Who Put Them in Charge?
fuckheads have taken over
selling sacred
selling right
selling rights
society clears its collective throat
phlegm flashes
stifling scream, hack-hack-hacking up lung
stifling scream
life choked out, brains lack oxygen
disillusion never makes the ballots “X’
losing conciseness
conscience lost
no one was a Nazi
no one voted Bush
no one stopped to ask “why”
we all wake up and proclaim
how we’ve no clue as to how things became this way
- one day it was just there! – just following orders jeffe!
legacy prevents total awakening
grammar eclipses content,
make it popular, extracting incisors
mass market meanings so
they can be worn, oblivious
to their tags: MADE IN INDONESIA
concealed beneath cotton collars
against extended necks
global peace transubstantiates like a Catholics cracker
into global piece
leaving the moral majority with their faith;
uncomfortable enough to believe in their enemies,
but not so much to get off their couches
“let them fear so long as they obey” is the mantra
of Pax Americana
McDonald’s, the only menu worldwide –
order from the new order
send in the clowns
send in the fucking clowns
send in the murderous, dominating fucking clowns!
because everything now is a bad joke – cliché, I know –
but this now my language is –
for the fuckheads have taken over
and we are all bowed, labelled and non-juxtaposed – prone,
naked in the new emperor’s old clothes,
subservient, safely behind
our circus ring’s walls.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Life of a Spark
hands reaching beyond grasp of flesh choked bones desperate, stretching, rubber dimension elongating diaphanous, retracting –snapping feeling, a flash… then still stings freshly crisp electricity mating in limited life span brief sparks flare, longing to unite into permanent flame but what stability, what continuous being is shaped through evolution? jigsaw thoughts scattering into one ironic battle engaged between heart and mind blind to time, deserting in bands of mixing light rationalising an irrational creature leads only to misunderstanding in a world where truth is a failing hypothesis to justify our selves, rather than to simply be.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
haiku #1
spawning salmon shakes
icy Autumn river flows
end and renewal
Seward, Alaska, USA
haiku # 2
gold dog’s fur dances
blossom breeze of summer eve
run with dangling tongue
Edmonton, AB., Canada
haiku # 3
fat orange fish darts
amidst broad summer lilies
canopy from sun
Edmonton, AB., Canada
haiku # 4
mosquitoes needles
summer blood supped up quickly
hand clasps flesh red sting
Edmonton, AB., Canada
haiku # 5
white goat’s bell jingles
through the cherry blossom breeze
in stony meadow
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Untitled
Mine is the world
where buzzing neon signs
impersonate moon, making due
cold weight of night contrasts
tributaries of grey breath etching blackness
retching soul away
leaving uniform casings
void of igniting spark
stumbling as children might
but with none of their hope
so sick of being mislead by mirrors
their mocking clarity transformed
I despise their interpretations
their icy, glass laughing
a mockery of all that really is
through its hypothetical was…
there is ignorance enveloping
any tentative freshness,
constricting as a beguiling Biblical serpent
replenish the earth, and subdue it
but our empire of self is fallen, disguised naked, as we subdue our selves in wheels of social machinery dependent on other’s spinning and, when replenishment is attempted we simply end up drunk.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Unmarked Journey
Seems no matter how long you incubate your dreams
they still come out half-baked ideas
told and trained, that which is to be wanted:
wife, white picket fence, your career
but questions, chaos, acne, hair
emerged in those adolescent years
manifest themselves in the frame of a man
but underneath remains a boy and his fears
funny, eh , when you think
about the script we attempt to follow?
is it any wonder, that, when we wonder,
we feel not fulfilled, but scared and hollow?
Reflecting on this life’s journey
where the signposts send you the wrong way
where we’re so damned concerned about surviving tomorrow
we forget what we’re about here today
The sun and moon spotlights us upon a path
but we drive our eyes into the dark
or reminisce on a distant star
that died a million years after it made its spark
no wonder we’re empty, looking to space
for the questions that leave us lost
constantly troubled by the prices we pay
on a life’s value that can’t be counted by cost
I wish I could turn to the TV
to somehow escape from my mind
but I know that my wishes can’t come from in there
a falling star of another kind
I know I’m eighty percent water
and don’t know how to swim
looking out through my eyes,
hanging for life on their rims
but warm tears are coming
like a mothering tide
and my grip feels it’s slipping
washing me over the side
and I’m drowning….
Seems no matter how long you incubate your dreams
they still come out half-baked ideas
told and trained, that which is to be wanted:
wife, white picket fence, your career
where is that boy now?
did they send him to his room?
is he sun
or the man in the moon?
seems sad when you think
about the script which we follow?
is it any wonder when we wonder,
by our dreams we are swallowed?
Edmonton, AB, Canada
WTC: 11/09/01
Took out the two legs of a giant
in the land of liberty
the morning rush hour broken
in central N.Y.C.
The people look to reason
trying to understand it in some way
wondering if we’ve lost forever
the “ordinary day”
now the people are lighting candles,
embracing in the dark
while amidst the mangled rubble
rescuers pursue hope’s fading spark
and in backrooms are our leaders
with vengeance on their minds
contemplating how to counter,
to return the deaths in kind
and I sit here in my basement
out of tune from my guitar’s six strings
and with them my dischorded thoughts
wonder what the future brings
I’m wishing that the answer
was to “turn the other cheek”
but so unreal is that white dove
with the olive branch in its beak
So where can this leave us?
tell me what does it all mean?
Is this the 21st Century,
carnage, terror and screams?
Are we digging the foxholes
that are soon to be our graves?
following the cries for vengeance
lead by the war mongering knaves
David slew Goliath,
the beanstalk’s giant felled by Jack
but this time it was history’s hero
hit hard in the N.Y.C. attack
Over 6000 perished
that needed not die that day
the innocent, the common ones
trapped in ideologies way
What can fill one so full of hatred
that it becomes their life in full?
what golden fleece blocks the light of reason
blinding once open eyes with its wool?
and tell me what religion
calls justice, these means to an end?
what happened to “love thy enemy”
treat him as if he were a friend?
Took out the two legs of a giant
in the land of liberty
the morning rush hour broken
in central N.Y.C.
The people pray to reason
wishing hope from this decay
in a world that’s lost forever
the “ordinary day”
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Insomnia
Sleeplessness, ever ending
a coffee stain spreading
permeating fibrous cloth cover, saturate,
halting at edge; 90° of
dropping to nothingness
porcelain chip, pure white, porous,
clay grains clinging
observes horizontal body from brief expanse
neither half empty nor half full, eternal, existential –
silty
refusing stubbornly to synapse, cognate, disband
clusters of thought
possessing nightmares, distorting senses,
manufacturing fear, restless, discontented
bored
product of thought become disenchantment,
mass produced in kilns of
passion and hatred,
liquid
then solid
tepid, cool-
soluble beyond hopeful recognition
introduced to self in shrapnel
shards of polished silver slivers
viewed behind weary lens
- a fish –
· snapping perceptions into fairytales happily ever after and end.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Yellowhead through Saskatchewan
Clouds billow as shoaling silver herring
sky,
azure over tiger skin prairie
tripod towers arc along
arrow straight road
amidst discarded flint heads
etched by rough ancient hands
and bison ghosts;
lines hum silent, internal, electric
their iron, cold cast legs
marking time, marking the way
engine hums off key
past retreating further behind
narrowing into tunnel’s darkness.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
To Tie the Knot or Not, She Asked
How many more pagan tears
will sacrifice themselves upon teguments
of slate-grey slabs, unyielding stone,
to ornery gods of happiness, love?
Rocky fists, rough, as they fall upon
worry furrowed faces
as wasteland winds raping prairie
of fertile earthen grains,
excuses,
nature’s secret dark shadow,
burrowing,
buried
until Autumn’s brittle tawny straws shudder-
a matron who’s shawl is no longer new,
memories of warmth-
snapping, silent, feathery fall
swept, bound into bruised golden balls
by bailer’s turbine blades, choking twine, braided;
stored for feed, made to manure
continuing cycles of seasons and
sacrificial sheep.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Away
White Vs part worn wooden bow
As gulls, they haunt the waves
the concrete skies and misty eyes
parting further from the quay
Guided by fortune’s pilot
As the skipper hums a jig
creaks and salt-rushing landslides
brushing o’er the blocks and rigs
How well I do remember
that grim damp Autumn morn
felt the morning shiver
before the day’s sunlight was born
heart filled with dark foreboding
my belly fastly felt the swells
tepid tear upon my eyelid
paused awhile before it fell
My thoughts began their roving of my love left on the shore The face that was my lighthouse pleading “go to sea no more” though cried did she I put to sea for on this schooner I’m a sailor but amidst my dreams and seagull screams I’m in her arms again.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Room 220
Tonight the city is
one person
engulfed by desolate prairie
suffocated by space
I, alone in a downtown
hotel full of people
distant,
individual –
a packaged unit
wanting to be open,
released and
strangely free
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Morale
I question change’s constancy
when every new day here seems stagnatingly same;
small people, small games
pettiness of pitiful power struggles
ranking, rated, reeking realities
made meanings-
size-
no self defence can thwart the
parade of backstabbing – penetrating
forked blades-
us and them with friends close and enemies, closer
cliché!
brotherly embrace and undifferentiated from malign chokehold
no need for air
stale gas fuels rumour
knocking wind from every sail
full stop into this hateful timelessness.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Head
What am I doing here?
Casing around thoughts seem similar, same-
crew cut hair, clean shaven, dress pants, ironed shirt
but fitted feeling, not right
squirming – crushed beneath stagnant, petty atmosphere,
envy riddled environment
little people pushing pathetic shards of power…
What am I doing here? Don’t belong.
I don’t want to belong; desires;
wantings aren’t at all same
don’t want to play their game
Ideas in pincer formation
attack! ambition’s battlefield
fold the flag, cover the eyes,
wait it out, wait it out,
waiting… weeks of waiting
tired, sleepless, unknown-
war never makes sense
searching for inner peace
trying hard not to commit.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Rebelling Taoist
Rivers of life shape one’s mind
etching their rigid gullies, patterns, canyons
gaps
like hot water poured over malleable Jell-O mound
…Lao Tse wrote never struggle against a current
river’s might will forever prevail
outlasting, never tiring
I, the spiritual nihilist,
salmon swims upstream, giving birth to more of its kind
dies – cycles back into
Sisyphus’ rolling pebbles – repeating –
remnants of giants…
I dream of a cognitive floodplain
that would come,
washing all of this away.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Amnesia
Can you remember the days that we talked about
those moments we would never forget?
Simple dreams, now dated,
passé, complicated
turned sour with dispassion, regret;
youth’s wasted on the young they say
eternal rest, that rainy day
like buying last year’s fashions on sale
try not to be bought
until tiger’s tail’s caught
and if time, then why not try “save the whale”?
Can you remember pleasure before it was measured?
Can you remember that special place in the sun
when you dreamed of tomorrow,
unaware that time’s borrowed,
before we knew that we were under the gun?
Life now seems so senseless with its barriers and fences
and neighbours who just can’t get along
Wish I could remember the days we remembered
before all our minds were gone.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Identity
Feel so insecure about my present personality
Freud throws my thoughts during wardrobe selection
The meds the doctor’s been prescribing my mind lately
Puts me in such self absorbed disarray
Can’t get it up, my fantasies in the shower
Voice doesn’t carry the way I had hoped
Terrified by the coming of tomorrow
don’t understand a damned thing about now
Metacognition stalling all my ambition – diversion
Jung’s symbols interpreted so many ways
I guess for me normal’s a little bit crazy
I wouldn’t know though because it’s all I know.
Saskatoon, SK, Canada
Meandering Thoughts
Thought I’d use all this time
in prison to write – never imagined
I’d be the keeper of the keys – the Boss,
screw, pig;
…Maximum Security:
this small world with razor wire and monitored chain-link equator,
grey and red cinder block and brick walls, lead gravity,
changing how I see people and, somehow,
pushed the words away from my pen’s tip.
Mixed feelings of pity, indifference, hate –
a mission I believed in now wanes to the
level of its employment within these confined ranges
I try to look beyond the facades, flesh stained with
angry tattoo ink, worm-like scars,
to see what began as is presently beginning
in my wife’s own womb
but, the harder I look, the less I believe in innocence
we may all be lost;
Yet the contrasting environment maintains
some sort of balance: the fence and brick
offset by surrounding marshland inhabitants: horned owl, coyotes,
hawks, gophers, red-tipped blackbirds…
all imprisoned though possibly free.
Edmonton AB, Canada
Untitled
Do not want my thoughts engulfed
in the pool of ebony which
controls this black and white world.
Razor wire encompasses each day
I cross its border at each shift’s end
But, as with most 21st Century careers
a bit of flesh gets torn, left behind
my compassion channels through chinks of
chain link, cold and weathered grey
re-shaping to penetrate each diamond shaped mould.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Youth
Vivid memory invigorating mind
the type of memory you can feel and smell
dream re-occurring
Slovakian train station waiting room of my youth
crisp Autumn air full of Carpathian vigour and Eastern European odours
peaty smoke, wet and wilted yellow leaves
worn wooden slats on rigid bench, posters and schedules cluttered
with words which once made sense, now, muddle of
harsh consonants, Slavic vowels and rigid accents
arranged aesthetically in an appealing bouquet
My bohemian youth of ratty rucksacks and red wine
experiencing the wonderful buffet of life
now moving to its next course and, with
all new beginnings, sorrow for the other ending.
I want to be entombed within this memories moment,
the joy of its being, circulated in the haiku, simplicity
undragged by Time’s hurried pincers
disallowing us from retracing the footsteps of our journey;
youth.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
First Child[
Her womb is rounding, its gentle, pale moon curve
a sacred mountain, anticipating immortality of union
spawned from primitive pagan practices, still instinctual
light azure veins nourishing network of knitted streams, swelling ground waters;
protruding nib of navel, subtle reminders of conception’s
beauty, wonder surpasses limiting languages descriptive dexterity-
something neither noun nor verb,
a conjunction of metaphorical sorts
first step, undetermined journey,
road conditions unknown nor notion of duration, difficulty, ease
purity shaping with unknown – shape etched,
details evolving from beginning fleshy mound to spiritual masterpiece;
I observe breath enter and exit in rhythmic cycles
and wait with Nature, a piece of the parts,
greater whole
Year of the Horse, its chariot containing Fortune’s princess or prince,
dominion over our hearts.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Lessons
Youth consumed by lessons life may teach
Interludes by a god unseen, but bow to its presence in everything
Adult life we practice and preach
Interpretations of what was taught, preparations for eternal rot
Nostalgia and ideals crowd the way
Making most the moments missed, lamenting latent lost states of bliss.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Book
Life, story detached-
bound-
bound to read the same from
cover to cover, open, close, open;
never new commencement of opening lines…
no character chooses to be cast
in particular volume of genealogy-
yet pages, bound, fate, bound
bound to be recycled, regurgitated, re-read
Are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern really dead?
Change cover art, edition, text type
paper’s pulp proportions
“all that remains the same is change”?
Change; its own tale told over and over
but fresh in each premiere
-myths of revision/proofreading;
I will die. I am dead. I am born again.
Memories live on like Jesus, past volumes, testaments;
still, may we skip from 18 to 4 to 39?
Stop. Re-visit time?
