fact, that for better or worse, I have to write what means somehthing to me, or it will mean nothing to no one.
So erase the the gloria part.
Really it's like two poems, better yet, a scene in a play. The reader is in the room with me, I'm talking out loud to myself, responding by writing a poem, then realizing it's shallow and deleting it.
This poem, for me, is less about artistically crafted words, than it is the mechanics of how the poem actually reads, how it works, to convey the idea. For the most part, it's use of syntax, run on, and enjambment ARE the idea.
A sort of medium is the message deelio.
M
it's unacceptable
to dwell
on echoed words
stained with blood
from flesh torn to pieces
by words ripped from poems
read aloud into a mouth
dark with want
no longer am i to
linger in burning vineyards
singed as the wings of icarus
or extinguish flesh flames
in water
used to cool your
fevered forehead
the night we roamed
a fairy tale
never written
i've been told
these things
are unacceptable
instead
i turn to craft
gloria
curls of fire
bold black eyes
sun singed skin
beautiful
60 stories tall
with answers
i write her into my arms
to my bed
face frozen with longing
legs lusting for stability
hands rake flesh
strawberry lips quiver
two bodies one
cupped as hands
then
silence
the loneliness
of stranger sex
and awkward rest
sleep
i wake
and erase the whole sorted affair
somehow now
unacceptable to me
Michael Lorne Leard
Notes:
It occurs to me that some might find this poem a bit difficult to wrap themselves around. It is actually, and here's why.
Without getting into what the content actually means, I'll tell you about how the poem works.
The first two parts are intentionally run on sentences, normally my lines are, for the most part enjambed, but in this case, I'm being told I can no longer linger in lost love; mourn these moments that only mean something to me. It's unhealthy, we'll so I'm told. So I make an effort to have you read each of the first two parts in their entirety to get their syntax.
So in an effort to refocus my mind, I create gloria.
Something to write about other than my musings on lost love.
Each of these lines, for the most part are enjambed.
They satnd alone.
They are quick and involve very little work to understand. So they mean less. To the reader and to me, the writer, at least in comparison with the level of involvement required of the first two.
I'm very involved and invested in the first two stanzas, I spend time crafting long and involved lines that stretch the syntax across their respective stanzas. You have to be involved with them, spend time with them, work at them before you get the idea. Like I did with the subject that inspired the poem.
In an effort to not mope and linger, I create something fictional to write about,
which means nothing, therefore requires little involvement, it reads fast, it's a hollow.
As it is likely to be, as it has no emotional meaning for me.
The last part is me realizing this, and waking to the fact, that for better or worse, I have to write what means somehthing to me, or it will mean nothing to no one.
So erase the the gloria part.
Really it's like two poems, better yet, a scene in a play. The reader is in the room with me, I'm talking out loud to myself, responding by writing a poem, then realizing it's shallow and deleting it.
This poem, for me, is less about artistically crafted words, than it is the mechanics of how the poem actually reads, how it works, to convey the idea. For the most part, it's use of syntax, run on, and enjambment ARE the idea.
A sort of medium is the message deelio.
M
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Prison
the candle has
died
bled to floor
cool smooth bubbles
on wood
come to the light
shake your shroud of shadows
stand straight
inhale
vent darkness to air
as cloud
wave it away with
weak trembling hands
pale with mourning
release
the warden has gone -
pacing feet fled
for distant hills
today
a world wakes
to find you
missing
it's impossible
come to the light
shake stars from sky
put them back in your eyes
force wind in your mouth
speak words of love
to a world waiting
little grows large
in shadow
light
breads life
come
Awake
I step towards the light
Michael Lorne Leard
died
bled to floor
cool smooth bubbles
on wood
come to the light
shake your shroud of shadows
stand straight
inhale
vent darkness to air
as cloud
wave it away with
weak trembling hands
pale with mourning
release
the warden has gone -
pacing feet fled
for distant hills
today
a world wakes
to find you
missing
it's impossible
come to the light
shake stars from sky
put them back in your eyes
force wind in your mouth
speak words of love
to a world waiting
little grows large
in shadow
light
breads life
come
Awake
I step towards the light
Michael Lorne Leard
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
A work in progress
i found a lady lover
she found a target in me
heart pregnant with orders
her lips, moist with deceit
to some she’s still a child
to me, she’s simply …
Michael Lorne Leard
she found a target in me
heart pregnant with orders
her lips, moist with deceit
to some she’s still a child
to me, she’s simply …
Michael Lorne Leard
Friday, April 3, 2009
OK, I just submitted to London's "Live Canon Poetry Competition" Here is what I've submitted.
