FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 2006
A Small Victory
Today I did three loads of laundry, answered a letter, and did not think about the past for almost an hour.
Read the poem »WELCOME · A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
A little place for words
A small announcement
From now on, new poems will be published at Hello Poetry. Thank you for reading these pages and keeping this little corner of the web company.
From now on, new poems will be published at Hello Poetry. Thank you for reading these pages and keeping this little corner of the web company.
Welcome to my small corner of the internet. This is a collection of poems, scraps from a notebook, and thoughts about leaving places that never quite leave us.
Some entries are about a town far away. Others are about the people, streets, and ordinary evenings that become memories before we know it.
This is a personal blog created as a heartfelt project.
Current mood: a little homesick, a little hungry, and trying to learn how to make soup without consulting the recipe every thirty seconds.
Latest entries
SUNDAY, JANUARY 29, 2006
The Great Washing-Up
A very serious poem about a very un-serious pile of plates. We contain multitudes, and crumbs.
Read the poem »THE POETRY SHELF
Poems
A few verses about leaving, distance, memory, and finding your way home.
OCTOBER 14, 2005
The Town I Left Behind
I thought the road would take me far
from every memory of who we are.
But every evening, when skies turn brown,
I find my heart still in that town.
The station lights, the empty square,
the little things that linger there.
I said goodbye and walked away,
but some part of me chose to stay.
I left the town, I left your name,
but nothing ever felt the same.
And though the years may turn around,
I hear your footsteps in that town.
OCTOBER 5, 2005
Rain on the Old Street
The rain came down as it used to do,
silvering the road I once walked through.
The shop was closed, the lamps burned low,
and all the years had nowhere to go.
A passing bus disturbed the light.
For one brief breath, the town felt right.
Then taillights vanished, red and small,
and I was somewhere else after all.
SEPTEMBER 28, 2005
At the Last Station
Your hand was warm; the platform cold.
There were a thousand things untold.
The whistle rose, the doors drew near,
and every word dissolved in fear.
I watched the town slip out of view.
I left the place, but not quite you.
The rails ran on beneath the sky;
the hardest part was not goodbye.
SEPTEMBER 17, 2005
Unsent
I wrote your name in fading blue,
then crossed it out and wrote it too.
The page grew thin beneath my hand;
some things are hard to understand.
I folded up the words I knew
and hid them where the old things grew.
No stamp, no postmark, no reply—
just one more letter saying why.
AUGUST 30, 2005
The Window at Number Nine
At number nine, the curtains stirred;
a radio hummed, a half-heard word.
I passed the house and slowed my pace,
still searching for a familiar face.
The window held the evening glow.
I had no reason to stop, I know.
Yet some small part of me remained
behind that glass, beyond the rain.
AUGUST 12, 2005
A Map with No Way Back
I drew a line across the page,
a little road, a different age.
The towns were dots, the rivers blue;
the map had room for somewhere new.
But maps don't show the things we lose,
the quiet rooms, the old front doors.
No compass points to yesterday;
no dotted line can find the way.
NOVEMBER 8, 2005
The Road After Rain
The road was shining after rain,
the lamps like candles down the lane.
I walked until the shops were closed,
carrying things I never chose.
The night was wide, the air was new,
but every turn led back to you.
Some journeys take us far away;
some never truly start that way.
NOVEMBER 12, 2005
A Room with One Suitcase
One suitcase rested by the door,
one key I wouldn't need no more.
The room looked strange without my things,
like empty nests after the wings.
I checked the window, checked the light,
and tried to make the leaving right.
But all I took beneath the sky
was what I couldn't say goodbye.
NOVEMBER 19, 2005
The Names of Streets
I learned the names of streets out here,
the little shops, the buses near.
I learned which corner caught the sun,
and where the evening crowds would run.
Still, when I dream, the signs all change;
the old roads call me back again.
A place can leave you, I suppose,
but not the way a memory goes.
NOVEMBER 24, 2005
Postmarked Nowhere
Your letter travelled folded tight,
through morning rain and station light.
I held it like a borrowed flame,
afraid to speak, afraid to name.
The postmark blurred; the ink ran thin.