Present is not a bookmark,
a corner page folded
bookmark is not god, though seeming so-
I shave my head and watch hair grow
I pour my coffee, it grows cold
I see green puncture receding snow
I bake bread which in time grows mould
No matter emotions, the love, the hate, the laughter, the sadness, the bland and innate
it is all written, on a page
absorbed, scripted
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Fare
Taxi meter
LED numbers turn the page
always at a decimal point as if to suggest –
presence printed prior to press
pressing forward
frequenting present, mind wanders
jumps ahead wondering how
many pages remain
flick backward, no passage re-reading
same second sequence – still
too old for re-living childhood;
always too something
diverted, distracted
splinters of past refract from
realizing light opened by
courses cut
more wary of waves at gunwales level
than course tacking
wondering if the fare is affordable.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
CPR
Sitting here
congealing amidst the posers
slot self by trying not to fit in
seems that we’re all doing the same things,
trying to be different
thinking of limitless combinations that
appear to be no more than the same shapes re-arranged
endless shades of grey all resemble a source
being colourblind is not an excuse for not seeing
freeze frame the heartbeat in a moment
-no pulse-
that’s the flat line death which traps me in the now
the cessation of blood flow
the decay suspended
the whatever.
Edmonton, AB. Canada
Shits and Giggles
Over in the corner
lies a screaming kid
forgotten reminder
of some guy she did
draining another bottle
glazed, glassy eyes
this shit’ll have to do
‘til she can score and get high
chorus
Shits and giggles
what a fuckin’ mess
shits and giggles
sweet distress
shits and giggles
The writing’s clear
on all of their faces
no bloody hope
in these worn out places
handouts come, tokens
from the middle class
needle exchange centers
couple of coins when they pass
chorus
Parliament’s puppets
International CEOs
No idea
of where the ragged people go
forever pursuing
their prime obsession
of selling souls
and of their repression
chorus
Million dollar men
in Armani suits
hide deep dark secrets
in their motor’s boot
keys to the city
keeping some doors locked
hand in one pocket
with pistol cocked
chorus
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Paxil & the Brave New World
Put me on Paxil;
chemical conditioned, brave new psychosomatic world
no smile, no frown
no up, no down
brain saturated – soma coma –
serotonin increase/rebate
but I can’t get it up anymore
for making love, to masturbate without Viagra
treat a bad day or a few
with an addict solution from pharmaceutical slew
anxiety, depression – seeking absolution
sick now of this prescribed emancipation
graduate down in 5 mg denominations
now my mind has moments of rage in exchange
and thoughts of liberation with monoxide gas or gun,
my brain from skull-cage
[we’re sorry, we hate to interrupt, but it’s against the law to jump off this bridge – you’ll just have to kill yourself somewhere else, a tourist might see you and we wouldn’t want that! I’m just doing my job you know, so say “uncle” and we’ll take you to the mental health zoo – force feed you mind melting chemicals, ‘til even the outside world looks good!]Ó
bones bounce beneath my flesh
flesh flies as sails in ferocious gale
far more torn up than before this particular journey
began – shredded, frayed – weaken strands unravel, snapping synaptic, alone –
bones scarred - windlass whipping, lash notched mast-
Those ashore, abroad, from their fortified lighthouses – dim and fog engulfed-
encourage to wait out the storm
seeing not burning
red skies that torture from dusk to morn
feel not the frigid mid day sun cast in concrete skies
and sensation of self feeling as two-
forced to separate apart;
not a smoker but now want to start
isolated fox hole in no-man’s land,
no support can help, simply the self;
to deal with it: conscious thought is aware of
temporary time – the perspective – the only resistance
tortured by whims
social stigma and sense
of suckerhood; Shut Up! Be Happy!
my atheist soul is a tornado of all this that is unreal – powerful
yet destructive – bound to burn itself into a breeze and dissipate
I wait…and wait…and wait
I try to create, to sedate –
to fight off that which aggravates
and urges to self mutilate – smooth out like
televisions hypnotic convex Technicolor windshield-
I try to think but think that thinking’s lead to this sense of sinking,
isolation, to this prescribed emancipation
21st Century Frankenstein with my
man made brain, my man made
thoughts, my man made
mortgage mentality and expectations –
no great man, just a freak
doesn’t matter if anyone listens when
I speak; it really doesn’t.
remember the bliss of being driven crazy,
so different wringing this psychotic cocktail from my mind:
A, B, C, vitamin DÓ
not seeking escape or fair fight,
no tunnel with beacon of pure white light
just want to exist a constant inside of my skin
rather than this state of flux: outside and in
rid myself of this gateway
to Huxley’s Brave New World
return me to the savage and
rawness I was
prior to Paxil, prior to hell and
prescribed equilibrium’s potent withdrawal.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
A Sign
Sign said: “Peace through Yoga
summer special now
one month of unlimited classes
$70.00 – WOW”
Price on peace – inner, act, outer, release
single’s souls married to this estranged world
breathing in, blowing out
breathless…
that that is is that that is not
I can be just what I am by being
what I’m not
simply simplify…
married man redundant in single’s world
dangerous notions of happiness
not relevant to myself, so I
must make sense to everyone else
psychiatrist summer special – WOW!
Price on peace – interac, odour, re-lease
motionless movement on a mound
breathe in water, blow out bubbles
drown…
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Solidarity
Awareness – struggle against selfishness
part of a world –
water: 70% inside shared by
wave, water lily, cloud, carp
minerals nourish snow capped mountains, me
self-lessness is not conformity
neither live nor dead,
future, past
part of the present – knowing no
first nor last
part of, but never apart
manifest in moment
never elsewhere
desire of ideals
manifests despair – all that can be now is –
the trees are my lungs,
lentils my hair
and I am you, you are me
both are one and we
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Thinking a Thought
subconscious excavates your
fossilised words
embedded in the bedrock of my brain
of how you could never be
called crazy in a world so insane
things I never dreamed of
form future fixations
breath, another release valve
of pent-up frustration
sour winds mix with beauty
vertical cracks mock horizontal fragilities
see it all along the vortex
revealing your fossilised words
senseless scents subjugate senses
isotopes and smell
shouting them outward
to sour winds mixed with beauty,
memories, my brain.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Fall
Flocks of Geese fly
underneath November’s muddy sky
like a thousand popped umbrellas
but there’s no escape
for you and me
discontented wintry
land that lost its wonder
long ago
ice and snow
inevitably, succession to
summer celebrations
two more alone in
this thirty million plus nation
afraid of those things that
we might not do.
Edmonton, AB. Canada
"Killers"
Ever notice how people don't really Look all that different after having Killed somebody? Or is it that everyone looks Like a killer? Some folks will say stuff about "soulless eyes" but I can't see it; We're so used to screaming That it has become a common form Of communication, not that anyone really is communicating these days - just a lot of talk Perhaps we're de-sensitised, like from listening to too much Wendy O. Williams and the Plasmatics (or was that just me?) in their youth - Where are they now anyway, the Plasmatics, or were they just a bizarre dream? Think I saw some of their stuff in HMV... Or, maybe, it's the only way, at times, to relate… imagine that; Breasts - Wendy O. always bore her breasts - Was that duct tape on her nipples, or the censor's ink? - So long ago that it was on vinyl...
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Ballad of a Dysfunctional Truck Battery, Jan. 1st, 2005
New Years Day Winter's days, dark heart Thirty below Can't get my truck to start - so much snow Sealing the earth but no sign of seals- Spark dead from leaving a light on... No resolutions Just wait, see and try Hold on to something; turn over, turn over! Grasping, GI Joe Kung Fu grip, watching time fly Days have been draining me Killing me, like Cold on my battery's cells; turn over, turn over! Seeking out the spark - searching for the light- That makes this suicide Life make sense - But it's bullshit like abstract art: Think you get it then You don't Senseless piece of crap Or profound sensual ness Self-designated nihilist Self-indulgent fool Unfeeling masochist Numb - leaf, rancid brown, left over from Autumn's rancorous conclusion Grey river is frozen, Lao Tzu now a study in cryogenics, Slum with the mulch near the bottom The current - turn over, turn over! - Passes by The world outside... everything Lies outside- everything lies - Lying with the mulch, cream Skimmed from the petina top Persistent in pasteurization of passion, moist and steaming, Creamed by the speed, sucked in, down, Splattered like a bug on someone else's Windscreen - because Today it's winter, thirty below, All is some state of water, me, And my truck won't start turn over, turn over!
Edmonton, AB., Canada"Rodent (media, we get what we deserve)"
I've seen a rat's eyes Bleach out from the Negative of day And the positive exposure of night Luminescence bleeding from black Brazen, not limited to corners anymore; Smiling newspaper photo, political, Staining unsuspecting fingers with print- Carbon, like all that we are after Being burned beyond resemblance, after The water disperses as steam- dissipating White- Move toward the light motherfucker, Move toward the light! This is what you wanted, In what you believed On what you bet your life Throat scratched from gnawing on lead pipes and cinder blocks, Screeching radio static, from the Neck, never the gut Awaiting the irony of a poison never Feasted upon - left in the corners with the traps On trays, out of the way Never frequent there, in the ghetto, anymore, Out in the open, Common and domesticated No one even notices your tail anymore, It flicks and snaps Like a whip, a trap Like a camera shutter In the negative of day Or positive exposure of night; Call you rodent now, not Rat, remembering our manners.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
"Peek-a-boo With the Moon"
No one likes to see your dark Side - that's why man's not been To the moon since 1969 Too much yang and not enough yin In the world today No balance Leaves us all dizzy to the Point that we're silly Afraid of all the wrong things And too stupid to see the Things staring us in the face Or we do see it then turn Away - if I can't see you Then you can't see me Peek-a-boo with our Conscience to suit The moment Then beat Ourselves up for letting Ourselves down, screaming "who the fuck am I?" And asking "why?" Until we're hoarse Or drink ourselves to death, Click on the candy box And watch reality TV. Simply because that all seems Truer to the script than The stage from which we're hanging: I will not think bad thoughts I will not think bad thoughts I will not think I will not.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
“
“Winter of Discontent”
Canadian version of
the American dream;
Idealism turns to disillusionment,
then goes mainstream
too much coffee consumed
from Starbuck’s and Tim’s
Snow angels in January
when winter’s wearing you thin
This cabin fever
is getting to me
like a 50’s bomb shelter
waiting out World War Three
cheeks are red, mind is dead
finding it hard just to get out of bed
Edmonton, AB, Canada
“Some Kind of Addiction”
Went down Whyte Avenue the other day
the swan song slush of winter
don’t know what was nagging at me,
aggravating like a splinter
sometimes I get stuck inside myself
silly cerebral contemplations
was this the “what” I wanted to be
or the fuel of my frustration?
- kerosene conscience….
burning like a Buddhist monk
in petrol protestations
but only half-hearted in my beliefs
half-speed motivations, anyhow-
Stacey was a friend of mine,
devouted to the Mormon religion
I couldn’t believe in any of that stuff
anymore than I could believe in television
I wish I had a shred of her faith
make reason from this masochisim
fuck, I’d settle for having hope
in any sort of ‘ism
- couldn’t contemplate life coffee free…
paradise promising evangelists
movie stars and top 10 lists
Dr. Phil, Atkins, Martha Stewart, Donald Trump and the sacred cow-
Out of touch and beside myself
and all the books that I’ve been reading
the goals I’ve set, chance and regret
and expectations exceeding
all amount to nothing more
than a poor sense of direction
and the sinking feeling when you realize
that it’s the wrong stuff you’ve been protecting
- Lao Tzu, the unspecific travel guide…
Karl Jung and his beef with Freud
Chicken Soup for the Soul of the Unemployed
Johnny hating Joey;
“We’re a Happy Family”, “Hey, We’re the Ramones”…
Down on Whyte the other day
Coffee shop conversations
everyone eyeing everyone else
searching for the next sensation
Spring will come and another round
of magazines and sorted fictions
and I’ll keep coming here
like some kind of addiction, but alone…
Edmonton AB., Canada
“Drive on”
crumpled newspaper
twitching black and white dusty
like a creature in between
life and road kill – rat, raccoon –
salt and sand grit and grey
black asphalt makes winter
a memory waiting washing
warm rains of spring
return of summer’s ebony black
and fresh tar, rubber and radiant
drive on through
drive on by
drive on.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Day
Ever have one of those days when no matter what the time it always feels like late afternoon? When late afternoon finally comes around, you think “finally” so you go to chow down on a po’boy with sweet potato fries and a bottle of Stella on the side, eyes looking at the waitress young enough to be your student and you want to give some kind of fucked up carnal lesson, cause, hell, she’s at least twenty four or twenty five. So you sit there, sip the beer, fingers get sticky from the sauce slipping off the bun and greasy from the sweet potato fries that you know will be seeping out your pores until morning when you wake up with that phlegm-feeling you get after tuckin’ into a deep fried meal, and glass of beer ebbs a satirical coolness and teases with its texture of round, perfect glass. Waitress brings over the cheque and your fortune cookie for desert, cause you’re stuffed- even if you could afford something after all that. The cookie snaps and crumbles into two sections and several insignificant crumbs. Pull out the piece of white paper that has printed: “someone you know is waiting for your praise”. My first thought goes to God, but figure it can’t be him or her ‘cause I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, so I reckon it’s got to be someone else. I get home, the dogs great me at the door with their sloppy tongues and shake’n’shrapnel fur and I get it. So, I fill their bowls, give them a tussle on the head, they seem happy and eat while I need to take a shit, amazed at the speed of the grease lightening those fries must be because I already went once today in the morning, and here we go again. So I sit and read the paper about the shit and chaos that Hurricane Katrina is causing in Louisiana and how George Bush doesn’t give a fuck about the poor folk washed away ‘cos they’re black and I figure he must have enough cannon fodder in Iraq already and figure he must not be planning another invasion, therefore is leaving them to their anarchy. That’s it, I shit and do all the post shit stuff and thank the god in whom I don’t believe that it’s finally six o’clock because that’s what time it’s felt like all day.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Big Time Seller
Words & Music by Ed Meers
Strum pattern: \ \ \ V \ \ \ V (tempo approx. 96 bpm)
INTRO: G Em C D G Em C Am
Devil’s in the house of the rising sun
My friend went crazy then he bought a gun
now he counts to his final day
when he’ll blow his ex and kid away
it’s the craziest shit I’ve ever heard
she messed him bad, left him disturbed
after it happens he’ll make the news
then along comes another to fill his shoes
CHORUS:
Tragedy is a big time seller
sold by those that are just too yeller
to show anyone there’s beauty in this world
empires built on pain and sufferin’
but it’s all take, they ain’t given nothin’
Blind you from the beauty in this world
In the middle of genocide and useless slaughter
My wife bore me a beautiful daughter
didn’t know where Rwanda was
she sits and giggles just because
life to her is what she sees
almost feel bad that she’ll learn to read
I cherish her innocence every day
feel sad she won’t always think this way
Tragedy is a big time seller
sold by those that are just too yeller
to show anyone there’s beauty in this world
empires built on pain and sufferin’
but it’s all take, they ain’t given nothin’
Blind you from the beauty in this world
I like Seamus Heaney, my wife’s passion for flowers
that patch of green by the office towers
people who are in a festive mood
walkin’ round my house in the nude
life is full of little pleasures
no need to search for buried treasure
security’s holdin’ my daughter’s hand
and walkin’ past the new-seller’s stand
Tragedy is a big time seller
sold by those that are just too yeller
to show anyone there’s beauty in this world
empires built on pain and sufferin’
but it’s all take, they ain’t given nothin’
Blind you from the beauty in this world
If all you read is the Star or Sun
Then I understand why you’d buy a gun
with all those crazies in this world
it’s enough to make your toenails curl
somethin’ other can be had
in contrast to this world gone mad
smell a flower or make a date
or if it’s cold old winter then masturbate
Sex and skin is a big time seller
sold by those that are just too yeller
to show anyone there’s beauty in this world
empires built on exploitation
and measuremental exaggeration
Blind you from the beauty in this world
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Thought’s Preservation
Sick of myself
shards of the mosaic that
make up my mind slice
through thoughts – want to shatter
this shit in my cerebellum with a 9mm parabellum
hang them from the end of a rope
watch them swing like one-winged gnats
but to shoot the shit will send splinters flying selfishly
I want to kill the cancer, not the host
I’ve not endured this far, crafted this piece with
its poisoned parts, to let it win
under my skin,
the easy way out – the simple solution – the concrete
conclusion is at hand all of the time
but life will end one day, so I’m making may stand – twisting life’s balls in my hand
and when it gets sick of me it can finish me off
but until that time, I’ve got time by the throat
and will keep squeezing in all that I can.
