the colours YOUR COLOURS

in the trees i lose your silence
the colours of everything washing to shore
THIS IS POETRY i say
visiting Stratford- drawn to the landscape of Norrie
thick slap of leaves on canvas drying out summer

on the hwy is a dog sled team
they grab me along the side of road
driver yelling MUSH and ONWARDS until we reach the evening time
follow the camera lens of Kukucska – knowing i am on the outskirts of
Hamilton – touching the beach line of Lake Ontario

however

my travelling is not completed
as my wife says FORGET ALL THIS WHAT DO YOU THINK OF NORTH BAY?
i rise from the dog sled team and thank the driver
then look at you saying WHAT IS THERE FOR YOU AND ME
and you whisper possibilities

it is possibilities we thrive upon
travelling from one part of this province to the next
and i plunge my ears towards Trent Severn
music and waterways will take us as far as we need to go

p.s to Shane and Mike- i will drive in markers along the way
leaving the choice to either
for camera or brush…….


Mount Tambora

you bring colour to my eyes in the aftermath
we wander the halls of art- hand_and _camera
tall rooms of knowledge and existence- this is how you sleep beside me

a library filled – obliterating ignorance
stories translated – old arabic / greek
re told_re examined – your heart of mind is all i require

a flagship in the harbour
witness the horizon on canvass- a showered woman in towel
beauty over the water captured- instinct in death for your afterlife

200 years leave- cars pass outside_curators and security watch our movement
from room to painted room- this breath in heaven glorified
silent peace – your skin wrapped in mine_our hands pulling each other (another room)

and the paintings fall and the lava crawls……


Morbid Mortality (or the beginning trail)

as the casket rolls up the carpet
Imagine
at communion time
How Great Thou Art
after that last great meal
Greensleeves
Coming back down the aisle
Prayer of St Francis

the choir in the choir loft
an almost empty church

at the gravesite
an Our Father
1 Hail Mary
a Glory Be
one more Hail Mary

at the Hall
Lord of the Dance
Autumn Leaves
Siberia
Are we Family
Dirty Ol Town
I Walk the line

the theme to Magnificent Seven
the theme to Indiana Jones
the theme to Star Trek
maybe MacGyver
cap it off with those fancy drums from NYPD Blue

a moment of silence
another Ennio Morricone (if there’s time – you know the one)

a toast of Guinness
a blessing by the priest

then back to your day

life goes on……


Hah……..

your words breathe out – in
towards this

Holy Spirit

long grass found
sifting below blue sky
above those harmless clouds
whispering down

Holy Spirit

the boat drifts out – in
down the river Clare
towards you
this

Holy Spirit

Last August date
Summer until next August
moving calmly on a silent day
ending weekend – starting
waiting

Holy Spirit

breathe in – out

long slow hahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…………

it’s almost Sunday


local police surveillance

he walked along king street
ducked behind and followed king william
he thought about greek food
slipped inside and purchased a coffee
he saw hart and crossed james
went into jackson and purchased a shirt and tie
he went down the escalator
purchased wine and cheese at the farmers market
(steel city cheddar 5 yr)
thought about real dried out and tuff beef jerkey
rode the wheelchair access to surface level
appeared back out onto the newly created 2-way
tipped a hat to the salvation army
walked west towards the arena
(former arena – former team)
entered the library
stared through the glass and watched the old clock
chime
rented a free movie with his library card
tapped the ol’ statue on his way back into jackson
and smelled the sour fish from the worlds largest
groceria.
out the front door
he
passed the bike cops ready to start their patrol
crossed over to gore
gave a nod to queen vic
sat down on the bench
laid out his lunch and waited for the police
to say
‘you must drink that at home.’


Mona Lisa and You…..Stage/Lot #9 and 10

what if you were to stand there
12 hours
seated at the blank canvas
grips and caterers walking past
the outdoor elements
big cats strolling around
simple silence
perhaps the scratching of a pen
or the wet slips of brush tingling in the water
returning to the page
the shutter of a photographer wondering about
speed

don’t move my love i am not finished

don’t stand soldier strong

don’t smile

don’t think of the pedestal

RELAX

turn your head slightly
cough – the rib line is not xylophon’d

what if the sitter – the muse
the Mona Lisa
stood up and took a bathroom break
forgot which room and stood in another portrait
o wait – she did
and she smiled returning
sitting down – Da Vinci was confused
became bored started a self-portrait
finished with her
while the man next door
mopped his head
knowing his masterpieces would
never be world-renowned

and you sat back down
curious why he was mopping his brow
but he waved his hand
told you the day was finished

so

naturally you took your pay
returned to the trailer
forgot about the set
the photographer the grips and the caterers
you plunged down on the sofa
and wondered about tomorrow
while young men carried new scenery to the stage
and your eyes fell to
slumber.


Our Necropsy….

sex and art are the same thing – says Picasso.
Purdys’ book was titled – sex and death
catalogued next to – love in a burning building
quoted in songs – no i do not love you

one Picasso reference
3 Purdy’s

I am Canadian
an Ontario’n

lost in the woods
found in the city
returned to the trees

finding you

you are always there

proof there is God
proof that art matters
proof eve is still haunting the forest

sex and art are the same thing – what do you think Mr.Purdy?
but
you are too busy battling death
and i

i am busy making sure – you my darling love
know i could never – hate the word….


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