I have stopped writing my lighthearted blogs just for myself, conjured out of flashes of thoughts and images, tapped out when I have a moment, free and easy, sometimes funny, often emotional. The mama, the writer, the daughter, the sister, just saying her piece and giving it away free. Sometimes with typos. I haven’t pursued … Continue reading The Alysa Liu Approach
Poetry
Summer Sad
It is often grey, overcast and cool yet muggy. The air is full of the blessed, biting bugs. Everything is damp.
Empty Nests
I was 30 for my first pregnancy and now I am 60. I am not going to say where did the time go? I won't say it.
Imagine being a Writer
I had a wonderful job this spring. I reviewed three 'crime' novels that were very different in tone and style for Atlantic Books Today and it was an absolute pleasure to write. Having a deadline was refreshing and invigorating - it made me feel young again. COVID years dropped off my shoulders and it felt … Continue reading Imagine being a Writer
It’s Just my Voice
Poetry is whatever you want it to be, voice calling, words singing, dreams talking. I don't care if you like it, I never wrote it for you. It's nothing. It's just my voice. It's possible that I only ever wrote for my parents, Critical, frustrated writers. It's all in good fun, hand slapping the sheets … Continue reading It’s Just my Voice
Still Born
A multitude of sins, of sorrows, Still Born. What Purpose? My Life. No Purpose. Of Course. I am clean, and full of love. I meant no harm. Glaciers calving, yes. With incremental, exponential effect. A billion eyes following a whale, and her child. Sustain this. Untenable.
Returning Home
An old poem floating about
Calving Season
There was a sharp glint of pink in the universe, northern lights crackled in the night sky. There was a deep crack and rolling rumble, a seismic icy shift, and a quiet shaking that formed a crack in the mountainous block of ice, the glacier, the glacier that is me, the mother of you, when you moved away. My … Continue reading Calving Season
Fall and Fifty
Autumn swings in slowly, a flirt, with his flashy colours and moody looks. We sense winter and slowly release summer. The hydrangea blushes rosily, the fat blossoms white on her underbelly and pink and magenta where they have been kissed by the sun. Early morning is grey and petulant, but gradually the sun will transform the day. … Continue reading Fall and Fifty
The Birds and the Bees
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo A cool grey morning after the school bus pulls away and I am sitting on the cold damp rocking chair on the porch, Sipping lukewarm tea. Watching the crows yell information at each other; They keep a beady eye on me as they eat our breakfast crusts. The blanket on the chair was precious, … Continue reading The Birds and the Bees
Notes from a Sinking Isthmus 