Edmonton, AB, Canada
"Clay" Everyone here seems so calmwhile I feel like screamingnightmares and terror cramp my mindwhile everyone else seems tobe happily dreamingyou can’t dress up your mental state
in convenient cloaks of fashionno release, no releaseno inner peace for my passionsthe books that I’ve read, volume uponthe nextall make sense but I can’t sense itat all – the exhausted head thatwakesto full alert when put to bedand drags like time coated in sandpaperpulled over coarse pinesanding the finish on a lidthat one day will bid a final good-nightsleepy dust meshing with our ownimmersed in clay – the sameover-fired motherfucker that feels like cracking now.
Edmonton, AB. Canada
Wetland Hunter
lick your lips
moist, muddy
tongue like a towel
O la flam rouge
O Cameroon
O Khmer Rouge
O bloody
eyes opened wide
swallowing whole
the mottled colours
molten and smiling
O brother
O bother
O Mother
O Father
Lick, lick, lick
life on the tundra
tick, tick , tick, click
safety snap off
O Sadness
O Saddam
O Sodom,
Gomorrah
sting from the tears
the singing mocked laughter
lick, lick, tick
Lick, lick , lick, click
one more in the chamber
l’hiver
sans blanche,
Jamias, peut jamais
Nager! Nager!
visage sur la lac
beach salt sand
grit and cramp
O water
O winter
O splinter
O hinterland
ducks in a row
webbed foot flopping
down dropping
shotgun echo
dead.
Vignette of a Youth Yesterday
Patchouli scented, cigarettes,
A Marxist manifesto
Surplus shirts and red beret
Taking on the world
Idealist iconoclasts
with the best of intentions
petitioning the peasantry
challenging convention
Tolstoy over cheap chardonnay
nighttime never ending
minimum wage and mortgage free
this is how we were…
Edmonton, AB, Canada
Life Obsession
Lester laid himself to rest
with a shotgun whose shell he ate
a man married for fifty plus years
dead at 88
no one knows what was at play
what wisdom made his mind
knowing not selfishness or pain
of the widow he left- what was hers to find
Everyone I know now, vibrant and young
want to live forever
Hunter S. Thompson and Ulysses
lost legacies and lessons
Kurt Cobain
pills for depression
life obsession.
Edmonton, AB. Canada
Ó From “Soup is Good Food” by the Dead Kennedys off of the Frankenchrist LP
Ó From Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Thursday, September 20, 2007
1987 - 1997
Tourist
Tall and fair, blue-eyed German man
munching no-name ginger snaps
in the Calgary Youth Hostel
ranting on about how Americans
are destroying the world
in his uber alles brogue,
obviously slightly mad- deluded- obsessed
and right.
I remember Berlin- the sign at Check Point Charlie:
YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR
but the truth is that you never can leave,
like No.6 on "The Prisoner"
- a vindicated insanity...
Calgary, AB., Canada
WOG
I've known you pretty near all my life-
when we were children I bullied you because
you were the only one the others disliked
more than me, despite my affections...
You never conformed, still wearing your corduroy pants
and Ernie & Bert stripped shirts;
you still look at the stars only now
you know their names...
children are cruel, adults,
killers and clowns;
but you are not like them,
you are genuine- you know who you are,
geek is their label.
They mean nothing, they are lost in their
cancerous unity, the cool,
you are my oldest friend and one of
the few I'll trust...
don't ever let them change you.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Spell
Our first kiss was magic
now I'm trapped in your spell
you're tattooed on my mind
I'm dying
of ink poisoning
Calgary, AB., Canada
War Zone
When I was four
my mother said she was going to kill herself,
was "going to jump off the bridge"
and that it was all my fault I was driving her to it
and if I "cried at her funeral"
she "would come back and haunt" me;
she was pretty fucked up, still is;
My father fucked her up- beat her, beat me
she was strong enough to leave
but is like one of those Vietnam vets:
out of the war but still lost in the jungle.
The war continued with backhands and wooden spoons;
I was the new enemy in a purposeless,
never-ending war... Now I've left "home",
been gone for some years, but the war wages still heavily in my head.
Now I'm the veteran,
napalm memories, stick to my mind,
I feel the hot lead pierce, shredding me apart,
the gas choking me-
some nights I sit alone in my room
and simply try to cope, sit hating myself
for being who I am
resenting Christmas and happy people...
Every mother's day I still sign a cease-fire,
"The Treaty of Hallmark"-
but their are too many mines buried within the
battlefield of my mind- sooner or later
my thoughts trod over one,
I implode and am back to battle.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Talk
Everyone
Here seems to talk
To me
About everyone else
All assuming I'm on their side
I tell them I don't want to hear
That crap behind
The backs of others
No one seems to understand
Friendship-
So free with their trust
I
Realise you
Can never tell
Who your friends
Are.
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
Dream No.1
I'm in my Mother's home town of Liverpool, Nova Scotia-
I go into a gym, sparsely populated
with old oxidized weights,
divided into three rooms...
I'm speaking to some lady in lycra and can't stand up;
the manager arrives, I start
giving my relatives names, he nods and oh's
in recognition
Then a man approaches with a lanky
gray cat and throws it into a lake,
he then walks into the reflective clear water
and they both swim away.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Dream No.2
I'm in this classroom, high school
before an exam
I've got my pants down and
am sitting on a rust stained toilet
behind my friend Kevin Ryan,
trying to take a shit without being noticed
I wipe my arse with a
white towel,
trying still to be unnoticed,
I'm a mess, anxiety welling up
as I wish it was over...
things get worse as my skid marked
boxers dip into the bowl-
I pull them up, dirty, cold & wet
while the teacher continues
her lecture
and I sit listening.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Dream No.3
I go up to a car
parked in front of my mother's
house on Faulkner Street;
inside is my friend Bronwyn's father
with a group of girls from the
Anglican Sunday School.
I sit in the front seat
with Bronwyn's dad
and talk about rugby league
(he's originally from Manchester)
while the girls sing.
Halifax, W.Yorks., England
Short
The haze in
my head
from five cities
in six days,
a world pouring past
makes the sandy
glaze gritting in my eyes
see similarities
and common place in these exotic
rarities;
I realise that life
is too damn short.
Holymoorside, Derbys., England
For Nova Scotia
I look at this province that
Buchanan bought and sold
I listen to the stories that
have made their tellers old
I see a place once prosperous
now slipped into decay
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
I remember the harbour crafts
coming in with their hauls
But now they're few and pass us by
En route to Montreal
The towns, they gray and fade away
in deaths so sad and slow
While the young depart now every day
for the West and Ontario
The young depart each and every day
for the Alberta and Ontario
What we need's a leader
one committed proud and true
who speaks like Joseph Howe
with the courage of Brian Borru
To be again a prosperous place
buzzing with the affray
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
on this Eastern coast of Canada
draped in sweet Atlantic spray
The time will come in Canada
a new judgement day
arranged to the chords G, D, C & E
Calgary, AB., Canada
Cornered
I was walking in broad daylight to the
Drug store, southeast side of the city,
Crossing the street - shining like a
Silver blade in the sun-
Headache cutting deep through my skull:
Early 40's prostitute, black, ragged
From pills, pimps and paydays
Says "hey baby, how bout a really
Nice blow job in the park"
She forces me to play an idiot with
A stupid smirk on my face,
As I awkwardly reply "no thanks"…
That night on the same corner
A guy dialed 911 from the pay phone box
But someone capped him
Before help arrived.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Twine
The stars shone bright
through passing cloud
the tender moon's gentle glow,
the ground shone blue in
the heaven's soft hue
reflecting in freshly fallen snow
the night air cold, crisp and dry
the skeletons of trees
I made my way along the icy path,
heavy heart and mind where thought did seize
all my hopes and all I'd wished
here in this desert of snow
misfortune seems to follow me
wherever it is I go
There was a day not so far away
my head was high with hopes
but sometimes the line that can pull you up
can be your hangman's rope
I danced their tunes, I wore their mark,
Sang that which they wanted me to sing,
and ended up no further ahead,
still a puppet on a string
walking lone on this silent night
next to the frozen rivers edge
I think of how it's never the same
the rope and the ledge.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Outside
A waterfall of snow from a magpies tail,
icicles formed on the balcony rail,
people skirt along the roadsides hem
the same faces pass again and again
Calgary, AB., Canada
A Few Miles by Bicycle
Cycled today from Selby to York
Stopped to smell the roses, rode
At a relaxed pace
Normally I would want to conquer
The trail - make the small
Pebbles swirl in the dust
-get from A to B as fast as possible
all scenery seen in a blur
…today I slowed down, stopped to breathe,
trying to take in simple pleasures
thinking again in every hour
of the 24 found in the day of Jenny
wishing she was riding by my side
and hoping time passes as slowly
when we are together as it does
when we are apart.
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
Bails in the Sunset
The buttery- salt flavour
of lower lip fills my mouth,
sighing in dusty fragrance,
crunching along the earth's
golden stubble freshly cropped
Adjacent field lies west
the seeds sail as sparks
before the thresher under
setting sun, cannon-like
wheat field workers wander,
weary haunches with
shoulders as sails stretched taught,
heads lowered as in
lament for the fallen, friend and foe
What stood tall at dawn
submits itself in browning bails,
massive wheels of fibre now
unyielding to the briskly blowing breeze
The scythes silent,
pitchforks abandoned in the turf
wavering as swords upon vanquished plain
and lofty lark, looping and whooping
on the whirling wind which breathes
across my salty brow,
on to home.
Calgary, AB., Canada
For Jenny
The day you said “I love you”
in your funny kind of way
I felt a weight lift within me
sunlight breaking through the gray
now we weather it together
and we share this common space
we’re building our home, wherever we roam
be it here or any place
Never in all my travels
on either side of the sea
could I have met with anyone
more perfect for me
and when homesickness beckons,
thoughts of home roam my mind through
sentimentally I’ll push pass them
and my arms will reach for you
When the evening settles,
sparkling candles and starlight
and you are in my arms again
and we’re holding each other tight
we’ll reminisce on the universe
or how small this world can be
and amidst these terms of vastness
we will build an eternity
Arranged to chords G,D & C
Calgary, AB., Canada
Princess Diana
Television screen brings the world
like shepherd into my life, fibre optic glow,
August night in Paris, the death of
a Princess I knew of but never knew;
tears well like the volcano in Monserate
which dominated the news in the days before,
made aware of emotions I never knew I held,
fighting back the pressure of liquid emotion
and I wonder if there are any who are to survive
as the epitaph 1961-97 embeds itself with assertive finality
crumbling earth slithers over the edges into a mass grave,
meshed within the Mercedes mangled metal,
lying at rest in questionable peace.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
River
The water splits
as a fighters forehead;
parting and tearing- gouge,
the scalpel like hull
the bone saw engine
the silence broken along
the green towel shoreline
absorbed in silver blades of sun
shining in pools along the shore.
Edmonton, AB. Canada
Peace
Sunset sinks as a capsizing vessel
Where prairie and sky form
A point of 45 degrees to infinity,
The black of night ebbs in like the
Tide of Death's darkness
Over drowning mariner's eyes;
I feel the peace of a drowning man's
Last moment
When the struggle is past,
A meteoric moment of recognizing spirit
Oblivious to the myths of a mortal soul,
Becoming one of the part,
In extinction of the days light
Rises the birth of the moon,
Its brightness develops as a seed,
Germinating with the stars;
Birth of night winters for the sunlight's spring
And shadows animated gardening
Amidst the animation of which we
Find our place.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
On Christmas Night 1997
I contemplate birth,
How first vision swept
The external atmosphere of the womb, through the new world,
As a candle's glow softens through its
Penetration of the abounding darkness
Or vibration carries its way melodically
Through the complex orchestration of silence;
The wonder of purity and blessed naivete
Which our development experiences to extinction
I wish my memory of that time
Was accessible to the moment
And in its faith recognize
The fortune of perfection which, with
Less wizened eyes, delicato,
Diminuendo - grazioso,
Is to be found.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Ending Words
Some days I feel damned to
Represent my thoughts as a radio
Drama without sound, without image.
The snow falls outside my apartment window;
I sit within my unit at a loss for words to
Describe how it has fallen, how it is falling;
Wanting to paint, yet hands
Are the mirror of ambidextrous -
Equally talentless, incapable of describing
Through sound, to paint feeling as a magpie in it's
Vulgarity or an uilleann piper with sweetness, Melancholic or merry.
My words….
Words easily implemented with ambiguous affect, ineffective
In the age of illiteracy nearing the millenium's close.
Selfish wanting, to play for myself,
To paint for myself through a medium that
Gathers less dust, despite it's liberation
From protective covers
I think of the god which has encircled my life, I feel as weeping does,
To be an accepted part, yet unable to contribute to it's beauty.
I often despise the privacy of words,
To be exposed only when found and investigated,
Limited by language and mother tongue, by literacy,
And by want of reading;
So unlike image and song which makes itself aware
And likewise others - a trapper of sorts,
Inflicting itself and enriching it's captive.
I long for an imperialist medium.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Tall and fair, blue-eyed German man
munching no-name ginger snaps
in the Calgary Youth Hostel
ranting on about how Americans
are destroying the world
in his uber alles brogue,
obviously slightly mad- deluded- obsessed
and right.
I remember Berlin- the sign at Check Point Charlie:
YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR
but the truth is that you never can leave,
like No.6 on "The Prisoner"
- a vindicated insanity...
Calgary, AB., Canada
WOG
I've known you pretty near all my life-
when we were children I bullied you because
you were the only one the others disliked
more than me, despite my affections...
You never conformed, still wearing your corduroy pants
and Ernie & Bert stripped shirts;
you still look at the stars only now
you know their names...
children are cruel, adults,
killers and clowns;
but you are not like them,
you are genuine- you know who you are,
geek is their label.
They mean nothing, they are lost in their
cancerous unity, the cool,
you are my oldest friend and one of
the few I'll trust...
don't ever let them change you.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Spell
Our first kiss was magic
now I'm trapped in your spell
you're tattooed on my mind
I'm dying
of ink poisoning
Calgary, AB., Canada
War Zone
When I was four
my mother said she was going to kill herself,
was "going to jump off the bridge"
and that it was all my fault I was driving her to it
and if I "cried at her funeral"
she "would come back and haunt" me;
she was pretty fucked up, still is;
My father fucked her up- beat her, beat me
she was strong enough to leave
but is like one of those Vietnam vets:
out of the war but still lost in the jungle.
