Two Years

I’ve seen the sun set behind a cactus in Arizona
I’ve gone caving in Québec
I’ve flown over the Rocky Mountains
I’ve eaten sushi in Victoria
I’ve driven on the Pacific Coast Highway
I’ve walked on Hollywood Boulevard
I’ve hit a ball in Dodgers Stadium
I’ve been tattooed on the Sunset Strip
I’ve skinny-dipped in Lake Ontario
I’ve seen white villages on the Andalusia Mountains
I’ve swam in the Mediterranean along the Costa-del-Sol
I’ve climbed the Rock of Gibraltar
I’ve watched a crescent moon rise over the Atlas Mountains
I’ve seen the Liffey and the Thames
I’ve worked at a café in Belgravia
I’ve run 10k through the Chiltern Hills
I’ve had Guinness and oysters in Dublin
I’ve seen sun-sparkles on the Atlantic from an airplane window
I’ve said goodbye to you

~ c.p.grisold

© 2010

Villanelle On The Seasons

If I wait ‘til the winter to say this
Will it be too late?
For the snow has already fallen
And the winds are great.

If I wait ‘til the spring to say this
Will it be too soon?
For the ground is not yet thawed
But the land’s in bloom.

If I wait ‘til summer to say this
Will it be alright?
For the sun and sand mislead me
Like the warmth at night.

If I wait ‘til the autumn to say this
Will it be too long?
For your true colours have started showing
But I might be wrong.

~ c.p.grisold

© 2006

Toronto at New York, September 24th 2005

When the autumn sun hangs low
Behind the plate
And pathetic fallacy paints
The suspenseful sky blue
Jaded with tense, clenched fists
Quickened pulse and breath

Fate rests in one man’s hand
And another man’s bat is the
Simple and complex
Prime mover

Three down
Two out
Bases loaded

You leave the pen with a left-hopped gallop
Towards the mound
Towards history, your story
Taunting repetition

And you
With your charm, your eye, your dream catcher
Humble those fair-weather fans
Waiting, yanking out their hearts
You and your position
Closing down the eighth

You carry more than the ninth on your shoulders
Still you carry it well
And in proportion
To our requisition, your resilience

I wonder what else
Is up your sleeve
Besides magic, three strikes
And a save

~ c.p.grisold

© 2005

The More I Write

The more I write
the more is lost

in these white spaces

a shift from this sky
to my pen
and energy is funnelled here
stolen from the moment

recorded images capture holograms
of the real thing
and the only way to hold
onto something is not
to let go
but to never reach
to just let it rest
beyond these devices
and savour through the senses

these eyes that look
these lips taste
this familiar scent
this airy note

anything can be touched
without being felt
besides perhaps
that delicate skip
from heart

to ink

~ c.p.grisold

© 2004

On Hanlan’s Point

We are here
The free
The uninhibited
Carelessly at the edge
Of deep indigo waters
Pebbles our only border
Between beaches of paradox

You sit nearby
Yet off to the side
Able to observe and participate
At will

The water feels cool
A warm current sails by now and then
Fish are absent when we swim

Just down the shore
Families play and barbecue
Always with one eye on the child
Who heads in our direction

~ c.p.grisold

© 2002