A thousand miles could not get in
between the words you meant to send
and all the ways a thing can end.
DECEMBER 2, 2005
I Left My Heart in This Little Town
I left my heart in this little town
Went there to study
But I would have to eventually leave
And you knew it, I knew it too
Nevertheless, you wrote these letters and gave them to me
I left
Then read them.
That is the exact moment you ripped my heart out of my chest and it traveled back into your hands, dripping with blood and passion for you
Do I want it back? I don't know, I really don't
You can keep it forever
Or give it back
In any case, eat it.
DECEMBER 9, 2005
The Last Bus Home
The last bus sighed beside the square,
and winter gathered in the air.
I watched the windows fill with gold,
each little life a story told.
The driver asked me where I'd go.
I named a place he didn't know.
Then all the town slipped out of sight,
a handful of windows in the night.
DECEMBER 16, 2005
A Photograph in a Book
A photograph fell from a book,
and there you were, with that old look.
The paper curled, the colours waned,
but somehow nothing else had changed.
I put it back between the lines,
where time and dust could make it mine.
Some things are kept because they're true;
some stay because we can't undo.
DECEMBER 21, 2005
Winter at the Station
The platform wore a coat of grey,
the winter wind had things to say.
My hands were cold, my ticket bent,
I wondered where the summer went.
A whistle cut the evening through.
I watched the rails divide from view.
The town grew small, the sky grew wide;
I carried what I could not leave behind.
JANUARY 4, 2006
What the River Keeps
The river keeps no letters safe,
no promises, no last embrace.
It takes the leaves, it takes the rain,
and carries both beyond our names.
I stood beside it, still and cold,
and let it have the words I couldn't hold.
The water moved; the banks stayed still.
The heart remembers what it will.
JANUARY 11, 2006
Somewhere, an Open Window
Somewhere, an open window glows,
a curtain lifts, a soft wind blows.
Someone is reading by a light,
someone is home this winter night.
I cannot say where I belong,
but distant rooms still call with song.
Perhaps a home is not one place;
perhaps it is a light we chase.
FEBRUARY 3, 2006
A Small Victory
Today I washed the cups and sheets,
paid the bill, bought something to eat.
I opened the curtains. I made the bed.
I let the afternoon be blue instead
of grey, and didn't call your name.
Nothing changed. I did the same
small things tomorrow might require.
Still, I struck one match against the fire.
FEBRUARY 1, 2006
Things I Am Angry At
The clock for being loud at night,
the kettle for refusing to boil right,
the letterbox, the weather, the train,
the way a song can bring you back again.
The little crack inside my favourite plate,
the fact that buses never seem to wait.
And, yes, you too; but not all day.
Some afternoons, I put the anger away.
JANUARY 29, 2006
The Great Washing-Up
Three plates, two forks, one stubborn pan.
I do the dishes because I can.
The radio plays a song too bright;
the neighbour sings with all his might.
The soap slips down my wedding-less hand.
The window fogs. The taps still stand.
If this is not a grand affair,
then let it be a life lived here.
JANUARY 22, 2006
Sunday with No Plans
No train to catch, no name to chase,
no need to hurry from this place.
Toast crumbs scattered on the floor,
sunlight leaning by the door.
I read a book. I lost my place.
I watched the clouds change shape and pace.
For once, the hours asked no fee.
The day sat down and stayed with me.
No poems match that search. Try another word.
PAGES FROM THE NOTEBOOK
The little journal
MONDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2005 · 11:16 PM
A Letter Never Sent
I wrote your name on the last page of a notebook tonight. I stared at it for a long time, then closed the book without writing another word.
Perhaps some letters were never meant to find their way to anyone. Perhaps writing them is its own kind of goodbye.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 2, 2005 · 6:30 PM
The First Cold Evening
The air changed today. I walked home with my hands in my pockets and remembered the evenings when there was always someone waiting at the corner.
It is strange how a season can return without bringing anything else back with it.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2005 · 9:05 PM
Learning the New Streets
I know the route to the station now, and which shop stays open late. Still, every now and then I turn down a street expecting it to lead somewhere familiar.