The war continued with backhands and wooden spoons;
I was the new enemy in a purposeless,
never-ending war... Now I've left "home",
been gone for some years, but the war wages still heavily in my head.
Now I'm the veteran,
napalm memories, stick to my mind,
I feel the hot lead pierce, shredding me apart,
the gas choking me-
some nights I sit alone in my room
and simply try to cope, sit hating myself
for being who I am
resenting Christmas and happy people...
Every mother's day I still sign a cease-fire,
"The Treaty of Hallmark"-
but their are too many mines buried within the
battlefield of my mind- sooner or later
my thoughts trod over one,
I implode and am back to battle.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Talk
Everyone
Here seems to talk
To me
About everyone else
All assuming I'm on their side
I tell them I don't want to hear
That crap behind
The backs of others
No one seems to understand
Friendship-
So free with their trust
I
Realise you
Can never tell
Who your friends
Are.
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
Dream No.1
I'm in my Mother's home town of Liverpool, Nova Scotia-
I go into a gym, sparsely populated
with old oxidized weights,
divided into three rooms...
I'm speaking to some lady in lycra and can't stand up;
the manager arrives, I start
giving my relatives names, he nods and oh's
in recognition
Then a man approaches with a lanky
gray cat and throws it into a lake,
he then walks into the reflective clear water
and they both swim away.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Dream No.2
I'm in this classroom, high school
before an exam
I've got my pants down and
am sitting on a rust stained toilet
behind my friend Kevin Ryan,
trying to take a shit without being noticed
I wipe my arse with a
white towel,
trying still to be unnoticed,
I'm a mess, anxiety welling up
as I wish it was over...
things get worse as my skid marked
boxers dip into the bowl-
I pull them up, dirty, cold & wet
while the teacher continues
her lecture
and I sit listening.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Dream No.3
I go up to a car
parked in front of my mother's
house on Faulkner Street;
inside is my friend Bronwyn's father
with a group of girls from the
Anglican Sunday School.
I sit in the front seat
with Bronwyn's dad
and talk about rugby league
(he's originally from Manchester)
while the girls sing.
Halifax, W.Yorks., England
Short
The haze in
my head
from five cities
in six days,
a world pouring past
makes the sandy
glaze gritting in my eyes
see similarities
and common place in these exotic
rarities;
I realise that life
is too damn short.
Holymoorside, Derbys., England
For Nova Scotia
I look at this province that
Buchanan bought and sold
I listen to the stories that
have made their tellers old
I see a place once prosperous
now slipped into decay
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
I remember the harbour crafts
coming in with their hauls
But now they're few and pass us by
En route to Montreal
The towns, they gray and fade away
in deaths so sad and slow
While the young depart now every day
for the West and Ontario
The young depart each and every day
for the Alberta and Ontario
What we need's a leader
one committed proud and true
who speaks like Joseph Howe
with the courage of Brian Borru
To be again a prosperous place
buzzing with the affray
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
on this Eastern coast of Canada
draped in sweet Atlantic spray
The time will come in Canada
a new judgement day
arranged to the chords G, D, C & E
Calgary, AB., Canada
Cornered
I was walking in broad daylight to the
Drug store, southeast side of the city,
Crossing the street - shining like a
Silver blade in the sun-
Headache cutting deep through my skull:
Early 40's prostitute, black, ragged
From pills, pimps and paydays
Says "hey baby, how bout a really
Nice blow job in the park"
She forces me to play an idiot with
A stupid smirk on my face,
As I awkwardly reply "no thanks"…
That night on the same corner
A guy dialed 911 from the pay phone box
But someone capped him
Before help arrived.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Twine
The stars shone bright
through passing cloud
the tender moon's gentle glow,
the ground shone blue in
the heaven's soft hue
reflecting in freshly fallen snow
the night air cold, crisp and dry
the skeletons of trees
I made my way along the icy path,
heavy heart and mind where thought did seize
all my hopes and all I'd wished
here in this desert of snow
misfortune seems to follow me
wherever it is I go
There was a day not so far away
my head was high with hopes
but sometimes the line that can pull you up
can be your hangman's rope
I danced their tunes, I wore their mark,
Sang that which they wanted me to sing,
and ended up no further ahead,
still a puppet on a string
walking lone on this silent night
next to the frozen rivers edge
I think of how it's never the same
the rope and the ledge.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Outside
A waterfall of snow from a magpies tail,
icicles formed on the balcony rail,
people skirt along the roadsides hem
the same faces pass again and again
Calgary, AB., Canada
A Few Miles by Bicycle
Cycled today from Selby to York
Stopped to smell the roses, rode
At a relaxed pace
Normally I would want to conquer
The trail - make the small
Pebbles swirl in the dust
-get from A to B as fast as possible
all scenery seen in a blur
…today I slowed down, stopped to breathe,
trying to take in simple pleasures
thinking again in every hour
of the 24 found in the day of Jenny
wishing she was riding by my side
and hoping time passes as slowly
when we are together as it does
when we are apart.
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
Bails in the Sunset
The buttery- salt flavour
of lower lip fills my mouth,
sighing in dusty fragrance,
crunching along the earth's
golden stubble freshly cropped
Adjacent field lies west
the seeds sail as sparks
before the thresher under
setting sun, cannon-like
wheat field workers wander,
weary haunches with
shoulders as sails stretched taught,
heads lowered as in
lament for the fallen, friend and foe
What stood tall at dawn
submits itself in browning bails,
massive wheels of fibre now
unyielding to the briskly blowing breeze
The scythes silent,
pitchforks abandoned in the turf
wavering as swords upon vanquished plain
and lofty lark, looping and whooping
on the whirling wind which breathes
across my salty brow,
on to home.
Calgary, AB., Canada
For Jenny
The day you said “I love you”
in your funny kind of way
I felt a weight lift within me
sunlight breaking through the gray
now we weather it together
and we share this common space
we’re building our home, wherever we roam
be it here or any place
Never in all my travels
on either side of the sea
could I have met with anyone
more perfect for me
and when homesickness beckons,
thoughts of home roam my mind through
sentimentally I’ll push pass them
and my arms will reach for you
When the evening settles,
sparkling candles and starlight
and you are in my arms again
and we’re holding each other tight
we’ll reminisce on the universe
or how small this world can be
and amidst these terms of vastness
we will build an eternity
Arranged to chords G,D & C
Calgary, AB., Canada
Princess Diana
Television screen brings the world
like shepherd into my life, fibre optic glow,
August night in Paris, the death of
a Princess I knew of but never knew;
tears well like the volcano in Monserate
which dominated the news in the days before,
made aware of emotions I never knew I held,
fighting back the pressure of liquid emotion
and I wonder if there are any who are to survive
as the epitaph 1961-97 embeds itself with assertive finality
crumbling earth slithers over the edges into a mass grave,
meshed within the Mercedes mangled metal,
lying at rest in questionable peace.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
River
The water splits
as a fighters forehead;
parting and tearing- gouge,
the scalpel like hull
the bone saw engine
the silence broken along
the green towel shoreline
absorbed in silver blades of sun
shining in pools along the shore.
Edmonton, AB. Canada
Peace
Sunset sinks as a capsizing vessel
Where prairie and sky form
A point of 45 degrees to infinity,
The black of night ebbs in like the
Tide of Death's darkness
Over drowning mariner's eyes;
I feel the peace of a drowning man's
Last moment
When the struggle is past,
A meteoric moment of recognizing spirit
Oblivious to the myths of a mortal soul,
Becoming one of the part,
In extinction of the days light
Rises the birth of the moon,
Its brightness develops as a seed,
Germinating with the stars;
Birth of night winters for the sunlight's spring
And shadows animated gardening
Amidst the animation of which we
Find our place.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
On Christmas Night 1997
I contemplate birth,
How first vision swept
The external atmosphere of the womb, through the new world,
As a candle's glow softens through its
Penetration of the abounding darkness
Or vibration carries its way melodically
Through the complex orchestration of silence;
The wonder of purity and blessed naivete
Which our development experiences to extinction
I wish my memory of that time
Was accessible to the moment
And in its faith recognize
The fortune of perfection which, with
Less wizened eyes, delicato,
Diminuendo - grazioso,
Is to be found.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
Ending Words
Some days I feel damned to
Represent my thoughts as a radio
Drama without sound, without image.
The snow falls outside my apartment window;
I sit within my unit at a loss for words to
Describe how it has fallen, how it is falling;
Wanting to paint, yet hands
Are the mirror of ambidextrous -
Equally talentless, incapable of describing
Through sound, to paint feeling as a magpie in it's
Vulgarity or an uilleann piper with sweetness, Melancholic or merry.
My words….
Words easily implemented with ambiguous affect, ineffective
In the age of illiteracy nearing the millenium's close.
Selfish wanting, to play for myself,
To paint for myself through a medium that
Gathers less dust, despite it's liberation
From protective covers
I think of the god which has encircled my life, I feel as weeping does,
To be an accepted part, yet unable to contribute to it's beauty.
I often despise the privacy of words,
To be exposed only when found and investigated,
Limited by language and mother tongue, by literacy,
And by want of reading;
So unlike image and song which makes itself aware
And likewise others - a trapper of sorts,
Inflicting itself and enriching it's captive.
I long for an imperialist medium.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
1984 - 94
For Nova Scotia
I look at this province that
Buchanan bought and sold
I listen to the stories that
have made their tellers old
I see a place once prosperous
now slipped into decay
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
I remember the harbour crafts
coming in with their hauls
But now they're few and pass us by
En route to Montreal
The towns, they gray and fade away
in deaths so sad and slow
While the young depart now every day
for the West and Ontario
The young depart each and every day
for the Alberta and Ontario
What we need's a leader
one committed proud and true
who speaks like Joseph Howe
with the courage of Brian Borru
To be again a prosperous place
buzzing with the affray
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
on this Eastern coast of Canada
draped in sweet Atlantic spray
The time will come in Canada
a new judgement day
Calgary, AB., Canada
Summer Seems So Far
The teeth of the stream
shining gray, vines of black,
chew in to the river,
white foaming hushing plumbing
echoing sounds of solitary
plopping drops-
hushing greenery, specked with brown
mirror on the camouflaging
calm, where
lines guess and dream of flittering
fins and turning tails
within the containment
of this ever changing place...
I think upon this place within
the cold grip of winter
when the weather, -30,
has me under house arrest;
the clicking of my fly rod's reel,
dreams percolating in my mind
with the pleasant round curve
cupped in my palm-
photos of Kananaskis in summer,
the mountains and Jenny,
trudging over rooted new trails.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Quebec, Je me souviens
Nostalgia can often
refocus one's perception of earlier experiences,
a contrast like the view you saw, the
photo you took
and the now developed photograph.
My winter in Quebec City
was the coldest I had ever experienced- a shit load of snow too!
I went there to study French,
but quit mid-way through my second semester.
There is little for an Anglo in a city where all the
bi-laws and attitudes are anti- English.
I got a job doing carpentry,
an Irish pub- Le D'Orsay- and spent the rest of my
free time training for rugby.
I worked with this guy really named John...
He was a draft-dodger from the States-
been in Quebec since the 70's, an artist-
he was bi-sexual and liked to tell me about it.
He painted beautiful landscapes.
Around the same time
a good friend, a guy from New Jersey,
mentioned his own bi-sexual-now-celibate
story in a by-the-way manner, but I suspected as much and didn't
really care; I continue to sip my Guinness and chat.
Most of my friends in Quebec were women.
Despite the distractions, they made great
weight training partners. Everyone smoked in Quebec,
I found it disgusting. I miss Quebec though,
mais je ne sais pas porquoi.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
Full of Shit
I had been writing for eleven years because I
thought I had something to say,
now I know I just wanted people to think I did...
I shake my head now as I muse over past prose;
the "ye's" and "thee"'s,
the adolescent Morriseyian angst,
especially the love lyrics ebbing with their ideals
"ah for my love, I shall expire without
thy sweet embrace..."
WHAT CRAP!!
The English society crowd at the university
said they loved my stuff;
my readings always seemed to be a hit,
no accomplishment really
if Madonna can sell Billions!
I became a liar in this quest for truth,
what was supposed to mirror the sincerity of my inner feelings,
opposite reflection, the filling of a mold to impress the others-
especially the girls.
How angelic of a portrait I painted, the little
boy that pulled the legs off grasshoppers, leaving them embraced in spiders web,
how righteous I tried to appear-
a lamb in the lair of wolves-
condemning judgements and facilitating falseness'
like those coffee shop artsies I despise,
despite dating a few.
The Lowest of the Low sum it up:
"I'm so full of shit it makes me drool".
Coombs, B.C., Canada
In a St.Mary's Street Hotel
Wet and dreary Cardiff night,
Watching some soap in Welsh on TV; guts
Feel greasy from the fried squid,
Earlier eaten in an alleyway Chinese café
Outside the window, it's wooden frame and foggy pane,
Whirling wheels; short fused drivers
Shuffle by;
Pondering away the time to later
Leave for the Odeon - pass again
The wall flower drunks propped upon
The storefront facades, in alleyways,
Grumbling in their packs with malted breath-
After a pause in some pub
For a pint of Brains,
Slipping brown and smooth over my palette,
Considering joining their purgatory,
Before returning to the Hotel, sleeping
Amidst the nightclub's chorus
Belching below.
Cardiff, Wales
29.09.95: San Francisco Airport
I've not been here yet an hour
And have already had enough of the USA
My flight is delayed 45 minutes and I've
Been ripped off twice - once by the teller's
Exchange rate and commission and
The other by a stamp vending machine;
Saw a T-shirt in a shop: "Americans do it better"
…fucking arrogant assholes;
I hope this place implodes with its self-absorption,
The earth itself here, trembling angry, tries
To swallow the city and shake free of the fleas
-a city surrounded by burial mounds of barren
brown dirt - mounded mountains, a curtained
cadaver of civilization,
made lifeless and toxic with the imperialist venom,
conquesting poison of predators
"America, love it or leave it"
San Francisco, CA, USA
Memories
Sitting on my balcony reading some Rollins:
"Today I went through all kinds of domestic bullshit
Tiny rules for tiny lives
Tonight I'm living all their little hells"
an AGT truck vibrates its
low diesel rattle- constant rhythm idling
men mending cables so I can reach out & touch someone...
Mother was here, ten days, my guest;
no matter which way you read it, mom is spelled the same-
past to present- pain
re-sealing the scars
suffering outlasting pain, or is it
the other way around? Still mom.
Evolving new tortures, ever present,
ever lasting:
"Memories stick like napalm and keep burning
Years later I still burn"
This pen is my sword,
re-claiming my flat, re-claiming my self, got the stub
hope the tag's not on my toe-
burning passions
charring flesh- my own-
petroleum tears ignite
E X P L O D E !
unaware if the beast lies within or without,
slaying myself, powerlines hum
as the truck pulls away.
