At a recent edition of Interior Dialogues, our workshop participants were asked to contribute a line to a group poem. This poem was edited by Al Rempel, our workshop presenter, and we are excited to share that work with you here.
Under a soft white sky, always here
It happens inside yourself
Up the hill and beside the big old western cedar
Bare feet on bare ground, lungs drawing breath
Here I reveal my underbelly and my plume with reckless abandon
Face East at sunrise where the swelling sky speaks of love
Not the center – the four winds remind us
Stroll on by the dog park
Segregate, two metres
Enough to swing a long-handled broom
Through a cloud of smoke and story churning
Around the ugly coffee table, you know the one
Peeling around the edges
You will see our hearts hanging on the front door
Home is a lighthouse welcoming the way
You’ll soon be safe, breathe in again, if you just follow the blue line
Across the sea in a yellow prow, round the boardwalk and up the stairs
We're looking for structure, seeking the word
The needle on my rusty compass seized at due North
Gazing at those gathered at the graveyard.
Or park a coffin
Westward, and moonward, and inward I go
Home is where my soul lives
Terra firms all the way from the ocean
Where the Whoodle waits in the window, wagging
“It is the star to every wandering bark”
staysit wait comehere wait stayput wait donothing wait
Five steps out of bed
As the anxiety bursts in my heart
It knows the place to soar to heal
Fly to the highest mountain you see, then land just north of that.
Travel north below the rainbow
Towards the squared-off blocky high-rise
Stop at the valley filled with writers, artists, mountains and sea.
Dive deep down your windpipe and onto your breath
Look for the sun showers
Nowhere to go after a walk but home
Back to the place of my youth - a place of longing
In the driveway go around the circle and there you are
You need a plan where you never lose sight
The horizon as it should be
“Called home” they used to say. What home?
Curve of the Kalum carving the beach
Voice of the north on the wind
Trust that your feet can follow your heart.
You won't go back the way you came
You'll have to go the unfamiliar route
Follow the smell of fir candle
The tide of your breath flows over me
Resonance, whatever it is -- hold it close and it will lead you home
You must climb a mountain in NSW, Australia
Yellow paper stars in the window
This thin coffee-stained paper slip is home
From the second annual Interior Dialogues.
For more sessions of Interior Dialogues, check out our Events page.
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