kingfisher
the room is quiet now
only the scent of lust
ghosts loitering air and i
perched at a table by the window
are proof of life
the locals are coming for me
torches ablaze
sicles in hand
i have their princess soiled in my bed
the scents of outrage and boiling blood
rise from beyond woody hills
asleep on the bed
she’s motionless
legs apart
open to me
she is beauty
bruised brown skin and
bite marks on the small of her back
make her love me
broken flesh
makes her need me
i’m a virus in her indian heart
our lines mixed
the damage done
still
they are coming
she was mine for a time
in a moment of raging release
wide-eyed, tight gripped and panting
foreign
a queen wrapped round the
milky body of an aging poet
a beggar
while she rests
peacefully
nakedly
they are coming
like smoke on moonlight
i disappear
gone when she wakes
she’ll be thankful
not for having me
that i was gone when they came
the flames crest the hill now
they arrive to find me gone
hands high in the air
they cry
injustice
black and blue
my wings spread wide
soaring
above the tree-line
i’m the kingfisher
slicing through fog and rain
i leave her behind
making my way south
trying guiltily to escape suicide
on the hills of jatinga
Michael Lorne Leard
The ugly widow
Once I wrote to be relevant.
Now, to be invisible.
Dark, like the closet I store you in;
like the box I burnt, fingertips inside.
I used to think life was a goddess;
round breasted and writhing.
Now aged, a widow
I long for her no more.
Michael Lorne Leard
The Lovers
the lovers
escape
to grass
together
merging
steps
step
hands
hand
mouths
mouth
faces
face
mInds
mind
trees
reach
embrace
with branch
buds blossom
new petals
sticky kisses
feet
foot
root
they fall
ground
melting
body
soil
seed
the lover
we can only
observe
Michael Lorne Leard
the room is quiet now
only the scent of lust
ghosts loitering air and i
perched at a table by the window
are proof of life
the locals are coming for me
torches ablaze
sicles in hand
i have their princess soiled in my bed
the scents of outrage and boiling blood
rise from beyond woody hills
asleep on the bed
she’s motionless
legs apart
open to me
she is beauty
bruised brown skin and
bite marks on the small of her back
make her love me
broken flesh
makes her need me
i’m a virus in her indian heart
our lines mixed
the damage done
still
they are coming
she was mine for a time
in a moment of raging release
wide-eyed, tight gripped and panting
foreign
a queen wrapped round the
milky body of an aging poet
a beggar
while she rests
peacefully
nakedly
they are coming
like smoke on moonlight
i disappear
gone when she wakes
she’ll be thankful
not for having me
that i was gone when they came
the flames crest the hill now
they arrive to find me gone
hands high in the air
they cry
injustice
black and blue
my wings spread wide
soaring
above the tree-line
i’m the kingfisher
slicing through fog and rain
i leave her behind
making my way south
trying guiltily to escape suicide
on the hills of jatinga
Michael Lorne Leard
The ugly widow
Once I wrote to be relevant.
Now, to be invisible.
Dark, like the closet I store you in;
like the box I burnt, fingertips inside.
I used to think life was a goddess;
round breasted and writhing.
Now aged, a widow
I long for her no more.
Michael Lorne Leard
The Lovers
the lovers
escape
to grass
together
merging
steps
step
hands
hand
mouths
mouth
faces
face
mInds
mind
trees
reach
embrace
with branch
buds blossom
new petals
sticky kisses
feet
foot
root
they fall
ground
melting
body
soil
seed
the lover
we can only
observe
Michael Lorne Leard
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Surgery
Surgery
I need to book a surgery!
A nurse stands quietly before me,
her face as blank as her uniform.
I scream again -
I need to book a surgery!
nothing.
Weeping, tearing at my clothes, I fall to the floor rambling -
Something is inside of me!
It fills me more each day!
I can't escape it!
Please!
Please!
I scream -
I need to book a surgery!
I plead -
Remove this ache from my soul!
The sterile floor is cool on my face.
I'm sorry,
the nurse replied as she excused herself,
but the surgeon is dead.
Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)
I need to book a surgery!
A nurse stands quietly before me,
her face as blank as her uniform.
I scream again -
I need to book a surgery!
nothing.
Weeping, tearing at my clothes, I fall to the floor rambling -
Something is inside of me!
It fills me more each day!
I can't escape it!
Please!
Please!
I scream -
I need to book a surgery!
I plead -
Remove this ache from my soul!
The sterile floor is cool on my face.
I'm sorry,
the nurse replied as she excused herself,
but the surgeon is dead.
Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)
Jesus and the ashes
Jesus found me dead.
A half told story,
face down in a filthy carpet.
A bottle of Gordons in one hand,
a rusty nail through the other.
The scent of my left foot,
now coals in the wood stove,
stung his eyes.
My ashes hung like stars on
strings in the air.
Stretching open my
wounds with his fingers,
he began to weep.
He found them familiar.
Instantly he knew what I'd become.
He was not pleased.
The last time we spoke
he said he would come;
but didn't say when.
I could wait no longer.
Thinking me impatient,
but forgiving me,
he cleaned the ashes from
between his toes,
closed the door,
and left with my gin.
Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)
A half told story,
face down in a filthy carpet.
A bottle of Gordons in one hand,
a rusty nail through the other.
The scent of my left foot,
now coals in the wood stove,
stung his eyes.
My ashes hung like stars on
strings in the air.
Stretching open my
wounds with his fingers,
he began to weep.
He found them familiar.
Instantly he knew what I'd become.
He was not pleased.
The last time we spoke
he said he would come;
but didn't say when.
I could wait no longer.
Thinking me impatient,
but forgiving me,
he cleaned the ashes from
between his toes,
closed the door,
and left with my gin.
Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)
The Beach
Isabella
on the shore,
stands wanting,
alone,
barefoot.
The ocean
fills the space
between her toes.
Her flowered dress,
thin cotton,
changes color as
the dipping sun sets
the world ablaze.
The wind
grows cool as
the evening courts
the shoreline.
Her skin
tightens
from its caress.
She rubs her arms
for warmth.
In the distance,
children are playing,
running,
towels 'round their necks;
heroes they will be -
to someone,
someday.
She watches the ocean
as it deposits trophies at
her feet.
Some new.
Some old.
Like her, all
forgotten.
Feverishly,
she reaches for the sky to
pull a memory from mist
a feeling from the wind.
Any feeling at all.
Nothing.
She waits,
heart pounding,
eye's filling with sand
and water.
Nothing comes.
Only more waves lapping
at her feet.
Then she realizes,
her obsessions have
become cumbersome.
And today,
is just another day
at the beach.
Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)
on the shore,
stands wanting,
alone,
barefoot.
The ocean
fills the space
between her toes.
Her flowered dress,
thin cotton,
changes color as
the dipping sun sets
the world ablaze.
The wind
grows cool as
the evening courts
the shoreline.
Her skin
tightens
from its caress.
She rubs her arms
for warmth.
In the distance,
children are playing,
running,
towels 'round their necks;
heroes they will be -
to someone,
someday.
She watches the ocean
as it deposits trophies at
her feet.
Some new.
Some old.
Like her, all
forgotten.
Feverishly,
she reaches for the sky to
pull a memory from mist
a feeling from the wind.
Any feeling at all.
Nothing.
She waits,
heart pounding,
eye's filling with sand
and water.
Nothing comes.
Only more waves lapping
at her feet.
Then she realizes,
her obsessions have
become cumbersome.
And today,
is just another day
at the beach.
Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)
There is lust in blood and love in sacrifice
elenore moves
like an evening storm
with grace and conquest
white tempest robes
cling to her skeleton
flesh persisting
from furious perch
she rules while we
below await an order
anything
save indifference
our obedience
leaves to her wind
we are loved and hated
feeding on her emotion
we are nourished
she became general
commanding colonels
and monsters while
i, bloody, lie
somewhere between
threat of a preference
caused first blood
there was no
returning
we're all enemies now
she relishes those we
murdered for her dominion
sentences us all to war
witness to our lust she
names us the dead
as one by one we fall
Michael Lorne Leard
like an evening storm
with grace and conquest
white tempest robes
cling to her skeleton
flesh persisting
from furious perch
she rules while we
below await an order
anything
save indifference
our obedience
leaves to her wind
we are loved and hated
feeding on her emotion
we are nourished
she became general
commanding colonels
and monsters while
i, bloody, lie
somewhere between
threat of a preference
caused first blood
there was no
returning
we're all enemies now
she relishes those we
murdered for her dominion
sentences us all to war
witness to our lust she
names us the dead
as one by one we fall
Michael Lorne Leard
The ugly widow
Once I wrote to be relevant.
