Our Echo
Title, story type, location, year, person or writer
 
Add a Post
View Posts
Popular Posts
Hall of Fame
Projects
Visitors
Contests
Search

3 + 7 = 10 POEMS

Story ID:4122
Written by:Richard Laurent. Provencher (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:Retired
Story type:Poem
Location:Truro Nova Scotia Canada
Year:2008
Person:Richard L. Provencher
View Comments (0)   |   Add a Comment Add a Comment   |   Print Print   |     |   Visitors
A Respite

February morning is a
blur of Blue Jays
nip of frost
against their forms

feeding movements
in erratic display

eager for a hideaway,
not just any space
to calm their
souls.

Behind my window
pane I sing of
coming
Spring, my breath
an echo of joy.

© Richard L. Provencher 2007

**

Alberta 9-11

Ripping down the highway
Armstrong, the Safety Inspector
nods to himself in the dark. It’s
1 am and the cell-call still
rings in his ear, “One of your trucks
involved in an accident, the driver
transported by air ambulance
to Sherwood County.”

The car chases broken lines
like an arrow, asphalt
smooching with his tires.
Finally the finish line, someone
receiving medical care,
police at roadside assessing
damage. Going to be a long cold
night after a quick ride. But
how to explain the pajamas he
forgot to change out of?

© Richard L. Provencher 2007

**

An October Journey

is like a festive wind maple
leaves clinging
desperately
during Autumn’s ritual

countless curlicues
descending in a flotilla of
curled-up edges

orange-reddish-yellow
tinges tumbling from lofty spires
to historic journeys
below

leafy dances completing an
ecstasy
of trembling flings.

© Richard L. Provencher 2008

**

Big City Blues

Morning’s journey is a trail
of cement sidewalks
March garbage blowing
in the wind.

Last night’s pizza
a ball of pasta in my belly
people crowding life’s
destination scooting to the bus stop
amber lights glaring
downtown skyscrapers
stretching
with imagination
paths arrow-straight
as a flashlight beacon
and I a stranger in Hamilton city.

Not long ago I walked
forests of green
canoed to the thrill of a loon
watched lovers coo on Atlantic’s
shore back in Nova Scotia
my home.

© Richard L. Provencher 2008

**

Dannemora, USA

Visitors stare at
starched walls rising
to the sky
guard-turrets
every fifty feet, barbed wire
christening the top
coiled, glistening
in the sun.
A quiet Vermont street
doesn't ask why
people don’t smile on
Prison Road.

© Richard L. Provencher 2008

**

Elvin Dropped By

Fists bang against the door
up the front stairs then sharing
yarns after taking off shoes
old school politeness long time
no see he says talks about home
and family then grandson
James sick again
wife needin’ Jesus in her life cousin
Grant taken his life
thinking he had cancer
hurricane Juan knocked down most
of his trees tractor
needs fixin’ his niece Jody
handling insulin problems voice
softens when he mentions his
wife hoping she’ll be out of
the hospital soon
misses her breakfast
treats two eggs and sausages
not bacon must be time to
go wishing he’d stay
longer sharing his heart memories
left behind like slabs of cheese
on the table in the twilight.

© Richard L. Provencher 2008

**

Soldier Boys

Why lose your childhood
in bloodied military
fatigues?

AK-47’s in your grasp
caps on tight, grimness
in those eyes.
“Killing, easy as planting
vegetables,” one said.

Little men, happy
to be in this rebel army,
madness in war.
“Why must you kill in the
morning of your manhood?”

© Richard L. Provencher 2006

**

The Sound of a Hammer

A loved son, wrapped in lying,
stealing, fostered from one
home to another, adopted into the
moments of our lives.

Then Group homes, Training Schools,
Westmoreland Prison and
Springhill Pen.
Survived them all and
back again

dangerous, they
said when you were just a kid,
hide your guns, he may
hammer someone.

Today as you stare through
vertical bars in an early
morning cell, the
only hammer around is your
pounding heartbeat.

© Richard L. Provencher 2006

**

Whose Farm is this

where a yeller moon crests
behind the barn
and children sleeping
other darn fools too, except Molly
and me in the hay
scratchy and dry after a day
tramping in the fields
chasing cows, bedding horses
foxes curious by fences too?

© Richard L. Provencher 2004

**

Wildlife Sanctuary

the geese are
fat and sloppy on this game preserve.
only fifty cents folks
step right up and see for yourself
down from james bay just two years ago
then they were wild beauties
untrusting
firm of muscle from their long flights
wings as strong as the wind
that carried them a thousand miles south.
now they run at you, your hand held out
the promise of an easy guzzle
these tamed web-foots
scrounging off their old enemy.

© Richard L. Provencher 2003

* * *

Richard & Esther Provencher invite you to read “FOOTPRINTS” at: www.synergebooks.com. “Someone’s Son” and “Into The Fire” will be out soon. The link to “FOOTPRINTS” is: http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_footprints.html