BECKY ALEXANDER

Becky Alexander is a Cambridge, Ontario poet. Her work has been widely published and has won awards. She has five poetry collections and is the publisher of Craigleigh Press. Becky is a member of four
writers associations in Canada and the U.S.A., including the Cambridge Writers Collective. She won the 2007 Waterloo Regional Arts Council Award for Best Poetry.


BLACK MANTLE MOON

It was one of those nights
when the moon ran the sky
like a fullblown madam.

You were hot with a throb
that set your teeth, singed skin,
opened doors you¹d never pushed before.

Black clouds slid over red light and darkness
was deep enough to slice with a blade.
Wind off the harbour scorched ears, reddened eyes.

Laughter rang with unholy glee,
catcalls blended into the unclean heart of night,
and we swayed snakelike, a deep pulsing throng.

One of those nights when the moon bled the sky,
when no friend stood with any other,
and shuffling angels fanned the earth with black wings.


published in Ascent Aspirations anthology Dec. 2005.
,
(Accepted for publication in STREET, March 22, 2007.)



AFTER THE LEGEND

when the wind
recalls the hollow

of its
October voice

there is
that backlash bite

to
night air;

in the
pumpkin patch

round
sleepy heads

whisper into
the wind

crinkled ears
listen

for those
ghostly hoofbeats

just over
the hill


(Won HM in BYLINE MAGAZINE FALL CONTEST,January 6, 2005;
previously published by Tower, Hamilton, On, Canada, Nov. 22, 2005.)
(Won 1st H.M. Missouri State Poetry Society Summer Contest 2006,
category 5. Poet¹s Choice, Aug. 2006.)



A POEM TO QUESTION FREE WILL

Why do we write
our gluts
of love, war,
moon, sea
and a red wheelbarrow?

What of earthworms,
boils and rashes,
dandelions, potatoes . . .
the slaughterhouse of bolts and hammers,
. . . carcasses of cars
grassgrown in rusty meadows?

What surges, pounds our pulse
to consonant blends of
blood and triumph
cloud brightness
breeze blow
and the bloom of flowers?

What trigger pulls
our pens along ink-splotched treks?
'the thing to do'...
freed will ...
genes?

Or muses:
those scribes who punch our keys
with phantom fingers?


(published in Ascent Aspirations Premier Print edition 2005.)