The Drought

August 10, 2017

It’s been fifty days since
High clouds congregated to
Bless us with new rainfall,
Gone are the days where we
Used to sit and listen to drips
Coming down off the gutter.

The time of year is right for
Sun-scorched grass and the
Peculiar smell of pavement
Sizzling in the sun’s glare,
Heat waves distorting any
Semblance of comfort.

Droughts never last forever.
Eventually, we shall see
The grey clouds accumulate
And release our tensions in
The form of warm sheets
Of summertime rain.

MSBQ

The Facade

May 8, 2017

She said something odd
Into his ear as they moved
Together, blissfully silent
In the darkest of hours.

He stopped, abruptly,
Confusion across his face.
Her breathy whisper was
Quiet, but very clear:

“With wounds as old
As original sin, we prey
Upon the weaker flesh.”

In the morning, she lay
Amongst the silences of
Her own wrongdoing…
He’d never be seen again.

MSBQ

Crystallize

May 2, 2017

April seems to take
Whatever it pleases
Each year, leaving
Nothing but a long
Empty space where
You used to live.

Thinking back, I see
All the phone calls at
Seven o’clock before
Wheel of Fortune,
Thank you cards, and
Photographs of times
Not to be forgotten.

These images remain.
Memories crystallize
Like golden honey
(And just as sweet)
And pool in the space
Between my lungs.

More than anything,
I know that you loved me.
And we love you back.

MSBQ

Mina el Hosn

April 5, 2017

Endless waves collide
Against the sea-wall along
The promenade, each row
Of palm trees swaying in
The breathy wind coming
In off the Mediterranean.

Though Cyprus lies only
A few miles off-shore, it’s
Shrouded in the haze from
The forgotten ships that
Once lined these docks,
Trading goods from afar.

Beirut stands as it always
Has: ancient and modern,
A thousand languages and
Too many stories to count.
Now, it has become home
For those who have fled.

It may seem a paradise
Steeped in sunlight’s rays,
But these streets will speak
If you are willing to listen.
Voices as old as the waves
Always yearn for the sea.

MSBQ

I’ve been told, though never seen,
That once each month in moonlight
Can be found some other beings
With eyes like gems in sunlight.

Though they seem to want to play,
Their goal remains each spring:
Go trick some children out in day
To catch in faerie rings.

The aos sí will keep their mounds
Free of mortal wandering;
At night you might just hear the sound
Of pixie folk a’ pondering.

If you listen to the sidhe,
Then hope may never find you.
Mischief is what’s in their creed
Like white-thorn bush in late June.

The Celts know not to dare disturb
These faerie circles’ kind,
‘Lest they find that deadly herb
Within their blood entwined.

MSBQ

The Magpie

January 3, 2017

High aloft in his tree
Sits the clever magpie.
He has lived a long life,
For he knows the keys
To making your way in
This wicked world- or
At least so he says.

He will go on for days
On problems abroad,
Issues in Spain or France,
Knowing which province
Of Canada has the best
Varieties of shortbread.
But, in truth, he has
Never once left his tree.
He’s not been beyond
The edge of the woods
He was born within.

There is only so much
A bird can learn from
Dusty books and titles,
You must get out and
Spread your own wings
In order to ever truly
Understand our world.

MSBQ

Constellations

November 25, 2016

The air was thick
With desperation,
She had known it
From the start.

Now, bare arms
Folded on the sill,
She looked out at
The distant stars.

It was impossible
To count them all,
Millions of them
Aligned just for her.

A sense of regret
Washed over her
As she listened to
Her partner breathe.

She jotted a note
For the woman
Left alone in bed,
But, with a beat,
Tore the note up
And quietly left.

MSBQ