Now, to be invisible;
dark, like the closet I store you in.
Like the box I burnt, fingertips inside.
I used to think life was a goddess;
round breasted and writhing.
Now aged, a widow
I long for her no more.
Michael Lorne Leard
Now, to be invisible;
dark, like the closet I store you in.
Like the box I burnt, fingertips inside.
I used to think life was a goddess;
round breasted and writhing.
Now aged, a widow
I long for her no more.
Michael Lorne Leard
Attrition
beads of sweat
(regret
moments lost
unchangeable
swollen over time)
roll to caverns of eyes
creases of face
tangy
hot
acidic
saline sting
a million yet coming
none can be wiped away
tied to stake
a punishment earned
from broken hearts
Lies told
eyes open
tongue extended
i await
the next impossible
impact
Michael Lorne Leard
(regret
moments lost
unchangeable
swollen over time)
roll to caverns of eyes
creases of face
tangy
hot
acidic
saline sting
a million yet coming
none can be wiped away
tied to stake
a punishment earned
from broken hearts
Lies told
eyes open
tongue extended
i await
the next impossible
impact
Michael Lorne Leard
Miss Misery
You follow me
to the river
Where paper lanterns land and fade
I bend you near the point of breaking
Through alders and brush resisting
I take you to the edge
Then climb your rib ladder
To where others have planted flags
But, I own this land
I carry no flowers for you
Nor plush forgiveness
Or swollen lips or
bruised thighs
There is no solace in
you’re obedience
Only it’s coincidence
There is only attrition
Yours and mine
Tonight we’ll feast
On the forest
And whatever lies
Beneath our bloody feet.
Michael Lorne Leard
Where paper lanterns land and fade
I bend you near the point of breaking
Through alders and brush resisting
I take you to the edge
Then climb your rib ladder
To where others have planted flags
But, I own this land
I carry no flowers for you
Nor plush forgiveness
Or swollen lips or
bruised thighs
There is no solace in
you’re obedience
Only it’s coincidence
There is only attrition
Yours and mine
Tonight we’ll feast
On the forest
And whatever lies
Beneath our bloody feet.
Michael Lorne Leard
The Lovers
the lovers
escape
to grass
together
merging
steps
step
hands
hand
mouths
mouth
faces
face
mInds
mind
trees
reach
embrace
with branch
buds blossom
new petals
sticky kisses
feet
foot
root
they fall
ground
melting
body
soil
seed
the lover
we can only
observe
Michael Lorne Leard
kingfisher
the room is quiet now
only the scent of lust
ghosts loitering air and i
perched at a table by the window
are proof of life
the locals are coming for me
torches ablaze
sicles in hand
i have their princess soiled in my bed
the scents of outrage and boiling blood
rise from beyond woody hills
asleep on the bed
she’s motionless
legs apart
open to me
she is beauty
bruised brown skin and
bite marks on the small of her back
make her love me
broken flesh
makes her need me
i’m a virus in her indian heart
our lines mixed
the damage done
still
they are coming
she was mine for a time
in a moment of raging release
wide-eyed, tight gripped and panting
foreign
a queen wrapped round the
milky body of an aging poet
a beggar
while she rests
peacefully
nakedly
they are coming
like smoke on moonlight
i disappear
gone when she wakes
she’ll be thankful
not for having me
that i was gone when they came
the flames crest the hill now
they arrive to find me gone
hands high in the air
they cry
injustice
black and blue
my wings spread wide
soaring
above the tree-line
i’m the kingfisher
slicing through fog and rain
i leave her behind
making my way south
trying guiltily to escape suicide
on the hills of jatinga
Michael Lorne Leard
only the scent of lust
ghosts loitering air and i
perched at a table by the window
are proof of life
the locals are coming for me
torches ablaze
sicles in hand
i have their princess soiled in my bed
the scents of outrage and boiling blood
rise from beyond woody hills
asleep on the bed
she’s motionless
legs apart
open to me
she is beauty
bruised brown skin and
bite marks on the small of her back
make her love me
broken flesh
makes her need me
i’m a virus in her indian heart
our lines mixed
the damage done
still
they are coming
she was mine for a time
in a moment of raging release
