the poetry that matters

Lin Geary

Lin Geary of Paris, Ontario, is a writer and teacher, pleased to have lived for 10 years in Hamilton and Dundas. She won the Hamilton Arts Award for best short story in 2005, took an Honorable Mention in the 2007 Silver Hammer Awards and in the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Haiku Contest 2008. Lin has just written and performed her first one-act play, Addie, (seven monologues from the private life of Adelaide Hunter Hoodless of Paris and Hamilton) for the Paris Cobblestone One Act Play Festival.

below Afghanistan


out of the sticky bombs, stones and

all, all gone back to war,

those men now stuttering their first

small cry


this blood

            once roses

            and the scent of longing

            till some stranger child

            hardly sister

            slings eye forever eye, this tooth

for small envies


becoming war

            running blood along a gun

            yet the blood

            the sister spends

            won’t be shed that way

            moon-blood cursed to quiet

silent in the brooding


silent such

            at moon-rise

            puts men in rows and

            gives them so orderly a

            rage for rag-stopped blood

            in their winsome silence

yet the moon and the moon oh the moon

reeling in the poppies





gallows song


almost a tree, a scene through a frame

overlooking a grave beside the sea,

whose sap and bones are riven for wood

who-eeee, who-eeee...


forward and back the saw sees

as seven crows build in the boughs

craven and craw shall notice things

what-seeee, what-seeee...


that the wind bowls close

and the wind bowls far

till an apple falls and a house caves

how-yaaaa, how-yaaaa...


or the straw drops as a wagon calls

and a chair walks till another chair falls

and two of us cross to the other side

where-fore, where-fore...


oh, to sit with blankets and boxes of tea

but best you know not when though

but best you know not when…

aaaah-so, aaaah-so, but whyyyy...?






hang time


four of them up there

each pinned we think

to some other corner

on the oblong field

sewn to their places


news of their transit

hanging shadowless & even

like a clear yellow day

yet their coats hanging artless

to the bottom of the poles

black but who’s watching


under four hats

the chatter through the eye

money through the nostril

breathing up money

till the fields are empty

flatter than tomorrow


& swanning down songs

just four-square crows

cornered & kicking

at their tattered poles

hardy scare-tactic

in pinch/bite light

orange turning red

then green then blue


say they can’t come down

leave their tall posts

& can’t throw shadows

to the whine kept sea

just lifers keeping talents

and up with their bootstraps

and kites for strings for kites


four huckster cacti

who just say maybe

maybe this maybe not

then turn on the klieg-lights

& roll out the laughter

& fold it like scarves

into small rolling boxes...

all four directions

making off with the night




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