Richard Le Due


Richard LeDue was born in Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada, but currently lives in Norway House, Manitoba with his wife and son. His poems have appeared in various publications throughout 2019, and more work is forthcoming throughout 2020, including a chapbook from Kelsey Books.

Stuck on yesterday's falling leaf

as if I was riding its zigzags

towards a bed of grass,

where worms wait to tuck

me in- naked branches can't

escape coming winter either,

when snow will bury us all

for a time.


Myriad of colours meaningless,

while my rake runs over a lawn,

chases memories

of a yard my father maintained

for years. Any flies dismissed

as a nuisance, not a reminder

we feed the earth.

The Secrets That Live in the Dark

“You must be very sad,” she said.

“That's why I write,” my answer.

Don't bother saying how words

make better tears than water,

eyes too busy observing

a world already drowning,

glaciers dead and dying-

onions chopped, smile about steam

coming from boiling pot

(peelings already in a plastic grocery bag),

pretend a clean kitchen

means more than what it is,

while I still eat off foam plates,

floss the pesticides from my teeth,

stopped watching gas prices years ago,

and when I die, my eyes

will stay open, tired or sunsets,

but not of the secrets that live

in the dark, yet having to be content

with a white ceiling faded yellow

because nothing stays the same,

not even the shape of despair.