- Engaged, 2005
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Friday, 24 July 2009
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
A Poem, Creating Castes
Creating Castes
An innocent ignorance
Encourages a friend to
Ask a friend her hourly wage.
A judgment is made.
A status is set.
An assumptive suggestion
Is made by a mate to
A mate to dine will this
Evening.
A point is made.
An insecurity is birthed.
A self absorbed justification
Is made disguising itself
As an apology from a
Lover to a lover.
A tension is unleashed.
A tyrant is born.
An innocent ignorance
Encourages a friend to
Ask a friend her hourly wage.
A judgment is made.
A status is set.
An assumptive suggestion
Is made by a mate to
A mate to dine will this
Evening.
A point is made.
An insecurity is birthed.
A self absorbed justification
Is made disguising itself
As an apology from a
Lover to a lover.
A tension is unleashed.
A tyrant is born.
Three Haikus - Games
Games
Bishop takes castle
A strategist’s eyes narrow
Black white minds battle.
Diagonal Slide
A second Knight is Taken
The Kind is mated.
A picnic table
Seniors gathered round playing
Park days eternal.
Bishop takes castle
A strategist’s eyes narrow
Black white minds battle.
Diagonal Slide
A second Knight is Taken
The Kind is mated.
A picnic table
Seniors gathered round playing
Park days eternal.
A Poem, The Shores
The Shores
Bronzed bodies bake
On sandy shores.
Licking lollies and
Casting careless chit-chat
At laughing lads and lasses.
Brief baths,
Splashes sprays
In temperate terrific
Water.
On the other shore is industry.
They work.
Bronzed bodies bake
On sandy shores.
Licking lollies and
Casting careless chit-chat
At laughing lads and lasses.
Brief baths,
Splashes sprays
In temperate terrific
Water.
On the other shore is industry.
They work.
A Rant
They just don’t help!
Weasel out of every
Thing
Leave you dangling,
Waiting.
Why try?
-because you have so little.
Weasel out of every
Thing
Leave you dangling,
Waiting.
Why try?
-because you have so little.
A Poem, The Chairman
The Chairman
Chairman will always
Be chairman.
Step down
And will always
Be chairman.
A tag taken is
A tag.
The aura remains.
The voice remains.
Answers questions by proxy.
Summing mute statements.
Blast paraphrase
TOK TOK TOK!
Chairman will always
Be chairman.
Step down
And will always
Be chairman.
A tag taken is
A tag.
The aura remains.
The voice remains.
Answers questions by proxy.
Summing mute statements.
Blast paraphrase
TOK TOK TOK!
A Poem, Montreal
Montreal
Bike rolling bounced
A pothole socialist
Tax rate teamsters
Repair Things!
Patch of ash fault.
Road is Needed!
Bike rolling bounced
A pothole socialist
Tax rate teamsters
Repair Things!
Patch of ash fault.
Road is Needed!
A Poem, Wolf as Joan Smith told it.
Wolf as Joan Smith told it
Wolf. Death.
In the middle of a church.
Eyes and muzzles.
Sexual Immorality.
Financial greed.
Division.
The wolf will claim his turf.
Turf patrolled and returned to.
Wolf as big as the room.
Eyeing a scared preacher’s wife.
Turning and closing the door behind her.
Wolf. Death.
In the middle of a church.
Eyes and muzzles.
Sexual Immorality.
Financial greed.
Division.
The wolf will claim his turf.
Turf patrolled and returned to.
Wolf as big as the room.
Eyeing a scared preacher’s wife.
Turning and closing the door behind her.
A Portrait, untitled
I read a part of a big book today.
Then, I went out.
Small boy running through my house
Calling my girl ma’.
It was what I ‘as told to do.
I walk then, scowling
At ‘em all. Kickin’ stuff.
Circlin’ down and around.
Then, six cigs worth o’
Strollin’ and I got back
Home. I see ‘im an’
I know I gotta do it.
I gotta get over all those
Passed pictures in ma’ head
N’ raise ‘im. Praise ‘em both
Cuz I need t’ heal. Or
I’ll just keep starin’ at
The dredge at the bottom
Of this barrel ‘tween zero
And one and goin’ nowhere
‘cept in circles like some
Stupid dog on a chain.
So I pick him up.
Then, I went out.
Small boy running through my house
Calling my girl ma’.
It was what I ‘as told to do.
I walk then, scowling
At ‘em all. Kickin’ stuff.
Circlin’ down and around.
Then, six cigs worth o’
Strollin’ and I got back
Home. I see ‘im an’
I know I gotta do it.
I gotta get over all those
Passed pictures in ma’ head
N’ raise ‘im. Praise ‘em both
Cuz I need t’ heal. Or
I’ll just keep starin’ at
The dredge at the bottom
Of this barrel ‘tween zero
And one and goin’ nowhere
‘cept in circles like some
Stupid dog on a chain.
So I pick him up.