Calgary, AB., Canada
A Chosen Few
Cardboard faces, GQ cut-outs; business men
their money- pulp pressed, printed, paper;
too busy to acknowledge the pan handlers
selling Spare Change
these brave monitory warriors
too consumed in cowardice & cellular conversations to look the wary beggar in the eye
-simple salutations
"Spare a dollar sir?"
look away in fear- whiplash- perhaps
pressing a cold coin to the putrid paw,
eyes evasive
and hasty brush by...
...conquested animal kingdom
conquest now the concrete city
avoiding their own to create another
pagan monuments unto themselves-
glass temple, sacrificing steel slicing sky, bleeding:
the priest's starched collar, pure virginity-
the cigar smoke
exhaled rings,
harsh crackling chuckle over
spotted silk ties, splashed technocolored,
mocking the self-proclaimed noose
with masochistic satire
-bondage-
sunglasses regardless of cloud-
in spite of them-
concealing the cast away eyes
products sold, skyscrapers alienating sunlight
spores spawn mould in the alleyways,
moist with the urine of dogs and men,
added growth to the economy
that blossoms for a chosen few
while a parasite on the remaining many
rummaging through skips
recycling waste, serving needs.
Calgary, AB., Canada
I look at this province that
Buchanan bought and sold
I listen to the stories that
have made their tellers old
I see a place once prosperous
now slipped into decay
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
I remember the harbour crafts
coming in with their hauls
But now they're few and pass us by
En route to Montreal
The towns, they gray and fade away
in deaths so sad and slow
While the young depart now every day
for the West and Ontario
The young depart each and every day
for the Alberta and Ontario
What we need's a leader
one committed proud and true
who speaks like Joseph Howe
with the courage of Brian Borru
To be again a prosperous place
buzzing with the affray
In this tiny corner of Canada
that's been cast away
on this Eastern coast of Canada
draped in sweet Atlantic spray
The time will come in Canada
a new judgement day
Calgary, AB., Canada
Summer Seems So Far
The teeth of the stream
shining gray, vines of black,
chew in to the river,
white foaming hushing plumbing
echoing sounds of solitary
plopping drops-
hushing greenery, specked with brown
mirror on the camouflaging
calm, where
lines guess and dream of flittering
fins and turning tails
within the containment
of this ever changing place...
I think upon this place within
the cold grip of winter
when the weather, -30,
has me under house arrest;
the clicking of my fly rod's reel,
dreams percolating in my mind
with the pleasant round curve
cupped in my palm-
photos of Kananaskis in summer,
the mountains and Jenny,
trudging over rooted new trails.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Quebec, Je me souviens
Nostalgia can often
refocus one's perception of earlier experiences,
a contrast like the view you saw, the
photo you took
and the now developed photograph.
My winter in Quebec City
was the coldest I had ever experienced- a shit load of snow too!
I went there to study French,
but quit mid-way through my second semester.
There is little for an Anglo in a city where all the
bi-laws and attitudes are anti- English.
I got a job doing carpentry,
an Irish pub- Le D'Orsay- and spent the rest of my
free time training for rugby.
I worked with this guy really named John...
He was a draft-dodger from the States-
been in Quebec since the 70's, an artist-
he was bi-sexual and liked to tell me about it.
He painted beautiful landscapes.
Around the same time
a good friend, a guy from New Jersey,
mentioned his own bi-sexual-now-celibate
story in a by-the-way manner, but I suspected as much and didn't
really care; I continue to sip my Guinness and chat.
Most of my friends in Quebec were women.
Despite the distractions, they made great
weight training partners. Everyone smoked in Quebec,
I found it disgusting. I miss Quebec though,
mais je ne sais pas porquoi.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
Full of Shit
I had been writing for eleven years because I
thought I had something to say,
now I know I just wanted people to think I did...
I shake my head now as I muse over past prose;
the "ye's" and "thee"'s,
the adolescent Morriseyian angst,
especially the love lyrics ebbing with their ideals
"ah for my love, I shall expire without
thy sweet embrace..."
WHAT CRAP!!
The English society crowd at the university
said they loved my stuff;
my readings always seemed to be a hit,
no accomplishment really
if Madonna can sell Billions!
I became a liar in this quest for truth,
what was supposed to mirror the sincerity of my inner feelings,
opposite reflection, the filling of a mold to impress the others-
especially the girls.
How angelic of a portrait I painted, the little
boy that pulled the legs off grasshoppers, leaving them embraced in spiders web,
how righteous I tried to appear-
a lamb in the lair of wolves-
condemning judgements and facilitating falseness'
like those coffee shop artsies I despise,
despite dating a few.
The Lowest of the Low sum it up:
"I'm so full of shit it makes me drool".
Coombs, B.C., Canada
In a St.Mary's Street Hotel
Wet and dreary Cardiff night,
Watching some soap in Welsh on TV; guts
Feel greasy from the fried squid,
Earlier eaten in an alleyway Chinese café
Outside the window, it's wooden frame and foggy pane,
Whirling wheels; short fused drivers
Shuffle by;
Pondering away the time to later
Leave for the Odeon - pass again
The wall flower drunks propped upon
The storefront facades, in alleyways,
Grumbling in their packs with malted breath-
After a pause in some pub
For a pint of Brains,
Slipping brown and smooth over my palette,
Considering joining their purgatory,
Before returning to the Hotel, sleeping
Amidst the nightclub's chorus
Belching below.
Cardiff, Wales
29.09.95: San Francisco Airport
I've not been here yet an hour
And have already had enough of the USA
My flight is delayed 45 minutes and I've
Been ripped off twice - once by the teller's
Exchange rate and commission and
The other by a stamp vending machine;
Saw a T-shirt in a shop: "Americans do it better"
…fucking arrogant assholes;
I hope this place implodes with its self-absorption,
The earth itself here, trembling angry, tries
To swallow the city and shake free of the fleas
-a city surrounded by burial mounds of barren
brown dirt - mounded mountains, a curtained
cadaver of civilization,
made lifeless and toxic with the imperialist venom,
conquesting poison of predators
"America, love it or leave it"
San Francisco, CA, USA
Memories
Sitting on my balcony reading some Rollins:
"Today I went through all kinds of domestic bullshit
Tiny rules for tiny lives
Tonight I'm living all their little hells"
an AGT truck vibrates its
low diesel rattle- constant rhythm idling
men mending cables so I can reach out & touch someone...
Mother was here, ten days, my guest;
no matter which way you read it, mom is spelled the same-
past to present- pain
re-sealing the scars
suffering outlasting pain, or is it
the other way around? Still mom.
Evolving new tortures, ever present,
ever lasting:
"Memories stick like napalm and keep burning
Years later I still burn"
This pen is my sword,
re-claiming my flat, re-claiming my self, got the stub
hope the tag's not on my toe-
burning passions
charring flesh- my own-
petroleum tears ignite
E X P L O D E !
unaware if the beast lies within or without,
slaying myself, powerlines hum
as the truck pulls away.
Calgary, AB., Canada
A Chosen Few
Cardboard faces, GQ cut-outs; business men
their money- pulp pressed, printed, paper;
too busy to acknowledge the pan handlers
selling Spare Change
these brave monitory warriors
too consumed in cowardice & cellular conversations to look the wary beggar in the eye
-simple salutations
"Spare a dollar sir?"
look away in fear- whiplash- perhaps
pressing a cold coin to the putrid paw,
eyes evasive
and hasty brush by...
...conquested animal kingdom
conquest now the concrete city
avoiding their own to create another
pagan monuments unto themselves-
glass temple, sacrificing steel slicing sky, bleeding:
the priest's starched collar, pure virginity-
the cigar smoke
exhaled rings,
harsh crackling chuckle over
spotted silk ties, splashed technocolored,
mocking the self-proclaimed noose
with masochistic satire
-bondage-
sunglasses regardless of cloud-
in spite of them-
concealing the cast away eyes
products sold, skyscrapers alienating sunlight
spores spawn mould in the alleyways,
moist with the urine of dogs and men,
added growth to the economy
that blossoms for a chosen few
while a parasite on the remaining many
rummaging through skips
recycling waste, serving needs.
Calgary, AB., Canada
1984 - 1994
Spinning an idle yarn
Rolling green grass
like a great piled carpet
littered litter-ally with
lint like lambs in
dispersing magnetic flocks
as ewe and I and I
and you and him and
her, all questing to
be monarch of a mountain.
Donnegal, Ireland
Sucky poem about night trains
In the station called Austerlitz
I boarded the overnight train
went straight south from Paris
right to Madrid, Spain
the rails were ringing
all through the night
seven others plus me
in a compartment crammed tight
the time passed so slow,
stale Orangina and BO,
it's been three nights since and
I'm set to do it again
now Alicante on
the Mediterranean.
Madrid, Spain
In Stockholm Station
Station voice echoes
with throbbing pain reverberating inside my head
waiting on another overnight train
(I'd quite rather be dead!)
Bound now to Copenhagen
on the Baltic Sea
9 hours upon ringing rails
is bloody agony!
Stockholm, Sweden
Marriage to Jenny
A year ago you came into my life
brought a little sun along
the shadows became animated
from sedate days of gloom
fresh air through the window
long ago locked in my room
you've given me some truly wonderful stuff
and when we meet I can never get enough
you came here from England,
and I'm here too in a foreign land
Now it's true enough and I just can't wait
September 14th, our wedding date,
the pot of gold long lost now found,
you're my queen and with this band your crown,
in front of TV watching Coronation Street,
the Canadian cold or Canadian heat,
Guinness bitter or a rugger match,
You're the best thing ever that I could catch
No, I can't wait until you're my wife,
From this day on and the rest of my life!
Calgary, AB., Canada
Rolling green grass
like a great piled carpet
littered litter-ally with
lint like lambs in
dispersing magnetic flocks
as ewe and I and I
and you and him and
her, all questing to
be monarch of a mountain.
Donnegal, Ireland
Sucky poem about night trains
In the station called Austerlitz
I boarded the overnight train
went straight south from Paris
right to Madrid, Spain
the rails were ringing
all through the night
seven others plus me
in a compartment crammed tight
the time passed so slow,
stale Orangina and BO,
it's been three nights since and
I'm set to do it again
now Alicante on
the Mediterranean.
Madrid, Spain
In Stockholm Station
Station voice echoes
with throbbing pain reverberating inside my head
waiting on another overnight train
(I'd quite rather be dead!)
Bound now to Copenhagen
on the Baltic Sea
9 hours upon ringing rails
is bloody agony!
Stockholm, Sweden
Marriage to Jenny
A year ago you came into my life
brought a little sun along
the shadows became animated
from sedate days of gloom
fresh air through the window
long ago locked in my room
you've given me some truly wonderful stuff
and when we meet I can never get enough
you came here from England,
and I'm here too in a foreign land
Now it's true enough and I just can't wait
September 14th, our wedding date,
the pot of gold long lost now found,
you're my queen and with this band your crown,
in front of TV watching Coronation Street,
the Canadian cold or Canadian heat,
Guinness bitter or a rugger match,
You're the best thing ever that I could catch
No, I can't wait until you're my wife,
From this day on and the rest of my life!
Calgary, AB., Canada
Seasick Sailor
Draped o' er a bollard
I spewed my guts,
The mermaids sang-
I cursed the sluts
The foc'sle and
The quarterdeck
Were covered wi' ice
Leaving not a speck
Of our ship's
Shadowed shape exposed;
The pipes seized up
And the bilge had froze
Again and again
We swarmed the swells
an oblong ball
upon briny hell
I cursed the ship,
I cursed the sky,
I cursed my guts,
I wanted to die-
To cast away
Into the sea;
for no wife had I
nor family
To grieve me
If n' ere I came home
O sick was I
Through flesh and bone
Tombstones stretched
The stone gray waves
Bearing epitaphs
Just as grave:
They bounced and bounced
To make light my state-
O what misery did
Their bouncing make
For a seasick sailor
Such as me
Each lasting moment-
unmeasurable misery!
Yet still was I
Heart and part of crew
"Get on yer feet!
You've a job to do!"
The cox'n bellowed
Bellow to me
I cursed the bastard
And his whole family!
Making for my feet
and up did stand
To look out along,
No ghost of land
Then o'er the gunnel
My guts made a heave
Mind weary, unwell
Head pressed upon sleeve
Then up and about
To take charge of my chores,
Cursing each and every
Bloody whore
That past through my life
Becoming part of me
And forced the choice
of roving the sea
Then passed out
in the hand's mess
Awaking,
Feeling sleepless-
Such is life
When out to sea
and a seasick sailor
such as me!
Halifax, N.S., Canada
The Pensioner
Night found me reposing
with cheeks sunk and sallow
My house in the village
hearthly heat blown by bellow
my stomach a ' grumbling
my back broke and weary
gazing into the embers
my eyes gray and teary
I remember me a young lad
so full of ambition
the world at my feet
travelling on my own volition
got a job in a factory
the pay then came easy
not a care in the world
summer's nights warm and breezy
The bosses they worked you
hard and long hours
no matter the weather,
sunny, snow or soft showers
half of every penny paid me
went back in their pouches
a humble hut was my dwelling
while they lived in luxury's houses
One day the plans
for our union we were makin'
and later that night
our leaders were taken
they beat them so badly
they never recovered
life's harsh realities
for us were soon discovered
A tradesman was I
and could never be prouder
they met us with clubs,
we responded with powder
for spirit we were fighting
for future generations
with justice for all
free of exploitation
The struggle waged on
for decades and more years
made many a widow
and shed many tears
yet there's no situation
that makes my heart sadder
than for those who were crushed
beneath the corporate ladder
Now I'm an old man
alone by my fire
and what to show've I
for all that I'd perspired?
A nation of robbers,
mistrust and sedition
where the union leaders
have become careerist politicians
Calgary, AB., Canada
Green Bottles
The cool Autumn air made
you shutter and shiver
sat on a rock, a bottle of wine
by the river,
your Boudiccan rage to take on the world
speaking of dreams
and how they'd unfurl
all the aspirations and hopes
you so dearly did coddle,
smiling lips, sip soft from
slender green bottle
the rippling water
slowly crept its way by,
the moon moved toward dawn
fading low in the sky
I sat there listening, feeling a bit pissed
drink bringing up memories
of all the chances I'd missed
but I saw stars of hope
shining bright in your eyes,
the belief we could make it,
it would just take a few tries-
I thought gently back to
our sweet wedding night,
the hopes we shared then,
how it would work out all right; I know some how
that all would be fine
kissed you hard on the lips,
the sweet taste of wine.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Steamy
It's interesting how fast a cup of coffee
Can cool when left at
Room temperature, a quarter cup full-
Colder than the air, the shock of the cool
And that sharp taste like licking
Aluminum
A jolt as if the caffeine has
Forced itself tenfold:
It's interesting how a cup of cold
Coffee can compare to a friend, especially
Now that relationships
Co-exist carelessly in a world where
Nearly everyone owns a microwave.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
Teachers
As teachers we must remain aware
That, in the ever flowing river of knowledge,
We are guided by the route set by the banks yet influence the current. The
Current shapes the shore & guides the water,
Its tempo, its strength,
Ever aware of flooding knowledge
Leaving pools to evaporate in the sun
Our guide is our purpose,
To provide a habitat of growth,
Remembering that we,
Though builders, are not the architect.
