Category: Poetry

Sudden Bloodhound

On By Anna EastlandIn Maternal Health, Poetry5 Comments

I am normally a bit oblivious

to many things;

if it doesn’t stink or scream

don’t expect me to notice it

(and even then, it’s got to stink pretty badly

to catch my attention).

But now I find myself

a sudden and unwilling bloodhound—

able to pick up on the tiniest scent

as I walk past the garbage can

or the kitchen sink.

The waft of the compost as I open the lid

hits me like colour—

a slime green wave riding the air

up into my nose.

Smells have become like warning signs

flashing across my vision,

sending me scuttling away in the opposite direction—

a sudden and unwilling bloodhound

lacking all desire to follow the scent

and solve the gruesome mystery

of its origins.

It’s a dog’s life,

early pregnancy,

so you’ll forgive me

if now and then

I throw back my head

and howl!

Early

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry2 Comments

Early in the morning,

in the delicious quiet

before anyone else is awake,

I leave aside my troubled dreams

and get up to feed the birds.

It’s a windy morning.

The kids’ toys in my yard are all tumbled about

and the crows feathers are ruffled

as the await their breakfast

on the telephone wires.

I open the window to throw them bread crusts.

The cool morning air

greets me like a brisk breeze from a boat,

fresh and hopeful

as if the day itself

was dreaming of adventure.

It Is Worth It

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry2 Comments

It is worth it to stay up half the night

to see the misty moon

disappear and re-emerge behind the scattered clouds

that drift like silver ribbons across the sky.

It is worth it to peer up at the quiet stars

and hear above the faint roar of a few cars

on the highway far below

the gentle hoot of an owl.

It is worth it so see the silhouette of trees

standing like living paintbrushes

solemn and still

against the pearly grey night sky.

It it worth it to feel the summer air

on my skin at midnight

and know that the goosebumps

are more from awe

than the slight cool of the breeze.

It is worth it to stay up half the night

to be in love with the ever-changing sky

and write it poetry.

Creation is so beautiful—

my heart is bursting with it!

Can anyone feel so happy as I am

alone with the moon,

in the company of memories?

Ballad of the Pirate Bard

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

I am a pirate and I do not sleep!

I thief night jewels for me to keep.

My Lady with her treasures bold

is generous when the wee hours wax old.

The words upon her golden tongue

are by the midnight spirits sung.

I catch the songs in my jolly heart,

then bursting full I do depart,

‘n sail away to the break of day

to spread her tales far and away!

I am a pirate and I do not sleep,

my treasure is the tears you weep,

my prize is the laughter in your eyes,

for Insomnia’s bedfellow is a pirate wise.

🌴This silly song was brought to you care of
sleep deprivation and my pirate pjs! 🌴

Back-Alley Beauty

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry2 Comments

In this time

when my heart is breaking

from so much pain in the world

I’ve been choking on silence

not knowing what to say

I felt that it was a time

for only words weighty with wisdom

words of solemn importance

and sorrow

But maybe in this time

when my heart is breaking

from so much pain in the world

it is precisely the time

to celebrate every bit of happiness

the day affords

To rejoice in each little buttercup

and bouquet of back-alley beauty

my children clutch in eager hands

and bring me while I cook dinner

And to wish and pray

with all my strength

many such simple pleasures

and calm moments of sweetness

upon each precious person

who walks the face of this earth

Easter Sunday, 3 am

On By Anna EastlandIn PoetryLeave a comment

It’s Easter Sunday

long before dawn.

The moon lies low in the horizon,

looking slightly harried

from it’s all night vigil.

Across the road,

the forsythia is silent–

it’s bright yellow hues

dampened by the darkness.

The children are sleeping,

except for the toddler,

who briefly wakes

for a bottle, then curls up

and returns to her dreams.

The world does not yet know

that the glorious resurrection

is about to take place–

the silence of Holy Saturday

continues throughout the night.

With Mary, I watch and wait in hope

for the tomb to be unsealed

and Life to burst forth

in triumph.

Stardust

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry4 Comments

Yesterday, my sweet neighbour’s only daughter died of cancer, leaving behind a loving husband and two little boys. I am so crushed by this news, so in her honour, and in honour of all the many precious people who have recently died, I thought I would share this poem from my book unexpected blossoming: a journey of grief and hope.

As some of you already know, I wrote this book of poetry after losing my baby daughter Josephine. Peace be with all of you who are suffering the loss of loved ones in this crazy time.

Stardust

If it’s true that we are dust

and that from the moment of birth

we are heading towards death,

then are not all our words

like a dying breath—

an exhalation of hope

that our voices will be heard

after we’re gone?

Like the light of stars

shining for years,

sending light across the universe

long after the star has burnt out.

Are we perhaps,

though weak and frail,

yet destined for eternity,

little flurries of stardust?