wide-eyed, tight gripped and panting
foreign
a queen wrapped round the
milky body of an aging poet
a beggar
while she rests
peacefully
nakedly
they are coming
like smoke on moonlight
i disappear
gone when she wakes
she’ll be thankful
not for having me
that i was gone when they came
the flames crest the hill now
they arrive to find me gone
hands high in the air
they cry
injustice
black and blue
my wings spread wide
soaring
above the tree-line
i’m the kingfisher
slicing through fog and rain
i leave her behind
making my way south
trying guiltily to escape suicide
on the hills of jatinga
Michael Lorne Leard
Marks
In darkness love bears no
Marks on you or on me
No sign of its presence
but a howl
a surge of breath past an ear
Or into a mouth
Past swollen lips
Pushed towards it
You resist
Pulled away
You resist still
Love is a flower
Breaking ground untorn
Stainless steel
Stronger than you or I
yet soft as the
Pillow where you rest
Your raven head
Pregnant with dreams
Love is starvation
Exploding and spreading
Criminally through my body
Becoming part of me as
I am part of it
If only I
Hungry for you I choose
too fast
In darkness love bears no
Marks on you or on me
Or on those it leaves behind
Michael Lorne Leard
Marks on you or on me
No sign of its presence
but a howl
a surge of breath past an ear
Or into a mouth
Past swollen lips
Pushed towards it
You resist
Pulled away
You resist still
Love is a flower
Breaking ground untorn
Stainless steel
Stronger than you or I
yet soft as the
Pillow where you rest
Your raven head
Pregnant with dreams
Love is starvation
Exploding and spreading
Criminally through my body
Becoming part of me as
I am part of it
If only I
Hungry for you I choose
too fast
In darkness love bears no
Marks on you or on me
Or on those it leaves behind
Michael Lorne Leard
Stranger still
i hardly know you
dare I right you a poem
if we hadn’t met
would you notice me
in a crowd
would you think
me special
worthy
your raven hair
wild and beautiful
untamable
unbreakable
haunts me
i think of you often
and when I do i'm
reminded
i’m just a man
Michael Lorne Leard
dare I right you a poem
if we hadn’t met
would you notice me
in a crowd
would you think
me special
worthy
your raven hair
wild and beautiful
untamable
unbreakable
haunts me
i think of you often
and when I do i'm
reminded
i’m just a man
Michael Lorne Leard
Victoria
the ocean
a new shade of blue
intense
cool
flirts with shorelines
gentle wind is the
breath of a new day
sun
once far away
no longer seems
out of reach as
it burns with the fury of
a child hunting a
spring sparrow
clouds
perched above the earth
hover with a
prolonged
sense of achievement
the sky
on the breast of
the highway ahead
is impossible to obtain
even on the way to a
new world
Michael Lorne Leard
a new shade of blue
intense
cool
flirts with shorelines
gentle wind is the
breath of a new day
sun
once far away
no longer seems
out of reach as
it burns with the fury of
a child hunting a
spring sparrow
clouds
perched above the earth
hover with a
prolonged
sense of achievement
the sky
on the breast of
the highway ahead
is impossible to obtain
even on the way to a
new world
Michael Lorne Leard
Begin the war and we will fall together
Let war happen of it’s
own accord
Let virgins deliberate virtue
inaction
while the fortunate
choke on contempt for
sharing fate with us
the underprivileged
the ugly
Let the trees melt down
past stumps
rocks crumble back into
the earth from which they rose
Let the sky explode as
it's pulled
into the vacuum
star stuff again
Let the war happen
And I will follow you
into the breach
Where we'll lay
classless
for the finale
as it was meant to be
Michael Lorne Leard
own accord
Let virgins deliberate virtue
inaction
while the fortunate
choke on contempt for
sharing fate with us
the underprivileged
the ugly
Let the trees melt down
past stumps
rocks crumble back into
the earth from which they rose
Let the sky explode as
it's pulled
into the vacuum
star stuff again
Let the war happen
And I will follow you
into the breach
Where we'll lay
classless
for the finale
as it was meant to be
Michael Lorne Leard
In the hours since last we spoke
across an ocean
a portrait was unpainted
oil thick brush
spun over
