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The Editor Falls Asleep

  When I studied grammar in my editing courses with Ryerson, this poem evolved and was subsequently published in our editors' 2006  Edition newsletter. It's still one of my poems that catches a playful spirit. Perhaps you have to be a grammarian to fully get it.   It was also published in What's Your Favourite Poem contest by Craigleigh Press in January 2006.     The editor falls asleep   grammar books next to her pillow, she dreams of a party and invites all her friends:   coordinate adjectives do-si-do with the nouns, arguing which one will lead, but verbs call the action     parenthesis pairs waltz with quotation mark couples   with strings of words, like secrets, between them   high-flying apostrophes flirt with its and with s’s amusing the audience, embarrassing the hosts   reds, whites, and blues, and their serial cousins converse with Sir Oxford, that old dashing fellow   fanboys join independents in convivial laughter grabb
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On the seashore

     This was an imagination piece, perhaps after being at the lake, and it took second place in a contest with Tickled by Thunder in 2006. The pictures are in the words.   On the seashore   the window pane frames waves washing the sand if she tilts her head       just right the tattered flag at the lighthouse flutters                            in the next square   far-away sailboats are toys                          in the top square   but she must go out              let the wind run its fingers through her hair   gathering her long skirt     in slender hands she runs                   barefoot   warm sand catches each footfall   her copper curls stretch   and bob and the wind brushes her face with a passing kiss     Second Place, Tickled by Thunder 2006 Poetry Contest, published in Vol. 16, No. 37
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Morning Route

   One summer I assisted my youngest with her paper route. This is what can happen with time to think and walk and deliver papers when no  one else is out and about.     Half hour before the birds sing my internal clock at odds   with early waking I begin my route   the veil of darkness lifts to greet the dawn mist rises from the riverbed as from the forgotten land of Brigadoon and birds trill to greet the sun   basking in quiet suburbia too sleepy even for its morning coffee I walk house to house street by street my load lighter with every delivery   my list embedded in memory now every day subscribers, weekends only in mailbox, on doorstep rolled and bagged even the complainers   the sleepers will soon awaken and expect a perfect paper     Published in Tower Poetry     
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