Sylvie Hill

POEM: “And I Will Go With The Flow” — Why just today I was hiking with my cocker in Marin / And taking a beer in Big Sur!

And I Will Go With Flow It has been a very, very long while since I’ve felt anxiety. And in bed tonight upon retiring was its memory. I thought of your beautiful white face And thin body on Queen Mary Street And your apron when you cooked us dinner As I watched Three’s Company. 1982 […]

POEM: “Starlight Holies” — That so far away is a man with a piece of me / That I float around across the world in a fucked-up memory.

Starlight Holies All those boys of many nights – trophies But the few who got inside – my holies. Holy art thou who made their way in. Savoured by my flavour for these bearded men. All treated entry as sacred. Except the last one, which explains my fate therein. The only one with whom there […]

POEM: “Ode To My Incense” — And what wooden box shall encase my position / And hold fast my lingering scent … and fading stench?

Ode To My Incense (…and when?) Tonight I burn a small stick of incense lavender, from the Montreal shop of herbs. It burns in a wooden casing bought from her in Wakefield as a gift for my birthday, many years. It reminds me she wanted her man so much so that she video-oh’d him daily […]

POEM: “CEMENT (BÊTE ON)” — (His friends would laugh at my writing too much. / His family arrogance I assumed would think me under-class.)

CEMENT (BÊTE ON) Affinity. Undercurrent. Hello two words from where did you come? I never said what I felt for him was love. But affinity suggested kinship in marriage. And undercurrent reckons romantic intention. Ah, but I dreamt of you last night for the second time in my life. And just as I was then […]

POEM: “Computes” — And does math add up / when nothing counts / nor for you— computes.

Computes My God! What is it about your Broken English and your atrocious expression and you’re unreliable half-assed attempts to see us? “Could be nice” this my ass, with the dog or the Bar de Courcelle shouting the orders to: “come right now !” and: “of course I miss you.” If you had only a […]

POEM: “Oh, You Gorgeous Man!” — to communicate to just talk / into the calm nights / to hear you talk / to stay patient / as you go on and on

Oh,You Gorgeous Man! You gorgeous man, you got me thinking by pulling us through two cars across the street and into the alley like Coronation Street or Duluth just to fucking see a quaint tuckaway park in Ville Marie on the way to the fake beach with real fireworks that set off as I didn’t […]

POEM: “In Our Fake Empire” — We were half awake. / Dazed in new love! / We were half awake / baked by that day’s sun

In Our Fake Empire Your truck. You turned it up the volume quite loud summer sound. But not before kissing me. So tenderly. Your black hair growing long silver-laced sprouting out from under the Mao cap. And, your dark, young eyes looking at me with surprise that you were this: in love. That I looked […]

POEM: “Eat, Kill, Fuck” — Have fun undoing 10,000 years of evolution.

Eat, Kill, Fuck “Men and women can’t be friends” he said, as I rejected the very notion. They can! They can, I expressed “Have fun undoing 10,000 years of evolution.” “It’s true, they can’t,” he said tonight If given the chance, men will tap it. Not unlike what he said to me in London, and […]

POEM: “Bison Hunters, No Cherry-Pickers” — The men who speak with efficiency / As they might spear the deer behind trees.

Bison Hunters, No Cherry-Pickers “J’suis pas un enfant d’choeur” il m’a dit un soir r’entrant chez moi après qu’il s’est presenté, almost late à Place des Arts, pour notre date, en retard, pal mal Bar de Courcelle drunk. Bon, c’est certain que des bad boys, eux ont du panache, mais decouverte: Pourquoi? I thought he […]

POEM: “Bar de Courcelle (You Git)” — And his invites to drink / At the Bar de Courcelle / Was an invitation to everything I used to be / and all the hell I have once felt.

Bar Courcelle (You Git) His broken English Sounds horrid. Like some Texan redneck trucker caught like a fart in a helmet pissed off at its own stink spiraling in anger at the Montreal traffic – and his too many drinks. And by god if you could hear it: You’d love it, and it’s hilarious! “That […]

Writer | Poet | Educator

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