rosy cheek
plushy pink
pupil
strokes birth blank canvass
ghostly white
my hair has grown
voice went raw
i’ve aged
a little
you wouldn't notice
like you i’m still alive
in the Midwest,
a dance was undanced
tender tendons snapped
under pressure
toes unwilling to bend
broke
Music came
briefly
and the dancer lay
outstretched on the floor
rhythm gone for good
it’s silent here
the darkness screams
electric
window-light climbs rippled ribs
to embrace my failures
a poem was written
Words spit to paper
ruin it
to bruise it
the author lost the thought
abandoned the exercise
the work became snow
called it art
the morning came
uninvited
as it always does
the calendar rolled
like a titan
dragging down the dream
as it must
In the east
a friend was lost to
another
drowning
water hugging a body
like a wet suit
Forcing out warmth
tides unkind
as loss
I've slept
More than I expected
Drifted more than I hoped
even worked
Eaten
Cleaned
a moncton a man
was arrested for child
pornography
the lady upstairs lost her
cat to cancer
a heart attack in the food court
then there was nothing
in the hours since last we spoke
the world united
indifferently
Michael Lorne Leard
a portrait was unpainted
oil thick brush
spun over
rosy cheek
plushy pink
pupil
strokes birth blank canvass
ghostly white
my hair has grown
voice went raw
i’ve aged
a little
you wouldn't notice
like you i’m still alive
in the Midwest,
a dance was undanced
tender tendons snapped
under pressure
toes unwilling to bend
broke
Music came
briefly
and the dancer lay
outstretched on the floor
rhythm gone for good
it’s silent here
the darkness screams
electric
window-light climbs rippled ribs
to embrace my failures
a poem was written
Words spit to paper
ruin it
to bruise it
the author lost the thought
abandoned the exercise
the work became snow
called it art
the morning came
uninvited
as it always does
the calendar rolled
like a titan
dragging down the dream
as it must
In the east
a friend was lost to
another
drowning
water hugging a body
like a wet suit
Forcing out warmth
tides unkind
as loss
I've slept
More than I expected
Drifted more than I hoped
even worked
Eaten
Cleaned
a moncton a man
was arrested for child
pornography
the lady upstairs lost her
cat to cancer
a heart attack in the food court
then there was nothing
in the hours since last we spoke
the world united
indifferently
Michael Lorne Leard
Torture
Cast me out among the indigent;
to a cardboard village succumbing to
filth and malnutrition.
Expose my ribs, my milky flesh and
the loss etched into my empty eyes.
Sewage nightmares and downspout water fountains;
make these my oasis, my relief.
Let me find myself, again,
kindred among the suffering
Will me to wild hills
to wolves wearing famine like
scarves around shrunken yet fierce necks.
Have me fall to a ring of rabid mouths foaming -
to be torn, piece by piece, far away from
anything remotely human.
Deliver me to the butcher,
cleaver my hands and legs and head.
Create quarters of a broken whole.
Let me be feed.
Slaughtered then roasted and
put on display for viewing - selection;
destined for the fat wanting
mouths of the rich.
Release me to obscurity.
Where my inexistence effects
nothing or no one.
Imagine me meaningless -
disposable,
a ghost.
Send me anywhere,
save,
the grip of love.
There is no torture so
awesome
as this.
Michael Lorne Leard
to a cardboard village succumbing to
filth and malnutrition.
Expose my ribs, my milky flesh and
the loss etched into my empty eyes.
Sewage nightmares and downspout water fountains;
make these my oasis, my relief.
Let me find myself, again,
kindred among the suffering
Will me to wild hills
to wolves wearing famine like
scarves around shrunken yet fierce necks.
Have me fall to a ring of rabid mouths foaming -
to be torn, piece by piece, far away from
anything remotely human.
Deliver me to the butcher,
cleaver my hands and legs and head.
Create quarters of a broken whole.
Let me be feed.
Slaughtered then roasted and
put on display for viewing - selection;
destined for the fat wanting
mouths of the rich.
Release me to obscurity.
Where my inexistence effects
nothing or no one.
Imagine me meaningless -
disposable,
a ghost.
Send me anywhere,
save,
the grip of love.
