Hard to understand

Hard to understand
(ode to my cat Louie)

Red
it makes me think
of deep inside
where my heart lies

it makes me think of louie
it's hard to understand you're gone
it's hard to understand, oh why so hard?

you used to cuddle with me as if i were your teddy bear
but now you cuddle no more
you lie in a puddle of tears

it's hard to understand

(Daisy, March 2005, age 11)

poem by Philippa Lane
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She, Who Shall Be Nameless

She, who shall be nameless,
was conceived last summertime
under a vast, shimmering stellary
under a waxing crescent moon
on the banks of Lac Macouronne

- As Selene smiled

- And the Heavens approved

Now, in an opal April
her genesis is near
soon she will leave behind
the nascent waters
the darkling womb
and be thrust into a brighter light

- Her very first day on this earth

- Blessed by Gaea.

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poem by Philippa Lane
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The Unimportance of Being Me

They say
Love makes the world
go round
That Hate is really out-of-date
Although it still is found

It seems
Sex is here to stay
indefinitely
That Lust is a must
Especially today
But me
I need not be
It matters not a jot
If I get hot
Or cold
Or bold
Or scold another
Or love
Or laugh

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poem by Philippa Lane
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Colour poem: Purple

Purple is afraid
it scuttles into corners
on all fours
it reeks
it shrieks
and smells of old unopened rooms

it is the flickering eyelid
of an aging actress
and the veins
mapped on leaves
of frail plants
in nursing homes who suck thin air

Purple is chiffon dusk
compline and pale prayers

it is reading aloud
the twenty-third psalm
the noise of ragged breaths

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poem by Philippa Lane
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Ex-Patria

The beginning of the end of our Canadian winter;
The ending of a British winter,
And their gentle spring ahead of ours.
I always think about these overlapping seasons,
In the forty-four years I have lived in Québec.

Yes, Québec and all its solitudes:
I, too, felt solitary within the class system
in the England I had left behind.
I was twenty-two when I turned my back on it;
I simply left it all behind, vowing I'd forget everything
But the friends whom I loved.
I left behind familial ties,
Home-grown attitudes,
And closed minds;
I felt relief, like discarding
A heavy winter overcoat In spring.
I packed my old school trunk -
It carried the label of my new address -
MONTRÉAL

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poem by Philippa Lane
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