Messy

Poetry is messy
all these snippets of poems
lying around
all these lines that keep asking
to be changed or moved
into another poem altogether
how do I keep track?

And look at these books
— mere brochures
with spines too skinny for titles
slight, yet too weighty
for the garbage
lovely to hold
but untidy on the shelf

and as impossible to catalogue
— with their love, humour, peace
protest, outrage and grace —
as the motley bunch of us
at our last reading.

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly (used with permission)

Some Words

I can think a thing a long time
with the words going
round and round
inside my head
like the gray gruel
mixing in a cement truck

But once I say those thoughts
once those words
escape my mouth
pour out
become exposed to air
everything changes.

The minute they’re out
they start to solidify.
Too late now
to scoop them up
shove them back
into the place
from which they came

for they’ve already begun
to work their alchemy
changing the elements
inside me, inside you

hardening –
a shameful statue
a concrete wall
a sad gray memorial
between us.

Copyright © 2006 by Violet Nesdoly. Used with permission

Canadian Rivers

Headwaters drip from snowy melt of mountain glaciers
gurgle down glistening rock faces in nameless rivulets.
Fed by rain and sibling trickles they become sinuous streams
adolescent-eager in descent, unafraid to dash against boulders
froth into canyons, course over rock beds till they reach the flat.

Mature and strong they gouge valleys, meander through meadows
nurture forests, bears and eagles, rejuvenate farms and hamlets
flow regal yet restless through villages and cities
under bridges and over tunnels
ever pressing on to an ocean destination.

The watermark of veins, arteries and capillaries on our maps
they carve their initials, scrawl their signatures
all over Canada: Snake, MacKenzie, Coppermine
Exploits, Hillsborough, Saint John, Margaree, Moisie
St. Lawrence, Red, Qu’Appelle, Athabasca, Cowichan…

Named by Indians and explorers for Indians and explorers
they inscribe the plot lines of our history
hide the gold and call the salmon
propel the ferries, carry the logs, barges and ships
pave thoroughfares for tugboats, speedboats, kayaks, canoes.

We settle beside them for their sustenance and beauty
feel betrayed when, with spring-fevered earthlust
their swift-flowing waters bite off chunks of our land.
Then we fear them, dredge them, soil them,
treat them, drink them, dam them.

I have toe-squished the mud of the South
Saskatchewan, pulled Jackfish from the North
been awed by the Hell’s Gate fierceness of the Fraser
spied loons and cormorants gulping fish on the Nicomekl
otters cavorting in the Serpentine

driven miles beside the Thompson
as it winked at me through clearings
admired the canyons carved by the Bulkley
dreamed the legends of the Kispiox
listened from a tent to the night secrets of the Skeena…

Oh for more lifetimes
to make them all mine.

Copyright © 2007 by Violet Nesdoly. Used with permission

Violet Nesdoly

Violet Nesdoly lives in Langley with her husband Ernie. She is the mother of two adult children and works as a freelance writer, writing and blogging book reviews, articles, stories and poems. She has won prizes for her poetry and has published two books of poems – Calendar and Family Reunion. She was appointed as the first Utmost International Christian Poet Laureate for 2006 – 2008.

In 2012 she published the novel Destiny’s Hands.

Besides writing and reading she enjoys gardening, hiking, bird watching and traveling.

• Web site: www.violetnesdoly.com.

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