Tag Archives: Patrick Lane

How To Praise This Mutilated World? – A Post Triggered by Ilya Kaminsky’s Twitter Feed Today – In Response: Two Poems – One from American Poet Maggie Smith and One from Canadian Poet Patrick Lane, from His Posthumous Collection Released Last Week

OscarDomesticated @OscDomesticated A note from #Mariupol : “Dima, Mom was killed on 9 March 2022. She died quickly. Then the house burnt down. Dima, I’m sorry I didn’t protect her. I buried Mom near the kindergarten” – and the scheme where exactly. It’s so horrible that tears are freezing in the eyes. 2:03 PM · […]

Writing Poems for Wholeness and Self-Discovery – A Richard Osler On-Line Session with Huge Thanks to Micheline Maylor and Mount Royal University – February 16th, 6:30 Pm Mountain Time

ON THE TABLE IN THE ROOM IN THE DARK house lies the book you didn’t know you were looking for, opened to the page with the poem about solace you didn’t know you needed; at first the letters, then the words, little by little the lines disappear as you read them in the light of […]

What Will Not Let Me Forget – A Personal Story of a Poem and Synchronicity (Meaningful Coincidence)

In a series of synchronistic events a poem I wrote has come back to me more than thirty years after I wrote it and almost twenty years since I had disavowed it and forgotten it! I had forgotten that a dear friend, Sarah Wilson, copied out the poem in her distinctive and wonderful script with […]

Coda – The Water Keeps On Keeping On – Three Poets on Water – Lane, Diaz and Owen

LAST WATER SONG It was not the water you tried to find when you were young. That was the water that lost you. You climbed trees to look and the water was there. You walked on the earth and the water was nowhere. That was the losing water. This water is the finding water. It […]

Eavan Boland (Sept. 24th, 1944 – April 27th, 2020) – Your Poetic Marvels – Poems to grow Old In. To Die In. And Now Your Very Real Death – R.I.P.

A WOMAN PAINTED ON LEAF I found it among curios and silver in the pureness of wintry light. A woman painted on a leaf. Fine lines drawn on a veined surface in a hand-made frame. This is not my face. Neither did I draw it. A leaf falls in the garden. The moon cools its […]

Patrick’s Poets – #3 in a Series – Vancouver Island’s Mary Ann Moore

Only Child Even though I’m an only child, no one can remember what time I was born. Dad was sure it was midnight, he heard the whistle of the train going north. Aunt Valada said it was early morning, just after she saw the milkman on Princess Street. Mum couldn’t recall the time. She said […]

Gone for a Year, Today – Dear Patrick, Poet and Friend, Bless You. And Thanks for Your Great Kid’s Book Poem! It Cheers Me Up!

An excerpt from Milford and Me – An Illustrated Kid’s Book (Milford in this poem/book is a small turtle) We walk along down by the turnips. There is no one but Milford and me. We’ve been sharing a cucumber sandwich is the shade of a very tall pea. There are things I don’t know about, […]

My Mistake – The Correct Version of the Poem “Leaving Green” from my Post on Canadian Poet Martha Royea, Dec. 30th, 2019 – Sorry, Martha!

Leaving Green Montreal, hot-as-hell August 1968. I lope along an early morning side street of modest homes wearing a black boy’s body, swinging the biggest boom box you ever saw in one hand, finger-snapping time with the other, my lips mouthing Motown all around the town, oooh ya! Oh, sure, I’m watching the boy from […]

Liz McNally – # 1 in a Series on Patrick Poets – Poets I Met Through the Writing Retreats of Canadian Poet Patrick Lane

Collect for the Homeless God of the broken night. Finder of empty doorways, shopping carts, cardboard blankets, fast food refuse, cigarette butts, dropped coins and nick of time naloxone kits. May your infinite attention be the thin layer of softness between weary bodies and cold pavement, may it be a cloak to shelter children from […]

That’s the Hard Part, Knowing the Darkness is There and Singing Anyway – The Lasting Words and Legacy of Canadian Poet Patrick Lane (1939-2019)

    God Walks Burning Through Me When I sleep the birds come to the garden With their gifts of seeds. Out of ice last year’s leaves of grass lift into night. All my songs have been one song. The palm of my hand and the sole of my foot remember everything I have forgotten. […]