A Poem, A Mountain Swing
A Mountain Swing
Buzzing pine bugs
A couple of obsessive
Black flies are
Landing on legs
An idle barbeque
Waits for its time
To shine. Swinging
Languidly in the
Mountains.
Buzzing pine bugs
A couple of obsessive
Black flies are
Landing on legs
An idle barbeque
Waits for its time
To shine. Swinging
Languidly in the
Mountains.
An Announcement, The Spiritual Rejuvenation of Winners
The Spiritual Rejuvenation of Winners
This month’s spiritual rejuvenation seminar
has been moved from the legion hall
to the former Winners store next to the Fabricland.
This month’s spiritual rejuvenation seminar
has been moved from the legion hall
to the former Winners store next to the Fabricland.
A Poem, Fuji
Fuji
Basalt, blasted by
Snow sleet sweat
Dazzles dawn’s design.
Night’s nasty near
Tearful trek took
Eight eye-opening ear-aching
Hours. How high
Fuji feels faced
With weary weak
Bodies branded by
Rocks rays rain
Three thousand then
Some. Symbolic sun
Dusty decline. Dormant
Volcano verifies vitality.
Basalt, blasted by
Snow sleet sweat
Dazzles dawn’s design.
Night’s nasty near
Tearful trek took
Eight eye-opening ear-aching
Hours. How high
Fuji feels faced
With weary weak
Bodies branded by
Rocks rays rain
Three thousand then
Some. Symbolic sun
Dusty decline. Dormant
Volcano verifies vitality.
Sunday, 19 July 2009
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Two Senryus - Have I Really Been Doing This for 23 Years?, I'm So Hungry!
Have I Really Been Doing This for 23 Years?
Worn Salaryman
Sleeps on a commuter line
His shoes are too tight.
I’m So Hungry!
Manager calls home
No dinner tonight again
Another coffee.
Worn Salaryman
Sleeps on a commuter line
His shoes are too tight.
I’m So Hungry!
Manager calls home
No dinner tonight again
Another coffee.
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Monday, 6 July 2009
A Quote, George Elliot
"If you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial"
-George Elliot, Middlemarch
-George Elliot, Middlemarch
A Quote, Aeschylus
"He who learns must suffer
And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart,
And in our own despite, against our will,
Comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."
- Aeschylus, Agamemnon
"In our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until, in our own despair, against our will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."
- Robert F. Kennedy, slight, but powerful, variation
And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart,
And in our own despite, against our will,
Comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."
- Aeschylus, Agamemnon
"In our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until, in our own despair, against our will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."
- Robert F. Kennedy, slight, but powerful, variation
Thursday, 2 July 2009
A Poem, Hoop and Harm
Hoop and Harm
Splotchy faced swing man
Crosses over in a flash
Passed stream lined
Pretty boy quick
Step in to twenty foot
Land towards tractor
Trailer moving post
Big hands grabbing
Long stringy arms
Swiping but
The splotchy faced swing man
Stutters back pulls
Slides fades and strokes
With a knock from
A lazy lanky twenty
Two year old
And so it ends:
Hoop and harm.
Splotchy faced swing man
Crosses over in a flash
Passed stream lined
Pretty boy quick
Step in to twenty foot
Land towards tractor
Trailer moving post
Big hands grabbing
Long stringy arms
Swiping but
The splotchy faced swing man
Stutters back pulls
Slides fades and strokes
With a knock from
A lazy lanky twenty
Two year old
And so it ends:
Hoop and harm.
A Poem, Red Spiked Shoes
Red Spiked Shoes
Click-Clock-Click-Clock
White thighs stream from red spikes on the pavement of a neon street
calling click-clock tuned ears
Of the candy hungry pig men at their troughs amoung their herd
Who sip, slop, slosh swirl and swig dirty drink
Passed their yellow stained beards and sin stained faces.
Click-Clock-Click-Clock
Moves across the Atlantic from snow to street
While past promises of decency melt
From the heat of summer city streets
And sweaty, soiled groins,
and she stops.
Touches her creaking knee and looks at the clock
On the stock market marquee
Reads two fifty-two
With forever on the horizon because a minute’s an hour
And a day’s a year in the lowest pit of hell
Amoung the cattle lined pavement
Lit by neon red and blue.
Click-Clock-Click-Clock
And a turnip rots on a pile of garbage
Where a dolty, dirty, duffus boy bends,
Hip hinged spewing filth and froth
On liquid waste from dirty cocks,
Mocks, between pukes, the red spiked she
Who sighs, turns, smokes, walks
Click-clock to the corner,
And on and on until pigs become men,
And rats leave the alleys,
and pigeons fast from bread.
When click-clock is silent,
and a worn and weary human head rests.
Click-Clock-Click-Clock
White thighs stream from red spikes on the pavement of a neon street
calling click-clock tuned ears
Of the candy hungry pig men at their troughs amoung their herd
Who sip, slop, slosh swirl and swig dirty drink
Passed their yellow stained beards and sin stained faces.
