Lure

Lure

For it's just March
and steam still
rises from
mossy crags
as the nights
call for sweaters
and morning runs
along tidal
pools are navigated
wearing
fleece-lined jackets.

Californians
dressed warmly
in down
patrol the shores
hand in hand
shaking their heads
at the Canadians
navel-deep in the
water.

As the heavy fog
lifts and
sunshine wakes yellow
rocks,
the sea beckons
land-locked
Albertans.

Blue licks
against
seashell sand
and I venture deeper
into the laughter
of the goading waves.

Lisa Murphy-Lamb

Ablution

  photo taken April 24, 2009                                   

Ablution

the heavy rush

of water

muted light through

glass brick

a long soak

to wash away

harsh words, rough 

hands, 

shame

I close my

eyes 

against rising

visions in 

twisted steam 

from the faucet

gushes

water clean 

and yet-

the scars

mine, the 

children's, 

are too deep

to touch

with cloth and soap

I slide below

the 

surface

Lisa Murphy-Lamb

Opportunity

photo taken at Project Row Houses art installation by Lisa Qualls April 12, 2009

Opportunity

Lisa Murphy-Lamb

If given the chance

free of domestic

chores dog hair

in corners lunches

unmade souls

to be soothed.

Could I speak volumes of silence and

write while the hours go numb

around me?

Would the taste of

whiskey deep

into the night well

past my hour of

slumber when sleep

comes on the heels 

of children

take 

advantage of ink dark

hours and

sharpen the edges of

my mind?

What is the flavour

of a creative soul

unfettered by domestic call?

Is it a mouthful of

dialogue around a honey-

brown surface entering the moors

and parties of

writers past?

Would my heart 

pulsate divergently

at the edge

of possibility

and would I fall

free

untethered?

No one spoke

No one spoke,

The host, the guest

The white chrysanthemums.

Ryota (1718-1787)