Tom
Fasten belts light
Hard working rugby winger
Green soccer jersey
Saxophone
Glasses
Braces (He will not be wearing the retainer)
Choice interview
Argue, argue, argue – laugh
Shots of Zambucca
NDP rally
Dinner
Washroom bump into
Outside the Portugese Meat Bun shop
History of the Working Class
Medieval sword play
Simpson’s Episode (Particularly the one when Mr. Burns hits Bart with his car)
Japan’s turn in Axis and Allies (Keeping to the original strategy)
A Westside boy
Braveheart cutout
Smiling. Always, smiling
Farewell good friend
Good friend
Friday, 30 October 2009
Friday, 16 October 2009
A Poem, Of Kings, The Seduction of Adding Machines and the Smell of Flowers
The Seduction of an Adding Machine and the Smell of Flowers
The clatter, clack, clack
Of the adding machine stops,
And he inhales the memory of
The city of kings
stone steps
domed cathedrals.
To be king.
He exhales,
with
sorrow filled repressed memory:
Her:
containing will
strength
peddling flowers
in the city of ancient kings.
Knights’ horses clopping with daisies in their manes.
Her daisies.
He:
absent strength,
no will,
sorrow repressed memory,
bidding the call of the number machine:
clatter, clack, clack, clack.
He:
thinking of kings and flowers.
She:
selling flowers
the city of kings.
Auditing the numbers of strangers,
repressing all else.
To be king.
The clatter, clack, clack
Of the adding machine stops,
And he inhales the memory of
The city of kings
stone steps
domed cathedrals.
To be king.
He exhales,
with
sorrow filled repressed memory:
Her:
containing will
strength
peddling flowers
in the city of ancient kings.
Knights’ horses clopping with daisies in their manes.
Her daisies.
He:
absent strength,
no will,
sorrow repressed memory,
bidding the call of the number machine:
clatter, clack, clack, clack.
He:
thinking of kings and flowers.
She:
selling flowers
the city of kings.
Auditing the numbers of strangers,
repressing all else.
To be king.
A Poem, Boxes and Flying Fish
Boxes and Flying Fish
The smoke snails before my eyes,
And fades in a jellyfish
cloud above my head,
I squint catching two
friends’ alligator smiles.
Not mine.
I saw the fish that
fly on the Indian ocean,
Exocoetidae,
the mist from the cable laying
ship bounced on the water.
disrupting.
I have no goal.
I ran the race with
creaking crab knees,
tumbled lifeless as a shell on a mattress,
while the ferry
sailed from the mainland to the island,
and sweat beads dried on my forehead.
Salt crusting.
They crush me.
Whales wrestling
shrimp getting crushed
I work.
Now I smoke and think of experience
dreading them.
I work within a circuitboard plugging in cables that overpower others,
and retire to a box with a four portioned box for dinner,
while action movies glow from a small blue glowing box I mistake for entertainment.
A mountain.
Stale smoke.
Sitting in a shark
cage smoking section.
Boxed.
A flying fish escapes
in the air.
The smoke exits his mouth, as he thinks of stale flying fish near a ship.
The smoke snails before my eyes,
And fades in a jellyfish
cloud above my head,
I squint catching two
friends’ alligator smiles.
Not mine.
I saw the fish that
fly on the Indian ocean,
Exocoetidae,
the mist from the cable laying
ship bounced on the water.
disrupting.
I have no goal.
I ran the race with
creaking crab knees,
tumbled lifeless as a shell on a mattress,
while the ferry
sailed from the mainland to the island,
and sweat beads dried on my forehead.
Salt crusting.
They crush me.
Whales wrestling
shrimp getting crushed
I work.
Now I smoke and think of experience
dreading them.
I work within a circuitboard plugging in cables that overpower others,
and retire to a box with a four portioned box for dinner,
while action movies glow from a small blue glowing box I mistake for entertainment.
A mountain.
Stale smoke.
Sitting in a shark
cage smoking section.
Boxed.
A flying fish escapes
in the air.
The smoke exits his mouth, as he thinks of stale flying fish near a ship.
A Poem, A Day
A Day
Single female janitor
raises three girls
- two autistic -
cries at night.
A row of repossessed
houses across town
are weathered by
the elements.
A paperboy works for
his allowance as
he stuffs the daily
courier into a
yellow box.
Today’s headline
STIMULUS.
The janitor looks
at her glassy floor
- not hers -
just mopped
tracing the tile lines
and orange colour blocks,
absenting herself
for a moment.
Alone and absolved.
The paperboy bikes by
vacant houses,
peddling harder
scared of the ghosts
who come up
short on judgment day
that try to pull
you in.
The sun goes down,
the streetlight turns on,
a day turns to night.
Single female janitor
raises three girls
- two autistic -
cries at night.
A row of repossessed
houses across town
are weathered by
the elements.
A paperboy works for
his allowance as
he stuffs the daily
courier into a
yellow box.
Today’s headline
STIMULUS.
The janitor looks
at her glassy floor
- not hers -
just mopped
tracing the tile lines
and orange colour blocks,
absenting herself
for a moment.
Alone and absolved.
The paperboy bikes by
vacant houses,
peddling harder
scared of the ghosts
who come up
short on judgment day
that try to pull
you in.
The sun goes down,
the streetlight turns on,
a day turns to night.
Thursday, 1 October 2009
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