There is no torture so
awesome
as this.
Michael Lorne Leard
The ant and the apple seed
look to the ant and the apple seed
the gathering of necessities
the rejection of the obvious
natural selection
survival
look to the canon and scattering ravens at noon
over a harbor quiet now for a hundred years
look to you and to me
absorb the the rhythm of history
from cannon balls to apple seeds
and you the
power
in-between
it's your right to remember
if you choose
you were are part of it
from the beginning.
Michael Lorne Leard
the gathering of necessities
the rejection of the obvious
natural selection
survival
look to the canon and scattering ravens at noon
over a harbor quiet now for a hundred years
look to you and to me
absorb the the rhythm of history
from cannon balls to apple seeds
and you the
power
in-between
it's your right to remember
if you choose
you were are part of it
from the beginning.
Michael Lorne Leard
A reason for winter
touch the dead
only the men and women
not the children
leave them as they fell
ideas fit for a pocket
ideal
carried close
reminders that good exists
in their absence
evil exists as well
on paper blocks
legacies are set alight
on wings of smokeing ghosts
the pure fold upward
vapor
gone
their purpose
simple
so we recognize their absence
and move on
Michael Lorne Leard
only the men and women
not the children
leave them as they fell
ideas fit for a pocket
ideal
carried close
reminders that good exists
in their absence
evil exists as well
on paper blocks
legacies are set alight
on wings of smokeing ghosts
the pure fold upward
vapor
gone
their purpose
simple
so we recognize their absence
and move on
Michael Lorne Leard
Truth
my truth has come to me
from inside
as truths do
a mirror to a burn victim
a ghetto fire
my truth
when you find it in me
run before
I see yours in you
Michael Lorne Leard
from inside
as truths do
a mirror to a burn victim
a ghetto fire
my truth
when you find it in me
run before
I see yours in you
Michael Lorne Leard
Untitled #22
shine a gaslight, dear.
mind your raven hair
fair skin
you’ll see merit in
this circus with
laughter
large as a universe - light
anger
equally as cold - dark
i shouldn’t
have loved you
caressed your face
or cupped your soul
with calloused hands
though
i do not regret
once
while you slept
splayed open on the bed
i saw your heart
beating
single rhythm time
bump bump bump
so different from mine
bump bump bump bump bump bump
a sign
ignored
who could resist such
indifference
the sun set on
our tapestry now
it floats
image fading
to a wash of waves
a new day
look back
years
through hazy history
remember the
salt and sugar both
i had
no dominion
or desire for it
remember me fondly
a friend
a lover
a cool wind on
sun stretched skin
a walk through an orchard
where
tiny apples hang too high
on cranky crooked trees
bending to fall
or
a kiss
cool with moonlight
on a cheek hot with
sleep
I never lied
stretched words to solution
better or worse
i spoke
i hope you never feel
regret
Michael Lorne Leard
mind your raven hair
fair skin
you’ll see merit in
this circus with
laughter
large as a universe - light
anger
equally as cold - dark
i shouldn’t
have loved you
caressed your face
or cupped your soul
with calloused hands
though
i do not regret
once
while you slept
splayed open on the bed
i saw your heart
beating
single rhythm time
bump bump bump
so different from mine
bump bump bump bump bump bump
a sign
ignored
who could resist such
indifference
the sun set on
our tapestry now
it floats
image fading
to a wash of waves
a new day
look back
years
through hazy history
remember the
salt and sugar both
i had
no dominion
or desire for it
remember me fondly
a friend
a lover
a cool wind on
sun stretched skin
a walk through an orchard
where
tiny apples hang too high
on cranky crooked trees
bending to fall
or
a kiss
cool with moonlight
on a cheek hot with
sleep
I never lied
stretched words to solution
better or worse
i spoke
i hope you never feel
regret
Michael Lorne Leard
Blomidon #2
we stood at the mouth of blomidon
hand in hand above the
sun-licked sandbar valley
green red yellow
lush and alive in the cool of fall
It could have been calvary on the
day before the storm
if only I had seen so far
to the underbelly of beauty
to the sting of the thing never
meant for me
i may have found understanding
in your circumstance
you ran ahead
to the coastline
jumping joyfully from rock to rock
seemingly happy for a moment
content with the sand and stone and waves
the sun ahead wrapped it's arms around you
swallowing you to a perfect silhouette
