IN SEPTEMBER, WHEN THE SUMACS BLUSH

Autumn strokes the days,
gentles dusk with chill
And trees begin to don
their frocks fall-fine
Colour is preeminent;
ask maples, oaks, or
silver birches.

But the showiest of all,
the loveliest say some
Start slowly, barely
noticeable at first
As if lit from within,
the sumac glows
deep crimson,
like embers in a fire

It takes real frost
to spread the scarlet,
compliment the gentle tree,
blush it carmine to its roots.
When deep frost hits,
the sumacs breathe
collective sighs and then,
they are ablaze.

Fierce  flames
burn hot to the touch,
it seems; but only briefly,
like actual flames
cannot sustain for long
they're gone too soon.

A week, two at the most,
they fade to dullest wine,
their death's complete
And herald winter,
waiting in the wings.

S.E.Ingraham
Sun.Sept.7.2008 (revised August 31.2015)

ON THE CUSP OF RECALL

The woman holds
a basket woven from
spiders-web silk.
It's filled
with traditions
forgotten,
and she wanders
through
the sleeping city
trying to remember
the architecture
of love,
the customs
that combine
to make a life.
She feels close
to grasping
the notion,
but before
her mind
can get a fix—
it separates
and she is
left tremulous
with despair.

AN ASSEMBLING OF POEMS

Alarming poems,
thirsty for gossip,
slink from Dante's
storm drains
Creep through
streets, dark
with secrets,
to where poets
famous, and not,
gather in salons.

They meet
to speak,
their tongues
bathed in bronze
cognac, keen
as razors.
Pretend to think
loftily, mouth
ideas of import.

MOM, ARE YOU THERE? IT'S ME...

Surprisingly, I find myself missing you these days
Me, who was almost relieved when you died
Although, bearing a back-pack filled with blood
and carrying a cup of your tears
I distracted myself for almost two years
Not wanting to put either down, nor spill a drop
on the ground

But, taking a stroll by the lake last night, noting
the ice skinning the surface.
An overwhelming feeling of loss lay over me
as geese veed  above,  headed south
Another winter's settling in and you're not here
but that's not all of it
Your grand-daughter's gone also, and with her,
the boys are gone too

Oh—you probably know, from where-ever you
watch—and I know that you do
They're not where you are, they still breathe
Do you know that she just doesn't want us in
their lives any more
It's going on three months since we've been
in touch, and yes, I'm dying a bit more
every day

Walking along the shore last night, I wanted
so much to talk to you
Realizing as I did, that what I really wanted was
for you to still be here
If you were, I'm quite sure, our girl would never
have done this thing that's she's doing
I don't think she could have been this cruel if
she knew you would know

I scanned the skies, emptied of geese, searching
for some sign of you, I think
Something to give me a hint, some suggestion -
some something to tell me
what I could do, what I should do, that might
make a difference, might get through
to my girl - help her see what she's doing,
what's happening to all of our lives
the longer this impasse goes on

Mom , I know that we didn't always see eye to eye—
an understatement to say the least
And this probably feels like I only want you because
I need something
But when did that ever happen?
Did I ever need anything from you?
Not that I'd admit, I don't think...
I learned to dislike you so much...alright, it was
close to hate by the end
Maybe this is the one good thing that will come
out of the estrangement...
I will find a way back to you.

WHO IS S.E.INGRAHAM?

S.E.Ingraham was raised a block from the Scarborough Bluffs, in Ontario, Canada. She originally dreamt of being a queen when she grew up, albeit a queen who was also a writer. When Ingraham realized chances of her becoming queen were slight, she realized there were quite a number of other things she wanted to do and she started a list.

Scarborough Bluffs, Ontario, Canada (childhood and teens)

Edmonton, Alberta,Canada (adulthood and now)

She had a bucket list before bucket lists were fashionable; she's carried it around since before she was a teenager:

pretend to be crazy, become a sharp-shooter, become a model, drive a big rig for a living, work closely with kids, live in Paris, stay in a castle, meet James Bond, spend a night in Penn station, try to get arrested in a foreign country, work with  animals that need saving, ride an elephant, become an expert horse-woman, become published, live all over Canada, ride in a hot-air balloon, touch a killer whale, learn to fly-fish, stay on one of the Salt Spring Islands, work with one of the Canadian premiers , meet a star like Tom Jones, live in Provence...

Occasionally things get crossed off the list
and sometimes, rarely, but sometimes -
something gets added. She's pretty discrete about
what's been crossed off - would you be surprised
to learn it's over 90% of the list?

UNWRITTEN RULES

Lately the plague of monkeys I keep in the blue hut
on the bridge of regrets
has been making an unholy racket every night by
rustling their dry nest bits
and making their chrrrr chrrrr chrrrr noises, the ones
they've been making since just after they were born.
A sweet  enough sound - but loud once they all get going.

They must be agitated because mostly they're silent
and it's just the African Grays out on the rotting deck
that can't keep their blasphemous mouths shut, who
I have to worry about
But as long as I keep a coverlet over the cage at night,
they're kind enough to be silent.

Now - it's both monkeys and parrots - some someone put
a huge tear in the bird cloth
and no matter how carefully I fix it over the cage, it
falls open every night
and I awake to one or both of them, squawking:
"fuck fuck fuck - hear me? hear me?  fuck fuck fuck".

Of course, I hear them - I'd have to be bloody deaf
to not hear them; even with earplugs I hear them.
And I'm sure everybody thinks I taught them the words
but I don't think so, or if I did, I don't remember.
I wish I could be shut of the whole lot but they're my
family, you can't just rid yourself of family
You have to keep family...that's the rules.

Gearing up for Found Poetry Review's April 2015...and other April Poetic Happenings

April promises to be super-crazy this year and I'm hoping to have this new blog up and running for all the fun I've signed on for...

Let's see...there's the aforementioned (in the title) Found Poetry Challenge...

There's the usual Poetic Asides Poem-A-Day Challenge that's always really fun and a great way to reconnect with poets I've written with for over half a decade, plus meet a whole new bunch of people.

Then locally, we help celebrate national poetry month (April is celebrated all over North America as such, and maybe other places as well, I not sure; it's something I need to check out) by holding the Edmonton Poetry Festival - a week of readings, workshops, performances ... just a fantastic celebration of all things poetic. We usually have guest poets that come from other parts of Canada, and sometimes from other parts of the world...every year there's a different theme and this year it's "Poetry Moves" - it will be interesting to see what that turns out to involve.