Edmonton, AB., Canada
1987 - 1997
a hectic Monday
A day like one from Bulgakov's
Master & Margarita
-the chaos of Woland, the walleyed and whiskered ones
descends its shadow into this shop
spreading stain-like in expanding irritation;
my hands reek, that
talcish powdery scent of
crisp coloured bills
mind burns with public receptions
they swarm as gnats
and nag as mothers
who eventually plot to eat their young
I shake in one of the confrontations
some irate Aussie, a video,
partly nerves, partly anger-
coffee ruled out as the cause
for I've no spare change to squander a cup:
"heave away, haul away"
away to where Pontius Pilot receives his peace,
the loyalty of hounds;
The Heart of a Dog!!
Calgary, AB., Canada
Doug
Doug was a guy I barely knew, the
Friend of a friend, bit more familiar than an acquaintance,
Used to play bass for a few bands around Halifax when I was part of the scene-
Played a gig together once.
One day he hanged himself,
His wife found him strung up in the garage
Face swollen, protruding purple tongue, disfigured features - dead.
Hard times- left a kid behind
That was two years ago
I don't know why I'm thinking so much about him lately
…I haven't the foggiest.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Walk After Rain
diamond drops droop, elongating,
falling in the fresh
evening of spring-
that that stays, stays glimmering
the disco ball trees and globes
sparkle in soft city street lamp illumination-
I walk along this silent ballroom in silence,
nature has not invited us
nor did it save us a dance
upon the mayflower
scented wind.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Last Poem of 1995
Old eyes view the New Year through
The peephole of a multi-bolted and barred door
Prisimed view through saline staring tears
To have a new beginning at the end
Of so long -
The genesis of hope in a bubbled view
"my door's always open" rings cliché
as hospitality is born old fashioned in the
murderous me-generation now at large.
I look from my window behind the bolted
Door and barred pane- the world is a prison:
Homosapien-society-homicide
Nobility is in your level of lock control
And faith, a key easily lost.
Coldbrook, Co.King's, N.S., Canada
Twain & jazz in a BIG city
I walk along like an insect on a brick
the sidewalk slabs my concrete shoes
somewhere downtown,
walking and feeling down
but like I've nothing else to loose
a sinking feeling, shitty city thoughts
tired of the same old sights and smells
with my mate Rob, with an angry gob
each of us our woes we tell
no saving face can be found for this place
though I admit it's not all that bad
but I want more than monolithic malls and stores
and passing corporate fads
feel like I'm trapped in a hole, this place
just has no soul
and all the running is getting me deeper
now I'm clawing away, trying to sort out a way
but the banks are only getting steeper
like an 1800's Negro slave, forced to
inhabit a cave
while my master simply sustains my life
I might have freedom to spend, but then,
in the end, I've only freedom of
cheques to write.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Christ was a Carpenter
I'm thinking of when I broke up
With Brenda - demolition man,
Judas of the heart
Safe barrier behind the phone lines
10,000kms between Calgary & Croydon
detonators set in dialing
the expectance of instinct, planted & instilled
undercovers
detonators set in dialing
the electric charge surges, current carries
the conversation and then
everything EXPLODES!
The air thickens and swells-
Like a wall blown in
And I'm next door shaking and quaking
The tiled ceiling of my emotions
Cracks and falls through me- that sinking sensation
In the pit of your gut
Her anguish expands like a sparked cylinder of
Propane - pain - I implode.
Total destruction.
I read some of the writings I did about her
Remember how I felt
Knew I wanted to know
The answers to the "what ifs"
When it came it was like a cancerous blood test
Result - diagnosed, alive and dead
Her love had found me, and I, I don't know…
I had an answer.
I'd met Jenny and Brenda about the
Same time through the hostel
Where I was working-
Began first building with Brenda
With eyes of equal levied to the other,
But
Knew, over time, that house
Could never be home - it's hard;
The splinters of that sacrificed structure
Forced to fall
Sticks deep and painful under my
Skin with its sharp slivers-
The nails crucify my emotions
But crucifixion
Is worthwhile if
There is a resurrection:
Jenny
Has brought me back from the dead
And I
Would suffer this in similar
Or infinitely worse
For her:
For the first time I am sure
Of the one I am with, of future
And fate - I've found the beauty and peace
Of which Keats had written, in her
Soft and gentle gaze
The "what ifs" are answered
As I await the when
We are again together…
"home sweet home".
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
First Rain
The rain is falling
on the land dry and arid,
each drop cooling and soothing
for the flowers wilting brown;
The swallows fly swiftly,
swooping and swinging,
collecting grubs from
metamorphisising soil, brown...
Green grows a blade of grass side another,
a blooming tree
promising renewed life over decay,
the fallen leaves, withered in sunlight, curling foetal,
lends its shelter
in consoling shade.
Nove Mesto nad Vahom, Czechoslovakia
Battlefield
battlefields callused by souls
chaffing over dust-laden leathered entrails-
red river lines have run
from pen
to paper
and from flesh to ground
since the world
was flat.
Nove Mesto nad Vahom, Czechoslovakia
Justice
The cold linoleum met his small knees
With a thud - frail, pale forearm shielding
The multiple blows of the
Wooden spoon wielded by his mother, it
Burning like de Molay over the flickering
Flames of France;
Her eyes mesmerized with her haunting pains of
Past in Medussain frenzy- frantic
The blood rises, throbbing within slightly swollen
Lips, pulsing with the heart, accented in a horrible
Symphony in a throaty falsetto howl-
Discipline - she lashes out at the son
Who bears his father's features, as
He had hit her - discipline:
The rulings of her mind, tormented as a Grand Inquisitor
Of unknown guilt's-
Forcing a confession for confession's sake; so to
Sentence
To set free from a life of witchery in repentance & death,
With the mercy of a judge who
Sentences the starving peasant
That pinches a farmer's egg, to be hanged-
The boy grew up to be an anarchist
And believes in no one or no thing
Including himself….
Unable to forgive.
Pudsey, W.Yorks, England
Myjava Monday Morning
Stranded at the station
on a Myjava Monday morning
two weeks I have spent
in these clothes I am adorning
my hands have the jitters
from six strong cups of coffee-
my belly, cramped and prancing
from those cakes with seeds from poppies.
Myjava, Czechoslovakia
A Fine Fish
'Twas over the glen
early I did begin
heading toward the water
my pole in hand
with creel and band
heading toward the water
The crystal streams
and sunlight beams
reflecting gold and silver
a glistening foray
on this right splendid day
reflecting gold and silver
'Twas a zing of a din
as I threw me line in
a plop and ripple the water
then swift with a bite
she pulled with such might
a plop and ripple the water
She was a wonderful trout
with red belly and throat
and scales of gold and silver
didn't she shiver and shake
as in my creel I did take
her scales of gold and silver
Later alone
to me home I did roam
far from the rippling water
for porter and tea
or strong shot Paddy's
made from the rippling water
And that night I did dine
on that trout so fine
her scales of gold and silver
that night I slept well
between Heaven and Hell
and the moon of gold and silver
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
John Brodison and the Policeman
If you be a' travelling
through Bellanaleck at night
be now you sure
that your cart has a light
for if the coppers they catch you
riding there dark
you might find your luck
to be a shade stark
Here is a tale
of a man of sharp wit
he ken of the cross
where the police would hid
so when he approached them
to where they would to find
he unstrapped his ass
then strapped him behind
Nearer to the cross
this cunning man did close
the police were just there
right as he supposed
the copper stopped the young man
who alone drew the cart
and directly at him
he made a quick start
Aye this fair bloke
was a witty ol' one
who went by the calling
of John Brodison
so when the policeman charged
"ye have not a light"
"ask the driver!" replied Brodison
with great delight!
The copper he stood there
dumbstruck as a fool
while his eyes moved to meet
those of Brodison's mule
for what charge
might one make to an ass
simply shaking his head,
with a sigh let them pass
Now some find this tale
perhaps a wee might to swallow
but if you use well your mind
your ass is bound to follow
a lesson each one
should well take to heart
if travelling through Bellanaleck
with no light on your cart!
Hunts Point, N.S., Canada
Northern Ireland
tomorrow
is a forever
locked
behind a past;
Good night Irene,
good night.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
The Seal
A great seal swam up the Liffey
and sought sleepy solace upon a ledge
at the base of O'Connell bridge
where little children spit upon his head...
what more can be said?
what more can be said!
Dublin, Ireland
Epitaph
God is dead,
and with It,
creation;
now all that remains
is religion to make us
feel strong.
Paris, France
A day like one from Bulgakov's
Master & Margarita
-the chaos of Woland, the walleyed and whiskered ones
descends its shadow into this shop
spreading stain-like in expanding irritation;
my hands reek, that
talcish powdery scent of
crisp coloured bills
mind burns with public receptions
they swarm as gnats
and nag as mothers
who eventually plot to eat their young
I shake in one of the confrontations
some irate Aussie, a video,
partly nerves, partly anger-
coffee ruled out as the cause
for I've no spare change to squander a cup:
"heave away, haul away"
away to where Pontius Pilot receives his peace,
the loyalty of hounds;
The Heart of a Dog!!
Calgary, AB., Canada
Doug
Doug was a guy I barely knew, the
Friend of a friend, bit more familiar than an acquaintance,
Used to play bass for a few bands around Halifax when I was part of the scene-
Played a gig together once.
One day he hanged himself,
His wife found him strung up in the garage
Face swollen, protruding purple tongue, disfigured features - dead.
Hard times- left a kid behind
That was two years ago
I don't know why I'm thinking so much about him lately
…I haven't the foggiest.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Walk After Rain
diamond drops droop, elongating,
falling in the fresh
evening of spring-
that that stays, stays glimmering
the disco ball trees and globes
sparkle in soft city street lamp illumination-
I walk along this silent ballroom in silence,
nature has not invited us
nor did it save us a dance
upon the mayflower
scented wind.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Last Poem of 1995
Old eyes view the New Year through
The peephole of a multi-bolted and barred door
Prisimed view through saline staring tears
To have a new beginning at the end
Of so long -
The genesis of hope in a bubbled view
"my door's always open" rings cliché
as hospitality is born old fashioned in the
murderous me-generation now at large.
I look from my window behind the bolted
Door and barred pane- the world is a prison:
Homosapien-society-homicide
Nobility is in your level of lock control
And faith, a key easily lost.
Coldbrook, Co.King's, N.S., Canada
Twain & jazz in a BIG city
I walk along like an insect on a brick
the sidewalk slabs my concrete shoes
somewhere downtown,
walking and feeling down
but like I've nothing else to loose
a sinking feeling, shitty city thoughts
tired of the same old sights and smells
with my mate Rob, with an angry gob
each of us our woes we tell
no saving face can be found for this place
though I admit it's not all that bad
but I want more than monolithic malls and stores
and passing corporate fads
feel like I'm trapped in a hole, this place
just has no soul
and all the running is getting me deeper
now I'm clawing away, trying to sort out a way
but the banks are only getting steeper
like an 1800's Negro slave, forced to
inhabit a cave
while my master simply sustains my life
I might have freedom to spend, but then,
in the end, I've only freedom of
cheques to write.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Christ was a Carpenter
I'm thinking of when I broke up
With Brenda - demolition man,
Judas of the heart
Safe barrier behind the phone lines
10,000kms between Calgary & Croydon
detonators set in dialing
the expectance of instinct, planted & instilled
undercovers
detonators set in dialing
the electric charge surges, current carries
the conversation and then
everything EXPLODES!
The air thickens and swells-
Like a wall blown in
And I'm next door shaking and quaking
The tiled ceiling of my emotions
Cracks and falls through me- that sinking sensation
In the pit of your gut
Her anguish expands like a sparked cylinder of
Propane - pain - I implode.
Total destruction.
I read some of the writings I did about her
Remember how I felt
Knew I wanted to know
The answers to the "what ifs"
When it came it was like a cancerous blood test
Result - diagnosed, alive and dead
Her love had found me, and I, I don't know…
I had an answer.
I'd met Jenny and Brenda about the
Same time through the hostel
Where I was working-
Began first building with Brenda
With eyes of equal levied to the other,
But
Knew, over time, that house
Could never be home - it's hard;
The splinters of that sacrificed structure
Forced to fall
Sticks deep and painful under my
Skin with its sharp slivers-
The nails crucify my emotions
But crucifixion
Is worthwhile if
There is a resurrection:
Jenny
Has brought me back from the dead
And I
Would suffer this in similar
Or infinitely worse
For her:
For the first time I am sure
Of the one I am with, of future
And fate - I've found the beauty and peace
Of which Keats had written, in her
Soft and gentle gaze
The "what ifs" are answered
As I await the when
We are again together…
"home sweet home".
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
First Rain
The rain is falling
on the land dry and arid,
each drop cooling and soothing
for the flowers wilting brown;
The swallows fly swiftly,
swooping and swinging,
collecting grubs from
metamorphisising soil, brown...
Green grows a blade of grass side another,
a blooming tree
promising renewed life over decay,
the fallen leaves, withered in sunlight, curling foetal,
lends its shelter
in consoling shade.
Nove Mesto nad Vahom, Czechoslovakia
Battlefield
battlefields callused by souls
chaffing over dust-laden leathered entrails-
red river lines have run
from pen
to paper
and from flesh to ground
since the world
was flat.
Nove Mesto nad Vahom, Czechoslovakia
Justice
The cold linoleum met his small knees
With a thud - frail, pale forearm shielding
The multiple blows of the
Wooden spoon wielded by his mother, it
Burning like de Molay over the flickering
Flames of France;
Her eyes mesmerized with her haunting pains of
Past in Medussain frenzy- frantic
The blood rises, throbbing within slightly swollen
Lips, pulsing with the heart, accented in a horrible
Symphony in a throaty falsetto howl-
Discipline - she lashes out at the son
Who bears his father's features, as
He had hit her - discipline:
The rulings of her mind, tormented as a Grand Inquisitor
Of unknown guilt's-
Forcing a confession for confession's sake; so to
Sentence
To set free from a life of witchery in repentance & death,
With the mercy of a judge who
Sentences the starving peasant
That pinches a farmer's egg, to be hanged-
The boy grew up to be an anarchist
And believes in no one or no thing
Including himself….
Unable to forgive.
Pudsey, W.Yorks, England
Myjava Monday Morning
Stranded at the station
on a Myjava Monday morning
two weeks I have spent
in these clothes I am adorning
my hands have the jitters
from six strong cups of coffee-
my belly, cramped and prancing
from those cakes with seeds from poppies.
Myjava, Czechoslovakia
A Fine Fish
'Twas over the glen
early I did begin
heading toward the water
my pole in hand
with creel and band
heading toward the water
The crystal streams
and sunlight beams
reflecting gold and silver
a glistening foray
on this right splendid day
reflecting gold and silver
'Twas a zing of a din
as I threw me line in
a plop and ripple the water
then swift with a bite
she pulled with such might
a plop and ripple the water
She was a wonderful trout
with red belly and throat
and scales of gold and silver
didn't she shiver and shake
as in my creel I did take
her scales of gold and silver
Later alone
to me home I did roam
far from the rippling water
for porter and tea
or strong shot Paddy's
made from the rippling water
And that night I did dine
on that trout so fine
her scales of gold and silver
that night I slept well
between Heaven and Hell
and the moon of gold and silver
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
John Brodison and the Policeman
If you be a' travelling
through Bellanaleck at night
be now you sure
that your cart has a light
for if the coppers they catch you
riding there dark
you might find your luck
to be a shade stark
Here is a tale
of a man of sharp wit
he ken of the cross
where the police would hid
so when he approached them
to where they would to find
he unstrapped his ass
then strapped him behind
Nearer to the cross
this cunning man did close
the police were just there
right as he supposed
the copper stopped the young man
who alone drew the cart
and directly at him
he made a quick start
Aye this fair bloke
was a witty ol' one
who went by the calling
of John Brodison
so when the policeman charged
"ye have not a light"
"ask the driver!" replied Brodison
with great delight!
