Monthly Archives: December 2013

a murder of crows

yours
is the flight
of a dead raven
becoming a robin
in the palm of
my hand

your spine
is a staircase to
the mind
as your body
is hunched
on the
floor
with your feet
palmed out and
dirty

your feet and my hands

we shall journey by
ground
wishing for wings
hoping for
lungs to swim
knowing
we are prey
to the art form
of life

when i throw
my hands
up
you will live as
a robin
and take flight

your

feet will be clean
and my hands
will be warm

guide me over
the mountain
i will walk
your stair case
massaging all
the damaged muscles

at the peak of imagination

i will jump forth
free from your mind
and join you

neither raven or robin

simply

as

one

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Is this the end? for Johnny Shark

after looking out my window
rain streaking
down,
the white framing
cutting out long lines
of rectangular glass,
she came to a
decision.

in that moment, while
smoking my last
cigarette,
letting it dribble out of
her mouth
and admiring
her reflection,
she knew she could do it

she could see herself
in my window, with the rain,
with the long white lines
looking as though they were
prison bars,
and her eyes changed

and lil fin barked

and i looked at him,
saw him looking at her
but, i wasn’t prepared in time

and she turned –
a purse gun hidden,
letting the red dress
bunched up in her hands,
fall as dead as
i was soon to be

the rain poured behind her.
the moon-less silhouette
of the window framing,
draped her in a shadow
of black curtains, and
hung around her on
fire

two hands gripping the handle,
legs in shooting stance
smoke rising over her face
and a grin, below the darkness
of those eyes betrayed,
and now justified

i could hear the sirens
hear lil fin barking.
i could hear her high heels
walking
and her standing over me

she flicked some ash,
let it fall on my
burning stomach.
then,
she stepped over me
and sat on my couch
waiting
for the calvary,
no plans to escape

she was ready
proud and strong

i was weak
falling asleep and
wondering……………….


lady in red, morning after

the vodka on
your lips
tastes
as fine as
your
red dress
looks
no longer on
but
on the wood floor

the red wine is
spilled
and the dog
sleeps
on the mat
guarding
the
front door

you will not escape this time

but eventually
i
will have
to
wake from
this
dream and
realize

reality.


no soap opera or show boat

i am

with

you, you are with me –
always in a movement,
that needs no
leaving
in a motion that has
no movement
naked to the eye
but, perpetual regeneration
of our hearts.
entwined in
hands and holding
this music –
move me it sings
to us

this music that’s in me

created by or for –
it’s simple
and quiet, we don’t
control it.
it moves us whole
and keeps us fleeting,
quiet in foot steps
we create without knowing.

sun to earth
earth to sun

moon and stars,
solid ground of solitude –
gratitude
and knowing……..
always in a movement
that needs no
leaving.
in a motion that has
no movement –
naked to the eye
but perpetual regeneration,
of

our hearts

entwined in
hands, and holding
this music.

it’s simple
and quiet

it moves us whole
and keeps us
fleeting,
quiet in foot steps
we create without knowing –

sun to earth
earth to sun

moon and stars

solid ground of solitude
gratitude,

and knowing……..


girl of the oak hill winds

at the spine of my fox,
a window – opened
shamrock, living at
the
base of my neck

you

dancing as a deer
in full mask
asking,
‘what’s for dinner?’

and the black and white camera
records the silence

records the stages in
story board moments
like a graphic novel like
a novel gone from print to
screen to radio, and
now to cartoon vision
where it takes on a character
of it’s own, and the hero
is you again asking,

‘what’s for dinner?’

while the fox at my bare back
is red and smiling
the shamrock is dying
and the window is
closing

a cold winter morning is here
snow white
with grey sky, blue until
early afternoon, when the
moon kicks the sun and says,

‘answer the question, what’s for dinner?

i again,
with the fox to keep me warm
we sleep and lose hibernation
and lose ourselves
to the oak hill winds

forget the dinner,
listen to the whistle of
a train no longer running
of a funnel, a tunnel
going up hill,
riding down into town and
waiting for history
to
change,
while you and i,
look up at the night sky-

one fox, one flower,
one window with frost and a
dead spider half finished
on a curled up fly
– this is the oak hill wind, caught
in the moment of our bedroom
while we set down empty bowls of
a forgotten dinner.
dig deeper for sleep,
fox at my spine, shamrock
at base of neck

girl of the oak hill winds


Lady in Red, before the red

You honestly enjoy living here?

it beats up the mountain darlin

Oh and why’s that?

cuz on this street,
i got a grocery store in front of me
a coffee shop a
convenience store,
some restaurants for fine dining
and the ability to go in all
four directions

Fine restaurants,
and when’s the last time you
were in a fine restaurant
on John Street?

about the same time
i
agreed to bring
you over here to talk

Living above a bar
with your dog

it beats living with anything else

At least he’s cute

careful babe,
he’s a dangerous criminal

You’re the only criminal Johnny

he’s a man eater,
just like you i think


Lil Fin, little fin

lil fin,

that’s the name of the pooch
the fleabag
that mutt
man’s best friend

daddy’s lil poocharoo

he ain’t much of a guard dog
but,
he sits and listens
and doesn’t mess the place
up

ladies see him and they
trust me more
they come past the front door
and
stay a minute or so longer
than they want to

lil fin

the great dog paddler
swimming
the lights of the downtown core
1 storey above a
wash-out bar on young street


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