Deception Island
Thick black cloak of whale bones and sailors. Volcanic mud. Human debris. So much death here. So much light. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Revolucion
In Chile la revolucion spills out every door. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Yoho
Diamonds of patience at the silent feet of stone. Silver shadows grow. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Gaspereau Press Wayzgoose Writers’ Salon, 2016
Gaspereau Press describes itself as one of Canada’s ‘most innovative and tenacious literary publishers.’ Just shy of twenty years old, it has been voted Best Small Press Publisher in Canada three times, and its books have won the Giller Prize and the Governor General’s Award. Since 2000, Gaspereau has been hosting an annual Wayzgoose,…
The Stone Collector
About a year after flooding in Southern Alberta became Canada’s most expensive natural disaster to date, I started to notice some interesting things cropping up along the Bow River in Calgary. Cairns and designs of stones began dotting islands and small parcels of land under bridges. Intrigued by who was behind it and what they…
The Ripple Effect
This post marks a new chapter for curiaudio. After a 12-year hiatus from radio (aside from the occasional cameo appearance), I am returning to my roots in community radio and have embarked on a series of documentaries for Voice of Bonne Bay (95.9FM, 98.1FM in beautiful Gros Morne National Park), and worldwide on www.vobb.org. The…
Canada Day
The earth is an Indian thing said Kerouac, in Mexico, full of desert and staring eyes. And it is. In the way this island has been danced upon from before time. We are all but visitors here. Feel the earth tremble. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Riley Park
No poetry today. Perhaps the sounds of my girls is poetry enough. In lieu of poetry, though, a comment: this is my 100th post on what began as a gift to an audiophile friend when our daughters were born. Ale had challenged me to use my microphone to listen deeply to the world; eight years…
Old Woman Song
The song he sang: the woman who rocks her child, and then her man. Who will rock the woman? CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Bacalar
Good Friday dawns & many hopeful wingtips flutter in the morning CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Waiting for the Plane
The paint on her toes, curled against the cold, unearths me. How it begins. This winter light. She has: a dish to sell, and red soil ground into the fold of a letter. Her toes, curled against the cold. She gives me her name. Two bags that hold a spoon for bread, her smile, wide…
Helicopter
This peak that keeps drifting in and out of the clouds. Each flake that lands stays, layers into history. Freeze, thaw. The constant motion of things. Wilderness, and this life we carve into it. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Rooster
A deliberate life in these eastern woods: acres of footfall and frost. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Trout River, NL
(Thanks to Curiaudio follower Tara Bryan for submitting this found sound from Newfoundland’s west coast!) CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Thunder calls me from the dishes
Thunder calls me from the dishes last night’s arguments dissolving in bubbles to the door. Open it: the world comes alive. Silver sky, wet earth, the great pause as the heat breaks. The leaves fidget, the dog fidgets, the baby fidgets in sleep. Then a ripple across the sky. I close my eyes and…
Street corner violin
In flip flops and jeans he calls up the pathos of a rainy Sunday afternoon, cars passing, the river muttering. He is thin as a scarecrow and missing teeth. At his feet, a complicated score that lies, staring up at the sky. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Dawn chorus with chives
Pad out to the fire, listen for birds and the distant sound of trains, of traffic like water. Pause. Delight in the chives and other things hard to kill. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Bubble wrap
They are mad syncopation, feet hungry for every last bubble. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Sea gong
You’re wrong, of course. A wave is something, tumbling us against the rocks until we are light and silver and sculpted as wood. Breathe. And watch the air take flight. (My respectful response to Lesley Wheeler, whose poem “The Sea Does Not Exist” appeared in The Malahat Review 190 (Spring 20150) p. 10,…
Train passing
The train passes and I kneel to touch the creaking iron. Expecting heat, expecting flattened pennies, my hand — rests. There are only locusts left, and the cool shushing of the river. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING