Saturday, December 31, 2005

Pressed for time

You can press the old year between the pages of a book, but alas the new chapter always writes itself.

—Terri Guillemets

Memories old & new

There are those who try to bottle the old year for safekeeping but at midnight the cork always pops.

—Terri Guillemets

“But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do, once you find them...”
Jim Croce, “Time in a Bottle,” c.1970

Monday, December 5, 2005

Heart purrs

When a cat speaks it's because he has something to say, unlike humans who are the great refuse containers of speech.

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, November 7, 2005

Free with a fever for home

Only those in tune with nature seem to pick up on the energy in wind. All sorts of things get swept off in the breeze — ghosts, pieces of soul, voices unsung, thoughts repressed, love uncherished, and a thousands galore of spiritual ether. Perhaps wind is an emotional rush because emotions are rushing by.

—Terri Guillemets

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

For good or for bad

Once the lighthouse is seen, the rest of the sea is ignored.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Or puppy play

If purring could be encapsulated, it would be the most powerful anti-depressant on the market.

—Terri Guillemets

Wednesday, October 5, 2005

Sacrifices both ways

I love him like crazy — it's like a hairball in my heart.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, August 19, 2005

Autumn's Sister, Winter

Autumn may lose her colours,
      But memory is a rainbow.
Spring a distant grandchild, reborn—
      Greens, yellow, pinks, we sow.
Winter, in her belly white and gray
      Nurtures many-coloured seeds,
For if Summer was her lover
      He planted his future deeds.

Earth's seasons are a family,
      A wheel and spinning prism,
      Rotating by subtle degree—
Sometimes we think about only
      The bland colours we can see,
      Forgetting—rather sadly—
      About the vibrant ones to be.

—Terri Guillemets

Sunday, June 5, 2005

Poetry rules

Poetry is form.
Poetry is anything.
The soul does not count.

—Terri Guillemets

Sunday, May 1, 2005

Used to love the darkness

I used to love the darkness
But the sun is my new best friend
As soon as I embraced him
He put my misery to an end.

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Present at supper

If wine were a lecturer
I would attend her classes
And duly roll-call "here"
With a couple of full glasses.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, February 18, 2005

Left sip if pen, right if typewriter

The word "beer" can be typed using only one hand on the QWERTY keyboard. That means if you're a writer, you can use the other hand for drinking it.

—Terri Guillemets

P.S. The same is true for "tea" and "water" — you know, for morning writing.