Monthly Archives: November 2012

His name removed for posterior reasons…..

i sat down with the drummer
(this was years ago)
chatted him up in booth inside
restaurant
learned he did roofing in between
the cross Canada tours
and recording sessions
Yeah they were big in a national
rural sense
with television gigs
and stadium tix
but
in between, most of the
members lived on
CFL wages
(which of course only made
them more authentic)
I interviewed the bass player
in the doorway leading to the stairs
he commented on their
music saying they wanted to
prove they were Canada’s
greatest rock n roll band
After that,
the lead singer came down
the steps from outside
so i came up the steps hoping to meet
him halfway
When he saw me he
said,
‘I’m (blank) fuckn’ (blank)! who the fuck
are you!’
Immediately i could tell he was the NHL or NBA or NFL or whatever league
within the bandmate stature so,
after giving him my name
I asked him
‘who the fuck is (blank) fuckn’ (blank)?!
6 months later after 15 years of striving
the band broke up and the lead singer became an actor,
I understand everyone knows who the
(blank)
he is now……

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The Roan Mare and the Dead Stud: Written, Rotten, Wrote

hey hank!
you got nothing on ol’ robinson
when it comes to length and
women poems
it’s like trying to put a round
peg in a square ass
or a turtle neck over
affordable housing
but in doing so
it makes you both
masters of the
californian
american word

(for Chinaski and Jeffers)


……and work can begin

i pour a cup a coffee and listen to the silence
the noiseless rise of the sun
and frost burning painless from the grass
i watch cars leave for work
buses for children
and listen to her turn in bed

my coffee is warm

i sit down and embrace the quiet
waiting to see who or what will speak first
i am patient
i listen for you, for her, for him
i ignore me and hear the sounds of the furnace

my coffee is warm

i believe i have acknowledged the morning
and look forward to 3pm wine
i toss ideas for supper time meals
and plant leftovers in next years garden

my coffee is untouched

she moves once more in bed
and i look down at my breakfast
God says ‘drink, my cup has been poured’
so i drink

my coffee tastes of heaven

and God smiles
-morning has broken……..


I am Yours

you don’t have to kneel on this road
a dusty mid drift
mountains you can’t climb
let me brush out your hair
lift the weight
so you can unbend your knees
.
you don’t have to lie there
eyes staring down the bed sheets
picking lint and wishing
let me open the window
so you can see the sky
.
I aM youRs
tHe mouNtainS are gOne
tHe shEets are on tHe clotHes linE
let me dress you for the day
figure the worry out ToGeThEr


Yellows, Orange, Browns……bouncing, flicker off eggshell walls

Constant
flame
kitchen stove
pot of tea
back burner
The safety in
light
flickering – warmth
Full
cupboards
you -.,
curled up in chair
in warm
livingroom
shadows


Never ‘lone

night reading
books,
covering the
bed
spine open over
her –
– back on sheets
side light,
pillows
white –
– touching the evening
toes
sliding and
above
ceiling – stars


The Church Thins Just a Little

we are nervous neighb
ours, within the
pews

i am almost silent my
self, unless i’m
workin’

we nod heads pas
sing, but no names are
mentioned

Us Nervous Nellies


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