Monthly Archives: October 2012

Tweed

back of the moon
pulling logs by
sleigh with
horse team
across
Stoco
lake
frozen
heading towards
Sugar Island
no longer
summer
camping grounds
instead we turn
canoes around and
paddle for
Kanata road ala Club Dub
while further inland
a burned out
farm house
goes quietly
with a
generation lost
to heaven
while we sit
in graduation
cabin
stoking fire
doubling sweaters
not believing
Fall or Spring
can intervene
inside our
fishing madness.

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(Back Forty) Bellevegas

I am
rediscovering Belleville
tho
not really
wishing
to
taking business
towards
Campbellford
living
quite
cheerily in Stirling
watching the autumn
trees lay down
track
so
the snow will
know
where to fall
I
pull king road on ’62
under construction
remember all the
sites worked in
town with my
father
now
retired
sense of pride
knowing those
buildings
will stay
long after 2 of
us have
passed
on
in those terms
I
wish Belleville well
until next
vist
down through
back forty


I am the Rollercoaster

your lower
back
is a
water slide
a water park
called

Smoothe Opals

standing
over you
your
legs
laying in
the grass
asleep
dreaming
of
a carnival

2 tickets

one
for
you
one for me.


Death has Won again

death
has won again
trees hang,
stripped down skeletons
their remains on
the ground
crows
on
the
hydro-line
snow will come soon
the night sky
will
dance on the
outdoor
blankets
we
will
count
the
minutes
taking too long – waiting
ticking
then sooner and
sooner
until one evening
we
notice
death is over
the leaves
have
begun to
show
again
on the ground


This, Son of the Father

Do Not Dare Hunt
barrabas
liars and thieves
yourselves

do not chant his name

or mine

or His

I am here only on behalf
of Rome

do not strip this man down
and release this other
claiming justice
or holy valour

My Hands Are Washed
but you have made me
as dirty as
yourselves

hiding 2 meanings for 2 men in 1 name

i have written the truth above His head
my gesture in this way incomparable
unable or wanting
to hang myself with
him

You Angry Mob
the puppeteers are above you
below and within
Do You Not See

I Can See

these words you recite are not your own

But Somehow Far Worse

man or Son of God

this day will not matter

years after and more years
after this dark day
His name will live on
in a light none we can
comprehend

not barrabas this son of the father

but His

This Man – Son of Man – and God


VQA

wine Drips chin
dRiBbLe
Bare – shOwer – skin
I
am
drunk
cherry – sEEds – hard
left
to – Right – cLavicLe
before frost
late – AuTumn – cellar
dinner
plates
candle – gLaSS – clink
to
your beauty


do Not dare Mimic

I
read
buk
when i need to
clear out
the
phlegm
my mind so cluttered
i see only cults
of little
red
wiccans
on
vacuums
for
brooms.
he is the
masterful
garbage man
clearing
out my mind
reminding me
of
naked
slum – life
genius

*

I pick
up Al
who always talked
and thought in
poetry
I read him
when I want to
feel Canada
or understand
the roads I’m
driving
-to feel ashamed
that my
heart does not
know every name
of every town
across this
unpopulated
California
plain

**

Kerouac last
jazz pushes up wards –
The fall ground no longer has leaves

***

A pine tree baby
now grows
in our
living room
I study her bows
listen
for growth
eventually I will
have no choice
but to run
downstairs and
write about it.


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