Monthly Archives: January 2012

The Barn Girl

I am at your 30 stall barn
with horses fed
boots strapped
and paddocked

before 7am

I have your 30 stall barn mucked
halls swept
water buckets refilled
hay ready

before noon

I then leave for the Toronto race track for mid aft shift
make sure i am home sometime after dark

I don’t dressage
jump fence
or hack

7 days a week, I am hidden inside a stall
pushing a wheel barrow
pulling a hay cart

I earn just enough to put gas in the car
food in the fridge
lunch in a brown bag

I have no idea what it feels like to be horse owner
horse rider
horse crazy

I only know your horses
and they know



The Wolves of Tweed

Hear the wolves howl
they waken the cedars
sparkle the eyes of
moonlit snow

My dogs raise their heads
while single log rolls off chambered

I put down ‘The Raven’
place it beside ‘McGee’
and open the landscape to

Listen to the moon
her silence calls to me
peacefully telling me the
clouds will grow
snow again will fall

And I shall follow
those wolves
my dogs pulling me
cabin bound


don’t you make me feel blue
or should i spell it ‘bloo’
it makes me feel more like a child that way
but i’m so adult like today
casting eyes over the harbour
thinking about the forever horizon
that leads past these shores
back onto the highway
back to where i’ve been
places like kingston or
places that have been stamped
all the while searching
that direct route

you make me feel
or should i describe it
for you come up from behind
your arms around my chest
and you join my gaze
you remember the places we have
all those apartment hideouts
our beds calling out safe words

today you make me feel
all those ideas i had when
i didn’t realize there would be a
‘back when’
and rather than just a feeling,
it’s an understanding
and home is just beyond the harbour
and it’s right behind me
the years wrapped up in your arms
sliding around my chest

The Microphone

we are the dancers
in a tiny room
with a bulb
rhythm shadows
and a million lovers
who hold you together
when moments in life
shrink your world demeanor
-and i am the mic
your actions are my words
the sounds
my actions reflect your
like a neighbor
knocking on your wall
washing the dishes
dropping a pot
cursing in the middle of
your song
while you dance with your partner
and it interrupts your moment
that’s me
-i’m the micra
phone the reality setter
pulling you back
asking you if you’ve gone
to church
or are you just a born again christian
one of those hoodoo around the kitchen
but never beyond your front door
one of those long cloaks
forgetting to put oil on your head
-i’m the micra the micro the macro
i should go unheard if we’re in a tiny room
if we’re the dancers
if you’re listening to the music and captivated
and a believer
and your roomful of lovers
are one lover
and the outside world no longer matters
i’m the micro
and your friends are always only
a phone call away and your
microphone is just one
letter already posted
and your legs are standing still
before the preacher walks
down the aisle
before the organist
finishes your song
and the dance is completed
the shovel sunk into the

The Words of Gordon

‘sit down young stranger’
my anthem
and I speak murky beer thoughts
i am learning and this
song says what I can’t

but dear mother I am in my
good father their feet run wild
through my heart

And I Am Coming Home

until then read those lines
find them because you love me
those lines of Gordon
the lines that tell you so

you know what I am trying to say
just like your friends of three
friends of He

i am in a field
running on a voice
-A Father’s Day Voice


you have to understand
it’s the way she moves her eyes
tilts her head
like an artist
searching for the perfect note
with a sigh
with the moonlight
falling asleep knowing
it’s how she looks mad
deep in thought
the wild hair
buttoned down tight
a professional
even when she’s alone
you need to realize
it’s the sounds coming off the street
the sound of the GO train next door
it’s the way the hamilton harbour
just sits there and the metal moves
in a floating stillness
you need to comprehend
the downtown exposure
the drunk shouts
the tires caught in snowy sidewalks
she fits in here
with the grease and grime
but she’s not part of it
she’s not the mess or the loneliness
or the brick unattended
you have to understand
she’s the beauty buried inside it all
she’s the one
who sees what’s hidden


See my quiet demeanor

raging inward frustration

peaceful boredom

praying for home


See my one child

trying to listen to your

one child


-And This Window Whispers In Jest-


I hear my lover calling

i feel my daughter tugging

i see my once youngest son

and my fragmented memory feels

as old as I look


Pray for me my grand


i think of you throughout the


forgive my decrepit state

dear Lord forgive me

everything else


See my quiet demeanor

i’m an old woman now

pray for my release

this window will soon lead me


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