Click-Clock-Click-Clock
Moves across the Atlantic from snow to street
While past promises of decency melt
From the heat of summer city streets
And sweaty, soiled groins,
and she stops.
Touches her creaking knee and looks at the clock
On the stock market marquee
Reads two fifty-two
With forever on the horizon because a minute’s an hour
And a day’s a year in the lowest pit of hell
Amoung the cattle lined pavement
Lit by neon red and blue.
Click-Clock-Click-Clock
And a turnip rots on a pile of garbage
Where a dolty, dirty, duffus boy bends,
Hip hinged spewing filth and froth
On liquid waste from dirty cocks,
Mocks, between pukes, the red spiked she
Who sighs, turns, smokes, walks
Click-clock to the corner,
And on and on until pigs become men,
And rats leave the alleys,
and pigeons fast from bread.
When click-clock is silent,
and a worn and weary human head rests.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
A Requiem, Christin
Christin
Cubes float in cold water of a perspiring glass,
And he wipes his clammy palms with a napkin
Leaving wet white bits of tissue on his fingers.
A third bead of sweat forms on his forehead,
And he cranes his neck for relief,
But he can’t breath.
A ceiling fan above sends warm gusts on his bare crown,
And the sleeve of his jacket touches the dirty floor.
Through the heat he thinks of that thousand year ago night when
she bounced into his life
With a dimpled smile and a handshake.
Then, there were the following months
when the shakes became hugs incomplete unless her feet were off the ground.
…the heat though, as he fingers the edge of his sweating glass,
Scratching condensation for a brief cool fingertip…
She lays cold now.
And now he sits in a low lit hazy café,
Brooding over melting ice under gusts of warm wind
pushing on him from a ceiling fan,
And her dimpled smile memory mocks his pain,
As life mocks those left in pools of painful sadness,
Which we try to leave,
But are unable to.
So the pain follows us through the years
Until it grafts itself onto our character,
Keeping us strong and comforting us.
She lays cold now because she threw herself out a window.
Cubes float in cold water of a perspiring glass,
And he wipes his clammy palms with a napkin
Leaving wet white bits of tissue on his fingers.
A third bead of sweat forms on his forehead,
And he cranes his neck for relief,
But he can’t breath.
A ceiling fan above sends warm gusts on his bare crown,
And the sleeve of his jacket touches the dirty floor.
Through the heat he thinks of that thousand year ago night when
she bounced into his life
With a dimpled smile and a handshake.
Then, there were the following months
when the shakes became hugs incomplete unless her feet were off the ground.
…the heat though, as he fingers the edge of his sweating glass,
Scratching condensation for a brief cool fingertip…
She lays cold now.
And now he sits in a low lit hazy café,
Brooding over melting ice under gusts of warm wind
pushing on him from a ceiling fan,
And her dimpled smile memory mocks his pain,
As life mocks those left in pools of painful sadness,
Which we try to leave,
But are unable to.
So the pain follows us through the years
Until it grafts itself onto our character,
Keeping us strong and comforting us.
She lays cold now because she threw herself out a window.
A Requiem, Alex
Alex
Crying, sitting, stiffly
On a pile of parched newspapers
In the scorching Summerland sun;
Waiting and waiting for a person who’ll never come,
And a day of peace that can’t be had.
The rope was hung long ago,
And the wine poured,
So she sits and stares at the rotation of things that are And aren’t,
while asking forgiveness and sinking in guilt
for the errors of inactivity or the wrong activity,
as the clouds formed over his near dead head.
Sitting, crying, wishing he would have waited for the spring.
Wishing he spun where he stood, breathed, and considered the greater perspective.
But,
now,
now rather than standing on a rock with hands raised to the sun,
smiling at the cliffs harmless edge,
He sways with head bowed, and hands limp and lifeless,
While she sits crying stiffly on parched paper of yesterdays’ news,
While bodies are darkened by the sun,
fruit dries on vines,
And a duck lands on a still mountain lake.
Crying, sitting, stiffly
On a pile of parched newspapers
In the scorching Summerland sun;
Waiting and waiting for a person who’ll never come,
And a day of peace that can’t be had.
The rope was hung long ago,
And the wine poured,
So she sits and stares at the rotation of things that are And aren’t,
while asking forgiveness and sinking in guilt
for the errors of inactivity or the wrong activity,
as the clouds formed over his near dead head.
Sitting, crying, wishing he would have waited for the spring.
Wishing he spun where he stood, breathed, and considered the greater perspective.
But,
now,
now rather than standing on a rock with hands raised to the sun,
smiling at the cliffs harmless edge,
He sways with head bowed, and hands limp and lifeless,
While she sits crying stiffly on parched paper of yesterdays’ news,
While bodies are darkened by the sun,
fruit dries on vines,
And a duck lands on a still mountain lake.
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