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