The
River Down the Road:
selected
poems
by
Jason J. Humphreys
Copyright 2017 Jason J. Humphreys
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This book is dedicated to Audrey Sturk, my grade 12 English teacher, who said I should publish my poetry, and to my dear sweet wife, Becky, who has always had my back from the very beginning.
Contents
The
Lynch Road
Flow
On
Stage
E-scape
The
Hall
Race
Gull
Shade
Walls
Glass
The
Shed
Crows
Don't Caw
Misunderstood
If
You Could
You
Are Me
It
Comes In Waves
Scrapings
Veritas
About
the Author
here…
a patch of mint
grows every spring
fed by runoff from uphill
(I made tea and wine from it once)
an old stretch of quiet
leading to clearings and
foundations of families who
still have stories to tell
it was from these woods that
I learned of and tasted
beech nuts, spruce gum, and
wintergreen
I loved trudging through
the spring thaw at that corner
where the road steepened
removing mud, needles, and leaves
from Dad’s rubber boots
picture horse and wagon
(rather than ATV)
clip-clopping
negotiating tree falls,
rocks, and washouts
often I sought out where
the old foundation used to be
where my neighbour was born
and never could I be sure
if it lay further in or not
he was part of a generation
hardened by real work
employed by the local power company
and one who had been a log driver
on the river
the one you heard without a doubt
in the distance
that came from Burnt Dam Flowage and
fed the Annapolis
this was the road where I saw
the barred owl
gliding
as silent as death
late one afternoon and
only ten feet or so away
it looked right at me
(I never forget a face)
from here I trod further in and
over the bank that lay where
the main power lines crossed
I would walk up the middle of
that river
boots on
when summer led to low water
a bend like an elbow
a pebble rock beach
my beach
for reflection and
reverie
where all was calm
(time… what is it?)
save for the trickling flow
sparrows
crows
jays and
the occasional cicada
many thanks to that
rural crèche
and roads such as this
(to quote)
less travelled
water vapour
follows the currents –
currents of air
heated by light –
light of a yellow star
that’s a perfect fit –
fit for our watery world
full of wonder –
wonder who started
speaking to me –
me and my thoughts
travel without moving –
moving my arms and legs
as I take a walk –
walk with me on
a beach of crystal sand –
sand in the hourglass
makes its way downstream –
downstream my canoe
travels the meandering rivers –
rivers of lava meet
a quenching ocean –
ocean of blue gives up
its water vapour –
I make my way along the wall
and sit in the back corner
I order a single malt and sip slowly
(how does one drink a fire right,
smoke and all?)
the trio at the front whip up a
fine cocktail of sound
that wafts into every nook and cranny
of the lounge
I catch a glimpse of a couple
enjoying each other in quiet conversation
each drinking in the other –
she twirls her hair –
he plays shy –
yet the eyes sparkle
and their laughter mixes with the notes
almost like the bartender came up with
a new drink on the fly
as he practices his secret arts of
personal libations and pours
he adds to the tonal blend
eliciting perma-nods from the scene
(an amusing crowd of bobble heads)
the waitress makes her rounds
stops at my table
and asks if I’d like another
‘another?’
I sputter
‘oh… drink… yes,
yes, please’
thank goodness the lighting
matches the night
(can she see me redden?)