Maybe belonging is just another thing we learn slowly.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 16, 2005 · 7:48 PM
Before I Left
The boxes are nearly packed. The room looks larger without the bookshelves, and the walls seem to be keeping their own quiet watch.
Tomorrow I leave. Tonight, I am trying to remember this room exactly as it is.
FROM THE OLD NOTEBOOK
Archives
Browse the entries by month. The notebook begins in late summer 2005 and carries on into the following winter.
February 2006
- A Small Victory — poem
- Things I Am Angry At — poem
January 2006
- The Great Washing-Up — poem
- Sunday with No Plans — poem
- Somewhere, an Open Window — poem
- What the River Keeps — poem
December 2005
- I Left My Heart in This Little Town — poem
- The Last Bus Home — poem
- Winter at the Station — poem
November 2005
- The Road After Rain — poem
- A Room with One Suitcase — poem
- The Names of Streets — poem
- Postmarked Nowhere — poem
October 2005
- The Town I Left Behind — poem
- A Letter Never Sent — journal
- The First Cold Evening — journal
September 2005
- At the Last Station — poem
- Unsent — poem
- Learning the New Streets — journal
August 2005
- The Window at Number Nine — poem
- A Map with No Way Back — poem
- Before I Left — journal
A LITTLE ABOUT THIS PAGE
About me
I started keeping these pages because my notebooks were getting damp at the bottom of my bag, and because a blank page on the internet felt a little less intimidating than a blank page in a notebook. I moved here to study. I thought leaving would make me a new person; mostly it made me learn the bus timetable.
I like second-hand bookshops, rain when I can watch it from indoors, tea that has gone cold because I forgot it, and the first five minutes after arriving somewhere new. I dislike phone calls, overripe bananas, and people who say “everything happens for a reason” as if they have checked.
There is a blue mug on my desk with a chipped handle. I keep meaning to throw it away. I suspect this explains more about me than a proper biography would.
Some of these poems are tender, some are dramatic, and some are me being cross with the world because I have not had lunch. I am trying to let them all stay.
I, the author of this blog, would like to stay anon. Any offer or advertisment will be turned down
Elsewhere on the web : the blogroll
A few places a person with too many bookmarks might visit. Platform links.
- Hello Poetry — poems from people I haven't met
- Poetry Foundation — for reading when the words won't come
- Poets.org — poems and poet biographies
- Blogger — where everyone seems to have a page
- LiveJournal — late-night entries and friends' lists
- Mara’s Window — a friend’s daily observations
- The Blue Umbrella — a page of sketches and short stories
- Notes from the Night Bus — a travel diary
- A Cup Left Cooling — a notebook of ordinary things
Comments
comments.
Anna · October 15, 2005 at 9:12 AM
This reminds me of the place I grew up. Funny how you can leave somewhere and still miss it every day.
J. · October 16, 2005 at 7:41 PM
The last lines stayed with me. Thank you for sharing this.
Sarah M. · October 17, 2005 at 6:08 PM
I moved away three years ago and still dream about the street where I grew up. You put that feeling into words.
littleblue · October 18, 2005 at 10:26 PM
Found your page while looking for poems tonight. It feels quiet here, in a good way.
Mark · October 20, 2005 at 8:03 AM
“Some part of me chose to stay” : that line says it all. I know exactly what you mean.
Elena · October 21, 2005 at 4:55 PM
There is a certain kind of sadness in remembering ordinary places. The station, the shops, the walk home. Beautiful poem.
northstar · October 22, 2005 at 11:19 PM
I like that this doesn't try too hard to explain the feeling. Sometimes goodbye is just goodbye, and then you carry it.
Rachel · October 24, 2005 at 1:37 PM
yaaaassss !! this brought back memories of the last evening before I left home. Everything looked exactly the same, but I knew it wasn't
Tom W. · October 26, 2005 at 9:02 PM
A lovely little corner of the web. I'll come back and read the other poems when I have more time.
m. · October 28, 2005 at 7:14 PM
Some towns become part of us even after we stop calling them home. Thank you for this.
Claire · October 30, 2005 at 5:48 PM
I came here for a moment and ended up reading every entry. The poems feel like pages from an old notebook.
David · November 2, 2005 at 8:31 PM
Keep writing