On the VIA

I bend my mind towards you
a vision in allure and blue notes
i push a vortex into context
and bicep a thought of loveliness

i trickle a stream fantastically
knowing i follow my own river
leading to you

i growl out heavenly words
search the forest with rock n roll
and find you under a shade tree
beside a country home

We race outwards to
a hooing sound
a ticking-track vibration
and jump a train to rush the distance
and collapse time

you sit beside the window
i catch your reflected blue eyes
looking farther past into Ontario hue
and know i am almost home

Montreal Hotel

we’re planted on the street of René Lévesque
his Rue as it is known on the lips of the french
and we drop bags on the bed and we clean up

we change out

we drop hotel towels on the floor
we tear open sugar packs for coffee
this the first night and i wonder by the second day
after the maid has replenished all the towels and

sugar packets

does she notice the habits of temporary lodgers?
do we use less towels on the second day or use more
or even the same, does that say something?

i clear open the drapes
see the top of french china town
all the roofs of red canopy tigers
the St Lawrence trying to tunnel her way
past the highway and Notre-Dame
Basilica reaching above all the old british rule
standing about the Parisian touch of a once
Iroquois nation.

i have bought beer
loving the notion of corner stores
selling it in brown paper bags
and i rest the brown pop on the air conditioner
i hold an empty ice box cursing the broken down ice machine
and i contemplate a 30 dollar bottle of Chateau Lafitte-Tramier
while it sits beside a bouquet of yellow daisies and one red rose

i have officially made my presence known in old Montreal

on her cobblestone and uphill boutiques
where the women are in shape
the tourists are mixing with the chinese
and i am in my underwear wondering about
the maid and what my habits say about day number
three.

(piano I)

i write your name in
the dust
but i’ve lost the sheets
the paper strength

my heart feels for
ivory vibrations
little liqueur glasses
after dinner talk
and rushing out
the door…
the room is 3 years silent
i stand a character
at the series end of a
great TV show looking back
on it all
– i grin
lift up the lid
and brush the keys teeth
realize the memories
don’t bite but the
past is the past
and life is backed up
on the sidewalks

life was good
simple
timing is right
it neither slows
nor rushes
4 on 4
3 to the 4
or quarter to the supper hour
your name will be rewritten
remembered
i will dance on all
the sounds
waiting on you
old man with two hands
brushing down, waving
away at old father time

-old man waving hello at me…..

(Piano III)

Forgetting
outstretching
my arms are strong
your lungs can call
my heart will answer
Run-dipping
Rain-skipping
my feet will carry you
you can cross all lines
I will redraw them after
Sun-drying
The-praying
my eyes will see you
you could never hide
and i’m not counting
Piano-loving
Guitar-strumming
my words are your song
your whispers my lyrics
our lips have already answered

the Sunny moon

Good morning
you are my love

under covers
sunny coffee

Good afternoon
you are my love

at lunch time
at the mid day run

Good evening
you are my love

during this slowing down time
and couch stretched legs

Good night Good night
you are my love

under covers
moon lit stars

You are my Love

Being Adults

She says a prayer
wears a paper crown
He blows out candles
amazed by his high chair strength

The moment is brief
quicker than a memory
or the face of a long
forgotten loved one

Dishes are washed
the backyard is tore
with laughter
lawn chairs cry out
for shade

The energy is brief
shorter than the day
and the day is over so quickly

the work is steady

the worry is steady

fear comes in waves

The waves remind you
of water
cedar docks
about the get a way
the fish, the hooks
casting waves of
worry from the chest

the moment
the energy
the fuss

are left on shore

Jesus sits in the boat
getting time alone with you
stepping away for the crowd
as well

You switch sides in
the cast
the sun switches over
for the evening

Age is supposed to make you wise
life smoothing down the edges
time is supposed to be precious
and Jesus frowns a little…..

Jesus

loving all us silly children

The City Sounds Are Gone

tightened strings
guitar wedding rings
piano sounds
all surround
birds in call
push mower sounds
silent,short
apartment hall

Ambulance

Landscaper

Jack Hammer

-wait for it-

Now Sit Down

choose a song
push the chord
the sound you frown
open window
your kiss is
slow

The Keys
piano

The Keys
door

The keys
heart

-wait for it-

Good Soup (piano II)

The rain plays a
piano song
light,
then steady
coffee is
poured
windows watched –
the city is
wine, bottled in the
cellar below.
the trees sway in
audience,
dying leaves-flames,
are
a
reflection on
the past

these eyes remember everything.

This apartment living
turns Algonquin into
farming fields,
the rain-radio,
pour
steadily
down on
the irish black top street –
one way stop signs,
double traffic
parked-waiting.
apartment doors
close,
children race the
hallway.
window, my reflection
turns

present form.

Habitant-bubbles-pop-pot
on stove…..
you are wrapped in blanket, i grin.

rain

plays

on

the weeks – begin

Prayer
in a bottle
message written
sky
tattoo
on a heart
tattoo for a
heart

The world goes round the
mountain
this city basin without
a spoon

Time plays a
song
drinks coffee
crushes out
cigarettes

The mountain will
carve out a high way
be a barbell
for 2 connected
homes, a
world so round in
circles

Prayer after Prayer
bottled ocean filtered
into one great province
a sky un-trapped
uncluttered
a clear destination
waiting above the chaos
a temporary blue tattoo
blowing everything towards and
between 2 homes

learning what you don’t want to

The guitars in my head
strum a cha chin shim
the dark excuse of 3am
eludes to worriment
and a need to relieve
a bladder

my dream spoke of strong winds
that the bible opened to a page
of something dark and spoke of
Mighty

The farm house was orange’d shadows
with an oil lantern
dead people
telling me to leave
don’t pick a fight
don’t push the bible to that
part of the room

but

the guitars in my head
strum a folk song
meant for 10 am church
the stain glass excuse
to push in further
and pick a fight
and put needed pressure on
my knees