Your Spot In The Sun (Poetry)
09th August 2026
For L C
All that unfaltering, cascading wealth of a Greek sun
shock contrast to those vast, life-censoring snowfields of
your native Canada
this melting coin, god-headed, spreads its slick-tongued bronze
on reckless plains of unprotected skin
light bounces off both whitewashed walls and the dazzled page
expectant of a bubble-popping thought — some trailing, whimsical
line of heatstroke ink
that stutters to a halt. Sense left to sink or, literally, swim
This honeyed cauldron licked by the ceaseless flame
olympian — all-spiced with characters — those imported friends and foes
washed up to languish here like weathered castaways
now slaves to beauty chiselled by the sea
Each day saps energy — draws out those mundane city impurities
the merciful night restores in bright cafés generous
with laughter — longing — losing every self
allowing Muse to whisper through the wine
invent her games for losers and the sake
of heroes singing, brave and quaint, affection’s true mythologies
The cult of creativity, and libido’s grand excess
imbues the air — whips up exotic fantasies in idleness
that cannot last forever as the novel stalls again
dissolves its vision running with love’s tide
words bloom flotsam, scrawling seaweed-wild and wanton in the blue
Hemmed in tight by city streets, the crush of noise and choking fumes
who has not dreamed of islands ravished gladly by the sun? —
felt that urge to gather cash and courage... then simply up-convention’s-sticks
and run! —
This unfettering of self allowing those desires too-long-denied to flower
seed and scatter — find a place to grow ...
How else can we ever hope to know our inmost story?
The province of artists — their remote colonies of the like-minded
dedicated bohemians of the great escape
until the last, when the world hauls them back — homeland calling —
the big adventure ended
Yet always something’s left behind — the heart that still belongs and relishes
that time apart ...
I see you there — ghost in a favourite chair full in the sun, sweating out
your novel
All that unfaltering, cascading wealth of a Greek sun
shock contrast to those vast, life-censoring snowfields of
your native Canada
this melting coin, god-headed, spreads its slick-tongued bronze
on reckless plains of unprotected skin
light bounces off both whitewashed walls and the dazzled page
expectant of a bubble-popping thought — some trailing, whimsical
line of heatstroke ink
that stutters to a halt. Sense left to sink or, literally, swim
This honeyed cauldron licked by the ceaseless flame
olympian — all-spiced with characters — those imported friends and foes
washed up to languish here like weathered castaways
now slaves to beauty chiselled by the sea
Each day saps energy — draws out those mundane city impurities
the merciful night restores in bright cafés generous
with laughter — longing — losing every self
allowing Muse to whisper through the wine
invent her games for losers and the sake
of heroes singing, brave and quaint, affection’s true mythologies
The cult of creativity, and libido’s grand excess
imbues the air — whips up exotic fantasies in idleness
that cannot last forever as the novel stalls again
dissolves its vision running with love’s tide
words bloom flotsam, scrawling seaweed-wild and wanton in the blue
Hemmed in tight by city streets, the crush of noise and choking fumes
who has not dreamed of islands ravished gladly by the sun? —
felt that urge to gather cash and courage... then simply up-convention’s-sticks
and run! —
This unfettering of self allowing those desires too-long-denied to flower
seed and scatter — find a place to grow ...
How else can we ever hope to know our inmost story?
The province of artists — their remote colonies of the like-minded
dedicated bohemians of the great escape
until the last, when the world hauls them back — homeland calling —
the big adventure ended
Yet always something’s left behind — the heart that still belongs and relishes
that time apart ...
I see you there — ghost in a favourite chair full in the sun, sweating out
your novel