|
The Poetry of Maureen Glaude
Bio:
A former Board member and
co-publicity-manager of the Sasquatch Literary and Arts Performance Series,
and a regular there since 1997, Maureen frequented this series, El Taller
Cultural El Dorado, and others, to share poems, as well as participating in
writing study groups facilitated by Sylvia Adams, and Barbara Myers (The
Wellington Street Poets). She was a member of kado ottawa since its
inception. Also a former OIW (Ottawa Independent Writers) member, and
participant in several critique groups. She's was a featured reader at
Sasquatch, (summer 2003 and previously), and at Tree, January 2000.
Glaude’s work has appeared in several
literary publications, including The Wolf Magazine, London, England, Palabras Productions,
San Gabriel, California, and in the TOPS (The Ontario Poetry Society)
anthology (2003), Rocks and Rhythm, and the anthology (August 2002), Earth
Songs.
In 2000, she won 3rd place in the Free Verse category of
the National Capital Poetry Writing Contest, Canadian Authors Association,
for her poem Angel Landing.
Maureen passed away after
a courageous battle with Cancer, on Wednesday, July 18, 2007 at the age of 53
years.
Splendour
splendour stole
over her
cedar hedge today
soft finger
streams
in teasing arcs
carving intermittent highs
to greet the gold of sunburst
christen with moist kisses
the forest greens
then bend back in retreat
to adorn the mesmerized goldfinch
glistening in the water
sprinkler’s sparkles
Aug. 02
Saint Ruby
"If by some
miracle
I should die a saint...." *
you wrote in your St. Pete’s poem
after visiting Rome’s statue
the copy you
gave me to critique
remains cherished within my desk
in the wake
of our losing you, Ruby
if not you, a saint
then who?
July 9, 2001
* Ruby Spriggs’
poem St. Pete shared in class
Sky Genders
Basho,
if you were here, now
I would ask you
why the clouds are male
the rains female
what did old Asia mean
by this?
Is it the way the clouds transform?
lonely loomers heavy in thought
gathering particles of moisture
to drop in orchestrated
crescendo
as vapor reaches the critical point?
down to an audience below?
Is it how they sometimes billow
aloft in blue, as huge white pillows?
or scud mysteriously in turmoil
grey turned to black and ominous?
in cumulus or stratus, cirrus or nimbus?
making their impression to say they’re there?
what types of clouds are men, really?
Are rains female for
the dew poured from these ribs?
because they weep a thousand tears
and wet the womb of worlds?
can turn to ice or sprinkle warm-soft
decorated by a bow through sun
in every color?
Is it that she sheds her blood of water in cycles,
dampening ground until dry ground returns again.
Without the cloud, no rain
Without the rain, why hang a cloud?
The mix of pressures dust and air flow
the intercourse, then detachment?
and so the yin and yang
Oh Basho, I would wish you here
to tell me all the X's and Y's
of your sexy skies
10/12/2003
Matins,
Mornings and Mañanas
Réveillons-nous
pour la chasse des chiens domestiques du jardin parmi leurs mâitres et mâitresses
s’amusant en marchant dans la forệt les matins
Boots on packed trails amid the canine
chorus and human hellos slice the slumbered shoreline
Las
bocas de los perros juguetean con nuestras risas, amigos todos, en las
mañanas de enero al aire libre en la costa
December 31, 2000
all poems © Maureen Glaude
|
