isobelmtl

Writing under a Montreal sky

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about

Isobel Cunningham has published short fiction and poetry. Her book, Northern Compass is available on Amazon. She was born in Wales but Montreal is her adopted home. She speaks French, Modern Greek ( it’s a fun story) and a little Spanish…oh, English too, of course. She welcomes comments on her blog and looks forward to chatting with you over cyber-space.

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  • In the tree

      The dark heart of things behind the familiar and loved world of nature. Beyond the twig, the branch, the beloved companion, the tree, there lies dark mystery. Look there and feel the slip into uncertainty, fragility When, from time to time, we let truth, in his dark cloak,come close there can be only one…

  • Christmas Music

      Something  wonderful about the organ played in a huge basilica filled with people.  There is in the deepest notes a call to the gut of the listener.  The huge and rather ugly modern space is filled with many people.  There are people who come for the spectacle, the music, the marking of the day.…

  • Dome in the Mist

      Misty Christmas confounding our image-driven idea of what this holiday should be. Clammy, bone-chilling fog, obscuring, mystifying mist, blinding cloud coming down . Wrapping a scarf, buttoning a coat, pulling a cap down over the eyes. The chilly fog fingers insinuating themselves, Looking up and out from the little parapet, searching for the settled…

  • Let it be bright, then!

          You couldn’t get much brighter than this, I think.  Flashy, garish, tasteless?  But there is something alive and vital about it, no? It makes me think of summer.  The heat just radiates out of it.  I imagine wearing light clothes, open shoes, sunglasses.  It makes me think of doing outrageous things…spraying people…

  • Black is the raven, black is the rook

        Today is the darkest day and so here is a dark bird to sit in the blackness, to absorb into his feathers every glimmer of light, to call down the black hours of winter.  Do your worst, raven, rook, crow, clever dark bird.  Caw and call as you will.  No song to lighten…

  • Illuminating the city

      A green Christmas means no shovelling, walking around in our regular shoes, skipping the gloves and scarves.  It’s not all good though.  It is terribly dark.  Evening starts  at 3 pm.  I finally figured out that having no snow means that light is not reflected.  The trees their leafless branches silhouetted against the dark…

  • Canadian weather rap

        Montreal’s complainin’ Cause it just won’t stop rainin’ Yeah, April was a bummer and now it looks like summer has gone and lost her way! Oh, say…has anyone got lilac, or maybe we should try our luck at tulips, some red and yellow tulips. No! More than just a few lips are sneering…

  • Freedom

        A thousand freedoms precious jewels worn carelessly by those who wander through a gem encrusted world. Others who have never dreamed of the sparkle, the lustre of any freedom, scramble in great cities, dig in the earth, strive in the fields.  Their labour spins our world, each drop of sweat a crystal, a…

  • Seconds

      Sitting at the Zen Centre. The silvery note struck. Seconds held in a frame of silence, of consciousness. Frame disolved into the vast unconsciousness universe. All who sit belong there. The clapper.  All rise. Walking Zen.  Each second a step. Walkng behind another. Followed by another. Each one a second of eternity. A second on…

  • Sleep

        Fighting it, loving it, craving it revelling in it Dragged from it, longing for it Sacrificing it,  forgetting it cheating it, skipping it, missing it. At last, in my old, big dream bed Getting it. Deep black velvet, a white veil, purple dreams, grey sorrow, morning sun yellow, midnight brown, passion red satin,…