you disappeared
and my work began
furious exploration
i tilled the shores for you
tore the paths and turned the stones to nothing
though you were gone
you hadn't left me
and though you lied
it was never to me
but to yourself
I'll remember that as
you lied you tried and that
made all the difference
one day
on blomidon
Michael Lorne Leard
hand in hand above the
sun-licked sandbar valley
green red yellow
lush and alive in the cool of fall
It could have been calvary on the
day before the storm
if only I had seen so far
to the underbelly of beauty
to the sting of the thing never
meant for me
i may have found understanding
in your circumstance
you ran ahead
to the coastline
jumping joyfully from rock to rock
seemingly happy for a moment
content with the sand and stone and waves
the sun ahead wrapped it's arms around you
swallowing you to a perfect silhouette
you disappeared
and my work began
furious exploration
i tilled the shores for you
tore the paths and turned the stones to nothing
though you were gone
you hadn't left me
and though you lied
it was never to me
but to yourself
I'll remember that as
you lied you tried and that
made all the difference
one day
on blomidon
Michael Lorne Leard
Friday, March 27, 2009
Confession
i ran my hands across
your sweaty naked
breasts
stopping only
briefly
at your nipples
swollen
sticky
freezer burnt
gumdrop's
dismissed
shoulder
smoke
you've finished with me
and begun working a
marlboro.
i keep the souls
of twelve
catholic priests
trapped
in a shoe box
under the bed
for moments like this
when i lay naked with a
woman who hates me for
loving her
and i have enjoyed it
i must confess.
i must confess.
Michael Lorne Leard
your sweaty naked
breasts
stopping only
briefly
at your nipples
swollen
sticky
freezer burnt
gumdrop's
dismissed
shoulder
smoke
you've finished with me
and begun working a
marlboro.
i keep the souls
of twelve
catholic priests
trapped
in a shoe box
under the bed
for moments like this
when i lay naked with a
woman who hates me for
loving her
and i have enjoyed it
i must confess.
i must confess.
Michael Lorne Leard
90 words, no more.
Tonight I write to picture you,
arrange words to resemble lips,
margins as braids.
I write skin - set in spectrum soft serif.
Black type on crisp white brings clarity,
I know this now.
Spanish guitar does this to me,
on nights like this - leaves me lingering
in hallucination.
I want to write your eyes looking at me, through me,
I'm out of words -
(this was meant to be a short piece,
90 words, no more)
leaving you blind on the page, unfinished,
and slipping slowly from memory.
Michael Lorne Leard (published in Quills, summer 2005)
arrange words to resemble lips,
margins as braids.
I write skin - set in spectrum soft serif.
Black type on crisp white brings clarity,
I know this now.
Spanish guitar does this to me,
on nights like this - leaves me lingering
in hallucination.
I want to write your eyes looking at me, through me,
I'm out of words -
(this was meant to be a short piece,
90 words, no more)
leaving you blind on the page, unfinished,
and slipping slowly from memory.
Michael Lorne Leard (published in Quills, summer 2005)
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Calm for a time
at Midnight
change came with
silence in its pocket
the shake and shiver of fear
the usefulness of loss its anthem
as it approached
i found salvation in
wild of thought
splashed to page
a slather - rabid mouth rain
honesty expelled as words
and I am
for a time
calm
another midnight
i preen you
a bouquet of flowers
unwieldy
i beg you stubbornly to a
vase you’ll never comfortably fit
nor would ever wish to
that’s the Gasoline in the sugar
strange therapy
touching your anger
i call you poem
give you a title
a purpose
and though I know
i have no right to wish for anything more
i sit facing the falling sun
and am
for a time
calm
Michael Lorne Leard
change came with
silence in its pocket
the shake and shiver of fear
the usefulness of loss its anthem
as it approached
i found salvation in
wild of thought
splashed to page
a slather - rabid mouth rain
honesty expelled as words
and I am
for a time
calm
another midnight
i preen you
a bouquet of flowers
unwieldy
i beg you stubbornly to a
vase you’ll never comfortably fit
nor would ever wish to
that’s the Gasoline in the sugar
strange therapy
touching your anger
i call you poem
give you a title
a purpose
and though I know
i have no right to wish for anything more
i sit facing the falling sun
and am
for a time
calm
Michael Lorne Leard
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