The copper he stood there
dumbstruck as a fool
while his eyes moved to meet
those of Brodison's mule
for what charge
might one make to an ass
simply shaking his head,
with a sigh let them pass
Now some find this tale
perhaps a wee might to swallow
but if you use well your mind
your ass is bound to follow
a lesson each one
should well take to heart
if travelling through Bellanaleck
with no light on your cart!
Hunts Point, N.S., Canada
Northern Ireland
tomorrow
is a forever
locked
behind a past;
Good night Irene,
good night.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
The Seal
A great seal swam up the Liffey
and sought sleepy solace upon a ledge
at the base of O'Connell bridge
where little children spit upon his head...
what more can be said?
what more can be said!
Dublin, Ireland
Epitaph
God is dead,
and with It,
creation;
now all that remains
is religion to make us
feel strong.
Paris, France
1987 - 1997
Never a Farewell to Nova Scotia
I look here at my native land that Buchanan bought and sold
Listen to tales of years gone by, which made their tellers old
I see a place once prosperous, now slipped into decay
In this corner of Canada that has been cast away
I remember the harbour, crafts coming to port with their haul
But now they're few and pass us by en route to Montreal
The towns they gray and fade away in deaths merciless and slow
While the young depart now everyday, off to Ontario
I see a culture colorful, of dancing and songs bright
A beacon to a future, our warm and guiding light
Again a prosperous lively place, buzzing with affray
In this corner of Canada that's been cast away
Milton, Co.Queen's, N.S., Canada
Cattle grids
sheep stud the hillside in the hundreds
as an army, about faced
grazing on lush green turf-
we whiz by, watching through
the windscreen of our car
for those that might choose to cross;
ignoring or ignorant of our presence-
shunted by sheep,
wishing to be as them
our wheels role with ease
over the cattle grids,
passing back into the clutter
of civilizations and cities
like lambs to the slaughter.
Holymoorside, Derbys., England
Afternoon in Cardiff
sat in a Cardiff sidewalk cafe
gray and hazy January day
feeling sorry for the pigeon perched upon the white
and graying plastic chair,
feeling sorry for its
mutated claw and the life of rejection lead
by big city birds, scratching and soaring against
an aluminum sky.
Jenny's cued for coffee
while seated I wait,
saving us the last spot free;
stare into the birds eyes as
it darts its head and spies the table
next to me;- some child with white bread bap-
The home of Dylan Thomas and I realize
I've not read any of that he's writ- Jenny comes
back with coffee; we've brought our lunch in a bag-
I begin to bring it out, but a server
stands over us and says there's
no outside eats permitted, says we have to go-
we comply, sit on a stone wall
watching the masses fly by.
Cardiff, Wales
Bank Robbers
TD Square toilets
talking to a Spare Change vendor
over the stench and putrescence of acidic yellow pools
formed at the base of white porcelain waterfalls;
found a flat here after 24 hours; listen to the street
vendor go on
about a bank robbery he just saw-
Jenny forgot her engagement ring at the hotel,
I should have reminded her
she often forgets to put it on after
bathing or washing up-
it's the second bank robbery he's seen, the first was
during Stampede
-bicycle couriers doing face plants;
Jenny and I opened a joint
account today at TD
she means more to me than any ring
no one can steal our love; our new flat
(new beginnings)
is across the avenue
from my old one.
Calgary, AB., Canada
On the violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter
bow darting as an archers arrows
viewed through a prism
amidst the earthquake of a body
at one with sound;
reverberating strings wail as a harmonized
flock on migration to paradise
carrying me beneath downy wing-
eyes closed, sealing in the passion
which selectively escapes,
seeping onto the magically tuned
wires through fingers flickering as
furious flames;
a sound so sensual
from a shape equally divine.
Calgary, AB., Canada
For Unc (1928-1993)
I remember how hard it was
when I knew I was saying "I love you" for the final time-
your tired, heavy eyes, moist,
gazing into mine- the
sound of cancer wheezing in your lungs, the O2 tank:
all resembling the sound of the
faucet in our basement, hissing on and off
at the taps turning when
you'd be doing your things about
the house, now the sound, your life away draining-
your hand, soft and waxy in my humid grip,
calluses cured whilst
bedridden all else worsened-
65 years dissolved in a moment,
summer of 1993-words caught,
fragmented slivers in my throat- those words,
the truth, the pain remains
and serves a reminder that
their meaning died not with your passing,
and that I can never bid goodbye
and that I never will bid goodbye.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Kitchen Ceildh
The kettle in the kitchen whistles through the open door
The sound of shuffling & stomping shoes on a hardwood floor
The warmth & hospitality of the old South Shore
The music breaks the crowd brays for more
The festive evening nears its height
The midnight sky shines soft with misty moonlight
Lovers & dancers hold close and tight
Shadows shift and swoon front the fireplace light
A jar of porter, a spot of tea
Fiddlers, pipers & some strong whiskey
Some tell stories while the lovers are let be
For when you dance you can but only make free
Jigs and jugs, all of passions throws
A hundred heads heavy at evenings close
But hearts are light, free from life's woes
No better cure than dancing heel to toe
Friends they part with "Auld Lang Syne"
Shaking hands and hugs for they've had a grand time
Some into slumber slip after excess bitter & wine
A night of peace in which all the world's fine!
Milton, Co.Queen's, N.S., Canada
Nightly Destruction of the
Human Rainforest
Nightclub floozy
face, more paint than a portrait,
clumped on Van Gogh style
ear cut-off by piercing studs and circles of surgical steel
$100.00 fabric pieces- scraps- stitched into fashion
paying more for less
paying, money changing hands
the bars, the bar keeper, the prison
the spectacle- primal eyes rule the cell
of night beneath the booming jungle beat
and searching strobe
an Eden free of foliage but residue
of the leaf still lurks...
so much care in assembling ones features
no regard for smell:
cigarettes, alcohol and sweat
all flaunted and watched in the new wilderness
the stars burn off every morning
at 3
remains in the wasteland.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Gardening with a Handgun
Bloody rosebud blooming
red to death
budding- gray lead
seed planted into temple
blackness to an end
skull, rocky slate-like soil
embed beyond the bedrock-
ultimate defeat
definitive statistic
self-destructed
shitty
shame.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Optimistic Generation
brought up with articles of faith
pagan promises, St.Thomas A. & his circular statements
faith brings you back to where were was
the death of George Burns makes us mortal again:
bookstore buyer overheard by disgruntled clerk:
"this isn't Generation X anymore, it's Generation Angry"
the welcome sound of nonsense,
the paper makes air arid;
books barren in spite of print,
their potential mocking,
nobody reads- fuck you Danielle Steel-
limited minds requiring entertainment
in the I don't watch the news world because it upsets me
individual Omelaos
walk away, walk away
superior flock to the cats
contented by a ball of yarn
North America, with apologies to Faulkner & Twain-
everyone seems a marvelous actor,
costumes, props & sets
but no one ever acts- Topcon-
in spite of the verb that casts us a noun
docile in beliefs of
freedom & choice
never to stop and consider what is chosen
and who made the choice to choose-
John Paul II
born Catholic so now Pope,
righteous
but George is dead at 100 and St.Thomas A. has
been to B and back;
oh for a doubting Thomas
and a leader like Christ,
no more icons
and a wage that
equals more than 60%
of the poverty line.
Calgary, AB., Canada
An Old man I see Every morning on Stephen Ave.
I tuck my knickers in my socks
to keep the hem up off the ground
I tramp the streets round everyday
here in this cowboy town
can't quite remember where I'm from
or where else I have been
but it was somewhere in that time
that away lost I my dreams
My hands show years of system toil
nails tawny from bins and fags
the sum of all on earth I own
stuffed in this military surplus bag
and the cap that's perched upon my head
equals the extent of my abode
it's tipped your way many times each day
as we pass and go
My whiskers they are white and tough
my eyes, watery, red and green
my hair is long but I keep it combed
upon my overcoats soiled black seems
I'm out and about round everyday
you can read the weather on my face
ever since the shelter's shut their doors
you seem to see me now every place
Whether life is something that we choose,
decided by education, economics or booze
remember me in my vagabond shoes
and may the road rise with you
remember we once shared the same shoes
and may the road rise with you.
Calgary, AB., Canada
A vision of my Jenny someday carefree & dancing
flagstone floor softly stroked
by butterfly sole in rhythmic roles
sprightly strings spring lightly forth
in the tempo of summers' free
for why in the world should be known
a troublesome care to she?
eyes of hazel happily view through visions of spirit,
ecstasy and dream
drowsy frog bids cricket a good night
the moon and its misty moonlight
world of peace and free
slow motion flow, her wheat field hair
golden, flashing, in windy wheeling,
hop and spin
flowered dress on gentle skin
supple and sweet, soaked in pleasures' passion
air drenched with wisps of wind,
the valleys purple heather, fragrant,
in a night that could ken no end.
Calgary, AB., Canada
I look here at my native land that Buchanan bought and sold
Listen to tales of years gone by, which made their tellers old
I see a place once prosperous, now slipped into decay
In this corner of Canada that has been cast away
I remember the harbour, crafts coming to port with their haul
But now they're few and pass us by en route to Montreal
The towns they gray and fade away in deaths merciless and slow
While the young depart now everyday, off to Ontario
I see a culture colorful, of dancing and songs bright
A beacon to a future, our warm and guiding light
Again a prosperous lively place, buzzing with affray
In this corner of Canada that's been cast away
Milton, Co.Queen's, N.S., Canada
Cattle grids
sheep stud the hillside in the hundreds
as an army, about faced
grazing on lush green turf-
we whiz by, watching through
the windscreen of our car
for those that might choose to cross;
ignoring or ignorant of our presence-
shunted by sheep,
wishing to be as them
our wheels role with ease
over the cattle grids,
passing back into the clutter
of civilizations and cities
like lambs to the slaughter.
Holymoorside, Derbys., England
Afternoon in Cardiff
sat in a Cardiff sidewalk cafe
gray and hazy January day
feeling sorry for the pigeon perched upon the white
and graying plastic chair,
feeling sorry for its
mutated claw and the life of rejection lead
by big city birds, scratching and soaring against
an aluminum sky.
Jenny's cued for coffee
while seated I wait,
saving us the last spot free;
stare into the birds eyes as
it darts its head and spies the table
next to me;- some child with white bread bap-
The home of Dylan Thomas and I realize
I've not read any of that he's writ- Jenny comes
back with coffee; we've brought our lunch in a bag-
I begin to bring it out, but a server
stands over us and says there's
no outside eats permitted, says we have to go-
we comply, sit on a stone wall
watching the masses fly by.
Cardiff, Wales
Bank Robbers
TD Square toilets
talking to a Spare Change vendor
over the stench and putrescence of acidic yellow pools
formed at the base of white porcelain waterfalls;
found a flat here after 24 hours; listen to the street
vendor go on
about a bank robbery he just saw-
Jenny forgot her engagement ring at the hotel,
I should have reminded her
she often forgets to put it on after
bathing or washing up-
it's the second bank robbery he's seen, the first was
during Stampede
-bicycle couriers doing face plants;
Jenny and I opened a joint
account today at TD
she means more to me than any ring
no one can steal our love; our new flat
(new beginnings)
is across the avenue
from my old one.
Calgary, AB., Canada
On the violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter
bow darting as an archers arrows
viewed through a prism
amidst the earthquake of a body
at one with sound;
reverberating strings wail as a harmonized
flock on migration to paradise
carrying me beneath downy wing-
eyes closed, sealing in the passion
which selectively escapes,
seeping onto the magically tuned
wires through fingers flickering as
furious flames;
a sound so sensual
from a shape equally divine.
Calgary, AB., Canada
For Unc (1928-1993)
I remember how hard it was
when I knew I was saying "I love you" for the final time-
your tired, heavy eyes, moist,
gazing into mine- the
sound of cancer wheezing in your lungs, the O2 tank:
all resembling the sound of the
faucet in our basement, hissing on and off
at the taps turning when
you'd be doing your things about
the house, now the sound, your life away draining-
your hand, soft and waxy in my humid grip,
calluses cured whilst
bedridden all else worsened-
65 years dissolved in a moment,
summer of 1993-words caught,
fragmented slivers in my throat- those words,
the truth, the pain remains
and serves a reminder that
their meaning died not with your passing,
and that I can never bid goodbye
and that I never will bid goodbye.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Kitchen Ceildh
The kettle in the kitchen whistles through the open door
The sound of shuffling & stomping shoes on a hardwood floor
The warmth & hospitality of the old South Shore
The music breaks the crowd brays for more
The festive evening nears its height
The midnight sky shines soft with misty moonlight
Lovers & dancers hold close and tight
Shadows shift and swoon front the fireplace light
A jar of porter, a spot of tea
Fiddlers, pipers & some strong whiskey
Some tell stories while the lovers are let be
For when you dance you can but only make free
Jigs and jugs, all of passions throws
A hundred heads heavy at evenings close
But hearts are light, free from life's woes
No better cure than dancing heel to toe
Friends they part with "Auld Lang Syne"
Shaking hands and hugs for they've had a grand time
Some into slumber slip after excess bitter & wine
A night of peace in which all the world's fine!
Milton, Co.Queen's, N.S., Canada
Nightly Destruction of the
Human Rainforest
Nightclub floozy
face, more paint than a portrait,
clumped on Van Gogh style
ear cut-off by piercing studs and circles of surgical steel
$100.00 fabric pieces- scraps- stitched into fashion
paying more for less
paying, money changing hands
the bars, the bar keeper, the prison
the spectacle- primal eyes rule the cell
of night beneath the booming jungle beat
and searching strobe
an Eden free of foliage but residue
of the leaf still lurks...
so much care in assembling ones features
no regard for smell:
cigarettes, alcohol and sweat
all flaunted and watched in the new wilderness
the stars burn off every morning
at 3
remains in the wasteland.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Gardening with a Handgun
Bloody rosebud blooming
red to death
budding- gray lead
seed planted into temple
blackness to an end
skull, rocky slate-like soil
embed beyond the bedrock-
ultimate defeat
definitive statistic
self-destructed
shitty
shame.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Optimistic Generation
brought up with articles of faith
pagan promises, St.Thomas A. & his circular statements
faith brings you back to where were was
the death of George Burns makes us mortal again:
bookstore buyer overheard by disgruntled clerk:
"this isn't Generation X anymore, it's Generation Angry"
the welcome sound of nonsense,
the paper makes air arid;
books barren in spite of print,
their potential mocking,
nobody reads- fuck you Danielle Steel-
limited minds requiring entertainment
in the I don't watch the news world because it upsets me
individual Omelaos
walk away, walk away
superior flock to the cats
contented by a ball of yarn
North America, with apologies to Faulkner & Twain-
everyone seems a marvelous actor,
costumes, props & sets
but no one ever acts- Topcon-
in spite of the verb that casts us a noun
docile in beliefs of
freedom & choice
never to stop and consider what is chosen
and who made the choice to choose-
John Paul II
born Catholic so now Pope,
righteous
but George is dead at 100 and St.Thomas A. has
been to B and back;
oh for a doubting Thomas
and a leader like Christ,
no more icons
and a wage that
equals more than 60%
of the poverty line.
