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Showing posts from 2020


Now it’s November, how about this: “Snow coming down the mountain”?  Jane Munro reads a  one-minute poem from her new book , Glass Float.  


Jenny Kennedy-Olsen/freeimages Skunkworks white peonies — the skunk in the lane lifts its tail


manu mohan/freeimages Birthday Poem warbles and whistles and car horns — my cottage in the city mowing the lawn — hey, it’s Poh Seng's birthday! low-flying chopper crossing the clear-cut —   tree planters half moon, the frogs chirping we put on our pyjamas   Goh Poh Seng


Caleb Pinkerton/freeimages Motel Sunrise I pick nasturtiums from the crowded pot sticky with slug slime someone has chiselled footholds into the brazil nut tree at the dog run people only know each other by their pets’ names clouds building to the west — happy hour Motel Sunrise under construction since 1990 I’ve stopped littering but the birch trees haven’t just one moon snail shell on China Beach today — singing lesson


Sturgeon Moon laundry out to dry then in — summer rain the whole valley heard about the ruckus in the henhouse bear scat loaded with saskatoons by Wolverine Creek I’m not afraid my cabin among laurel deep in the forest sturgeon moon — my father wakes in his recliner alder leaves drying in shade on the hot beach my lunch an overripe peach I take two plums from a basket they were so sweet and so cold from Whisk


Jane’s new poetry collection from Brick Books! Like glass floats themselves, these neat, clear poems contain Munro’s breath. They cross oceans. Jane Munro’s Glass Float —part travelogue, part journal, part meditation—picks up where Blue Sonoma ends: the speaker finds herself alone, at the live edge of her life. —Ian Williams, author of Reproduction


Moving Right Along Andean journey above the snowline volcanoes for signposts the Apennine way we drive through clouds leaving Halifax the train chuffs under ten — no eleven — bridges  chiton crossing the fossil bed — two hours till the ferry from Whisk


The power of condensation; images containing silence, resonating out: Poetry London talks with Mary diMichele about her work and ours


Tea Ceremony wipers sluice pollen from the windshield — tea ceremony the porch lights up bats return to the barn moon my companion on the road heading home in the house i left last night people are brushing their teeth (from Whisk , 2013) Image by Mirja Paljakka, used by permission


Leap Year Day, 2020: Susan launches three new multi-voice poems in Perth, Ontario, performed by Bon Echo as part of River Resonance Choir's inaugural concert "Music of Birth, Courage, Hope, and Loss." Bon Echo is Anne Archer, Susan Gillis, Barb Secker, and Alfred von Mirbach.


After the blizzard I go snowshoeing In the backyard


Jan Conn's latest painting is called "Two Moon Blues". The subtle, hard-to-spot trails (silver, blue, red, orange) in the painting are the some of the roads that Jan took on her bicycle trip through Japan when she was following Basho's walking trails. Painting on TerraFilm, 20x28in, acrylic paint, acrylic pen, pencil. 2020.

Dogs Watching Cats

Deja-ku Diary: Michael Dylan Welch samples cat-watching with a number of people, including Yoko's Dogs. We're honoured! From MDW's post:                  watching the cat watch the rabbit         watching me The writing team of Jan Conn, Mary di Michele, Susan Gillis, and Jane Munro, known as Yoko’s Dogs, produced this poem in their collaborative book Whisk (St. John’s, Newfoundland: Pedlar’s Press, 2013, page 65). The renku-like context called for a two-line poem, or they might have presented this verse in a more expected three lines. Yet something about the combination of “watching the cat” and “watch the rabbit” in the same line makes those elements more instantaneous. And then we have the turn to “watching me,” creating a full circle. This circle makes this poem differ from other examples, where only two things are watching each other, or a short litany of observers ends with something other than a return to the first observer. Again, a moment of ten

After Renga

A ghostly Jane, last to leave one of our renga sessions. Leave no trace! Wasn't that somebody's motto, sometime?


We celebrated our 11th birthday in Santa Fe, NM, at the 2017 Haiku North America conference. Strings and buckets of blossoms Peppers getting hot The legendary market lived up to its...oh look, tomatoes!