Showing posts with label Frances Ward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frances Ward. Show all posts

Thursday, August 25, 2011

FRANCES WARD


con-versation


you talk about origins
you talk around and about origins
you talk and talk and talk and
you try to be original
about origins
i pretend to be original
to please you
you talk about confusion
you talk around and about confusion
you talk and talk and talk and
you try to confuse me
with confusion
i pretend to be confused
to please you
you talk about death
you talk around and about death
you talk and talk and talk and
you try to slay me
with death
i pretend to be dying
to please you

Sunday, August 21, 2011

FRANCES WARD


dam(n)

the water runs
from large and deep
to small and shallow
and it makes no sense
if you wonder
where does it all go?
where does it all come from?
while crickets and cicadas
go on and on and on and
ghost spiders drop
from the only shade
in the middle of all this
dead grass
and shadows of gulls
expecting something more filling
than crumbs of thought
so there is tension in the air
and i brought my own along
with your posthumous
“collected poems”
on which i rest my page suffering
sunburn and spider legs
in between the high lake
the low river
writing as fast as i can
before that white concrete slab
stops the flow

Friday, August 12, 2011

FRANCES WARD






slide show


click click:       my brothers play road hockey

click click:       the sour cherries in blossom

click click:       my sister as a baby

click click:       my mother slim & pre-gray

click click:       my dead brother aims a snowball at the photographer
the rest of us smile cautiously

click click:       we lean against the dark tree trunks
some have maple syrup buckets attached

click click:       my dead father, proud of his belly & thick sideburns
let someone use his camera

click click:       my grandmother, visiting from England
her arm tight around her daughter’s waist

click click:       we are lined up, squinting at the sun
in front of the tent at long point

click click:       my children laugh at us

click click:       notice resemblances

click click:       joke about genetics

click click:       deny the inevitable
                                                                                                                                     
click click:       my mother cries quietly

click click:       looks away from the screen

click click:       & i am distracted

click click:       by the memories

click click:       of what happened

click click:       before & after

click click:       each pose

click click:       was struck

click click:       bright light

click click:       blank screen



Copyright(c)FrancesWard







Frances Ward (f.ward), (visual artist, poet, editor, publisher) was born in Manchester, U.K. of English/Italian descent, and emigrated to Canada as a child.  She has spent most of her adult years in Hamilton and surrounding area.  Ward is a multi-media artist who creates 2 & 3 dimensional works through the use of found materials and images; welding, collage, assemblage, printing, painting and photography.  Her visual art is included in private and corporate collections. She is the author of three solo collections of poetry; Side Effects, Life & Ledger and The Writer Seems Unaware…. publisher/editor of Hammered Out (a literary journal) and publisher/editor of Road Work Ahead (an anthology of images and poetry by Hamilton Poets).