Maria Robson
Cloudspotters
We are all cloudspotters,
hiding in clumps, behind blinds,
waving, luring with new grown nails,
like manicured saints
beneath our neon halos.
Between concrete bars,
locked in the burning wheels of Trans Nowhere,
switching, frayed and frantic, lane and dial,.
impatient for tomorrow's forecast,
our eyes jammed on chrome cloud reflections
Can we ever dare again
to tilt back our necks
above, beyond, the bone-locked words, words, word.
Dare we long for those sweeping bales
of bagged swirling pearl
that promise to undo
some tired, traiterous, truth.
Among the fonts, the graves, the garlands,
we walk the silver tightrope, pegged
between two gaping blue infinities.
We blink, one-eyed pirates that we are,
for the safety net of clouds.
Your Name
The maple jigs
in the green wind.
Then rain
one drop, another,
your name,
sweet
on the shakuhachi flute
of memory.
Maria Robson May 13 -06
I'd rather remain 'faceless', but here's a brief bio:
My family immigrated to Montreal
from Italy in '53. Growing up in
such a culturally diverse city I
learned early to celebrate what
makes us different & what makes
us the same.
After graduating from Concordia
University with a degrees in
Philosophy, I began my peripatetic
teaching career and lifestyle.
Following a stint with the UN in the
Middle East , I ended up in
Brisbane, Australia where I
married, lived and worked in
beached bliss for fifteen years.
Now I've come full circle, back in
Montreal where I spend my time
teaching languages ( English,
French , Italian), translating,
writing, savouring new cuisines
and plotting frequent escapes to
Australia.