Calgary, AB., Canada
An Old man I see Every morning on Stephen Ave.
I tuck my knickers in my socks
to keep the hem up off the ground
I tramp the streets round everyday
here in this cowboy town
can't quite remember where I'm from
or where else I have been
but it was somewhere in that time
that away lost I my dreams
My hands show years of system toil
nails tawny from bins and fags
the sum of all on earth I own
stuffed in this military surplus bag
and the cap that's perched upon my head
equals the extent of my abode
it's tipped your way many times each day
as we pass and go
My whiskers they are white and tough
my eyes, watery, red and green
my hair is long but I keep it combed
upon my overcoats soiled black seems
I'm out and about round everyday
you can read the weather on my face
ever since the shelter's shut their doors
you seem to see me now every place
Whether life is something that we choose,
decided by education, economics or booze
remember me in my vagabond shoes
and may the road rise with you
remember we once shared the same shoes
and may the road rise with you.
Calgary, AB., Canada
A vision of my Jenny someday carefree & dancing
flagstone floor softly stroked
by butterfly sole in rhythmic roles
sprightly strings spring lightly forth
in the tempo of summers' free
for why in the world should be known
a troublesome care to she?
eyes of hazel happily view through visions of spirit,
ecstasy and dream
drowsy frog bids cricket a good night
the moon and its misty moonlight
world of peace and free
slow motion flow, her wheat field hair
golden, flashing, in windy wheeling,
hop and spin
flowered dress on gentle skin
supple and sweet, soaked in pleasures' passion
air drenched with wisps of wind,
the valleys purple heather, fragrant,
in a night that could ken no end.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Unpredictable
Man is an animal
-unpredictable
sometimes he might let you close
let you cuddle, caress
snuggle softly between your breasts
turn you on
then turn on you;
tender nibbles turn, savage bites
knarled bone
soulavoir- leave you empty...
never stare directly into the eyes
you might see something more
than yourself,
something beyond yourself,
instinct- impossible to domesticate.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Stimulated
You're whacked out on that shit again
black coffee eyes, sugar coated stare
talking about men lacking depth...
I sit listening, drowning in
your teacup smile,
you decaffinate my mind.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Saw her in the park today
Sitting on the grass, first time since our
First kiss, taking in a free Shakespeare play,
It was crap
I spoke to her for a moment
Like a nervous teenager-
Stole an awkward kiss good bye-
The second- she said I was "getting brave"
I don't know if that's good
Or bad.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Suckers
Breast fed at birth,
we are all
born
suckers.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Morning
Woke up early this morning
my scrotum stuck on side my leg
I got up in the morning dusk
to find no clean briefs in my bag
the air was sharp and full of throaty snores
I went to the toilet in my dirty drawers
and stood barefoot on the piss covered floor
I didn' t give a damn.
Munich, Germany
Barcelona Bullfight
New blood flushes through ejaculating veins,
exposed upon a black velvet fur surface laden
with sweat:
OLE! OLE! OLE!
dodging, the matador sweeps his red
cape through the dust
round and round
stomping hooves, charging-
nose scuffs sandy ground, lunging- OLE!
OLE! and stabbing; six
spikes now in bloodied nape, sword strikes
shoulder, blade to blade- stumbling,
vomit,
vomiting blood, crimson, charging...
RAGE! RAGE! RAGE TORO!!
anger and frenzy combine
in chaos , circles and charging! CHARGING!
blood and charging,
ole and bleeding,
bleeding, charging,
disoriented in the billowing dust
round and round
newly disclosed arteries pulsing,
red cape flashes- OLE!
...now a pause.
The matador winks at a seniorita in the crowd.
His gait, swaggering confidently, controlled in bright ceremonial costume.The bull, standing, staggering, bleeding, staring,
spikes still standing in his back, teetering
as reeds in the wind,
blood dripping scarlet into the earth from his
protruding tongue, vomiting;
The matador returns with a sword, shining silver from its sheath,
in a hush
and matter of minutes the band begins
playing and it is done-
ole.
Barcelona, Spain
Dream #4
I don't recall who I called
Out to; I'm standing on the
Door sill looking
At the flagstone walkway:
A large brown snake lies
Stretched out in a line
Beside a staff, unvarnished
But stripped of its bark.
Bradford, W.Yorks., England
Thoughts through a chamber window
Looking out the window at the
clear California sky watching
the fluctuating pressure
of an outdoor fountain- jagged
white water jets, trembling upward
crashing and splashing back to the source
like a slit jugular- heart pounding and pumping,
metaphor for America, bleeding to death
the artery bleeding in this desert state
-gas chamber and Klan-
had the best burrito of my life here
but now bloated as
travel and injury has altered my routines,
waiting on my delayed flight
and thinking of Jenny.
San Francisco, CA., U.S.A.
Insane
Sitting on the balcony having
A good bitch session
To the background gurgle of the heavy trucks
Dialogues disintegrate into monologues
Similar gripes - interchangeable
Hoping to put our negatives together
Forming a positive
Inevitably talking to ourselves
The others presence simply
Spares us from being
Labeled insane.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Java Cafe
back in Bradford
at the Java Cafe
ten months I've been away
rain, light rain- round gray corner
walk from the cinema
movie on my mind-
many moments before the menu's brought my way
some hip hop jam
jets out, air clouded- dubbed with voices
soft colored lights over-dub the air
currents make cloudy the smoke-free
section with misty softness
-the air mixes, feel the bass beat through floorboards
like an engulfing heart- offbeat breathing
respiring, streetlight
stop sign red spotlight shines the electric eye
of a soldered rust-jagged metal sculpted fish
mounted across from me
glaring, staring,
waiting for the waitress
to come take my order-
considering, contemplating
the concept of "mood"
and artificial environment.
Bradford, W.Yorks., England
Dream girl?
It's funny how you can live
in a place then leave that place
then wonder if you were ever really there.
Tonight I'm thinking of Jenny- 1:17a.m.-
Tonight I'm wondering if she is there in Calgary
if she is real...
when I was in High School, around 1984, I
had a dream about a
girl who lived on an island
in Halifax Harbour-
woke up the next morning infatuated,
missed her fiercely for a few days
even though the island in my
dream doesn't exist, neither did the girl-
I hope Jenny isn't
the girl of my dreams.
Halifax, W.Yorks., England
Coal
Canter through the cavern of night
shadows fall from pale moonlight
upon narrow Northern English streets
slicked with tears of monarchies rein;
smokestacks stab the starlit sky that
over ragged slate-roofed row houses glow
the death lurks in an old mans eyes
of "is their life or only coal?"...
he looks at this life, what's to be found:
to live then lie below the ground.
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
Brenda
She came from Melbourne;
I checked her into the hostel
I teased her about he way she
Said "no" with her Aussie accent;
Sometimes someone special slips into your
Life when you really need it
The hard part is when they slip out
-like morphine it kills the pain
but then you get addicted - you need it
continually and when it's taken away you're destroyed
by the desire, the dependence - the need -
she's off to New York for a spell, then London…
she leaves Saturday
I know that night I'll feel shit, that night I'll
Sleep alone for the first time in four nights-
Contemplating the "what ifs", sleepless,
Eyes probing the dark:
Wandering; the day she leaves will
Be the day I'll need her the most.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Leeds City Art Gallery
Poison apple surreal and sour
the goats head- head cheese
a man wrestles a swan amidst the wrecked
train derailed and glowing orange some
centuries later...
snow stroked heavy weighted church
with pointed steeple shifts the icy burden
to the body
beside the streetside cafe
in eternal summer sun
a thousand faces follow with
oil cracked eyes in their decaying
immortal images
amidst the pears and unknown images
-fog is the mind
in imagery and
lost in lacking certainty when the
immortal decays;
boats, angels and gods.
Leeds, W.Yorks., England
Too Much TV
Mind like video tape- the handycam-man
eyes focused in fishbowl staring
the world looks through your
lens; playback brain little green-gray images
made black and white
PLAY, RECORD, REWIND,
fingers forever feverently trying to find
the fast forward
sometimes reaching the end of the tape too soon-
results in conscientious rewind of
contents in blurred flashing images
forgotten fragments and figments
nothing like what you ever knew- wasted tape-
convulsing, the handycam-man clicks
the cassettes plastic tracked wheels jump in his
plastic body into eternal inertia-
someone pushes eject
and slips him into a plastic case
airtight, oxygen obsolete-
buried in a bookshelf gathering dust.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
Man is an animal
-unpredictable
sometimes he might let you close
let you cuddle, caress
snuggle softly between your breasts
turn you on
then turn on you;
tender nibbles turn, savage bites
knarled bone
soulavoir- leave you empty...
never stare directly into the eyes
you might see something more
than yourself,
something beyond yourself,
instinct- impossible to domesticate.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Stimulated
You're whacked out on that shit again
black coffee eyes, sugar coated stare
talking about men lacking depth...
I sit listening, drowning in
your teacup smile,
you decaffinate my mind.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Saw her in the park today
Sitting on the grass, first time since our
First kiss, taking in a free Shakespeare play,
It was crap
I spoke to her for a moment
Like a nervous teenager-
Stole an awkward kiss good bye-
The second- she said I was "getting brave"
I don't know if that's good
Or bad.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Suckers
Breast fed at birth,
we are all
born
suckers.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Morning
Woke up early this morning
my scrotum stuck on side my leg
I got up in the morning dusk
to find no clean briefs in my bag
the air was sharp and full of throaty snores
I went to the toilet in my dirty drawers
and stood barefoot on the piss covered floor
I didn' t give a damn.
Munich, Germany
Barcelona Bullfight
New blood flushes through ejaculating veins,
exposed upon a black velvet fur surface laden
with sweat:
OLE! OLE! OLE!
dodging, the matador sweeps his red
cape through the dust
round and round
stomping hooves, charging-
nose scuffs sandy ground, lunging- OLE!
OLE! and stabbing; six
spikes now in bloodied nape, sword strikes
shoulder, blade to blade- stumbling,
vomit,
vomiting blood, crimson, charging...
RAGE! RAGE! RAGE TORO!!
anger and frenzy combine
in chaos , circles and charging! CHARGING!
blood and charging,
ole and bleeding,
bleeding, charging,
disoriented in the billowing dust
round and round
newly disclosed arteries pulsing,
red cape flashes- OLE!
...now a pause.
The matador winks at a seniorita in the crowd.
His gait, swaggering confidently, controlled in bright ceremonial costume.The bull, standing, staggering, bleeding, staring,
spikes still standing in his back, teetering
as reeds in the wind,
blood dripping scarlet into the earth from his
protruding tongue, vomiting;
The matador returns with a sword, shining silver from its sheath,
in a hush
and matter of minutes the band begins
playing and it is done-
ole.
Barcelona, Spain
Dream #4
I don't recall who I called
Out to; I'm standing on the
Door sill looking
At the flagstone walkway:
A large brown snake lies
Stretched out in a line
Beside a staff, unvarnished
But stripped of its bark.
Bradford, W.Yorks., England
Thoughts through a chamber window
Looking out the window at the
clear California sky watching
the fluctuating pressure
of an outdoor fountain- jagged
white water jets, trembling upward
crashing and splashing back to the source
like a slit jugular- heart pounding and pumping,
metaphor for America, bleeding to death
the artery bleeding in this desert state
-gas chamber and Klan-
had the best burrito of my life here
but now bloated as
travel and injury has altered my routines,
waiting on my delayed flight
and thinking of Jenny.
San Francisco, CA., U.S.A.
Insane
Sitting on the balcony having
A good bitch session
To the background gurgle of the heavy trucks
Dialogues disintegrate into monologues
Similar gripes - interchangeable
Hoping to put our negatives together
Forming a positive
Inevitably talking to ourselves
The others presence simply
Spares us from being
Labeled insane.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Java Cafe
back in Bradford
at the Java Cafe
ten months I've been away
rain, light rain- round gray corner
walk from the cinema
movie on my mind-
many moments before the menu's brought my way
some hip hop jam
jets out, air clouded- dubbed with voices
soft colored lights over-dub the air
currents make cloudy the smoke-free
section with misty softness
-the air mixes, feel the bass beat through floorboards
like an engulfing heart- offbeat breathing
respiring, streetlight
stop sign red spotlight shines the electric eye
of a soldered rust-jagged metal sculpted fish
mounted across from me
glaring, staring,
waiting for the waitress
to come take my order-
considering, contemplating
the concept of "mood"
and artificial environment.
Bradford, W.Yorks., England
Dream girl?
It's funny how you can live
in a place then leave that place
then wonder if you were ever really there.
Tonight I'm thinking of Jenny- 1:17a.m.-
Tonight I'm wondering if she is there in Calgary
if she is real...
when I was in High School, around 1984, I
had a dream about a
girl who lived on an island
in Halifax Harbour-
woke up the next morning infatuated,
missed her fiercely for a few days
even though the island in my
dream doesn't exist, neither did the girl-
I hope Jenny isn't
the girl of my dreams.
Halifax, W.Yorks., England
Coal
Canter through the cavern of night
shadows fall from pale moonlight
upon narrow Northern English streets
slicked with tears of monarchies rein;
smokestacks stab the starlit sky that
over ragged slate-roofed row houses glow
the death lurks in an old mans eyes
of "is their life or only coal?"...
he looks at this life, what's to be found:
to live then lie below the ground.
Pudsey, W.Yorks., England
Brenda
She came from Melbourne;
I checked her into the hostel
I teased her about he way she
Said "no" with her Aussie accent;
Sometimes someone special slips into your
Life when you really need it
The hard part is when they slip out
-like morphine it kills the pain
but then you get addicted - you need it
continually and when it's taken away you're destroyed
by the desire, the dependence - the need -
she's off to New York for a spell, then London…
she leaves Saturday
I know that night I'll feel shit, that night I'll
Sleep alone for the first time in four nights-
Contemplating the "what ifs", sleepless,
Eyes probing the dark:
Wandering; the day she leaves will
Be the day I'll need her the most.
Calgary, AB., Canada
Leeds City Art Gallery
Poison apple surreal and sour
the goats head- head cheese
a man wrestles a swan amidst the wrecked
train derailed and glowing orange some
centuries later...
snow stroked heavy weighted church
with pointed steeple shifts the icy burden
to the body
beside the streetside cafe
in eternal summer sun
a thousand faces follow with
oil cracked eyes in their decaying
immortal images
amidst the pears and unknown images
-fog is the mind
in imagery and
lost in lacking certainty when the
immortal decays;
boats, angels and gods.
Leeds, W.Yorks., England
Too Much TV
Mind like video tape- the handycam-man
eyes focused in fishbowl staring
the world looks through your
lens; playback brain little green-gray images
made black and white
PLAY, RECORD, REWIND,
fingers forever feverently trying to find
the fast forward
sometimes reaching the end of the tape too soon-
results in conscientious rewind of
contents in blurred flashing images
forgotten fragments and figments
nothing like what you ever knew- wasted tape-
convulsing, the handycam-man clicks
the cassettes plastic tracked wheels jump in his
plastic body into eternal inertia-
someone pushes eject
and slips him into a plastic case
airtight, oxygen obsolete-
buried in a bookshelf gathering dust.
Dartmouth, N.S., Canada
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