Monthly Archives: November 2014

shadow lines

nude veneer shadowing
where i learn to colour between the lines
knowing how to make black

white

and grey . . . a figment on the shadow
from the wall . . . silhouette your body

cigarette in a glass ash tray

it enhances and . . . yet
removes

record player
should it play in the corner?

.

revolver
should it sit on the dresser drawer table?

.
.
.

then i realize

it is as much about the ambience
of the surroundings
as it is about you

.

the world outside contributes

and blind work vs curtain
open window vs closed

people on sidewalks

and cars in the street . . . competing against
bike bells –

all these thing take up space in the moment

.
.
.

STAY WITHIN THE LINES BOY
YOU
DON’T WANT THIS TO BECOME
ABSTRACT…

.
.
.
.
.
.

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Poet

not just of word
but of sound

instrument of nature

instrumentS of nature

interwoven language
so that we may understand
and applaud at end of

song

Gordon Lightfoot Concert Empire Theatre Belleville November 2014


friday night to saturday morn sleep in

i will follow the wick up to your navel
a blue flame streaking over the skin
upwards
stopping for a drink at the cup
before continuing north
to the centre mass
pausing once more to hear the rhythm of the
earth
at the clavicle sign posts i decide which direction to take
then proceed towards your voice
searching still for the star gazing blue of your eyes
before resting my entirety
across your continent
-allow midnight to blow out the lights
and together
sleep soundly until
morn


what to do with life

the sky has come up from my living room seat
and destroyed the kitchen window where dishes soak
and tea ferments with black berries on the stove

from the bedroom the wind chimes have lost their music
their tiny ribbed strings have snapped and lay now in the lavender garden
the basement windowsill toads have bulldozed with noses and will not re-appear until spring

my garage has become a bat cave with an automatic door
boxes piled 10 years high travelling 10 years of hwy and cities
they make room for the truck which rests with age and dignity
resting itself from travelling job sites and farm land labour

knock on the bedroom window
you will find me here typing away
listening to the radio and smelling the tea

knock

and i will part the curtain after typing and laying
down track to this

last sentence.


i’ll never throw in the towel

you be mona
lisa
i’ll be david

just sit there with a smile
until i throw the towel over my shoulder

this charcoal is dirty
the paint is still wet
this clay is turning to powder
the marble is fighting back

i’m using an old Polaroid
trying out the new digital
i have my head under the black cloth – stand very very still

don’t lose your smile

your
beautiful beautiful
smile

the towel is at my shoulder
and i see your smirk

THAT’S the SHOT

i see the smirk
it’s started in your eyes

ready?

Let’s Begin…..


even the dog knows

i freeze
just a little

no

just a tad,
wondering about the change of a backyard trail
when backyard property goes up for sale.
former farm land turns into housing
with stone stacked living
containing human vessels, who
will look out from their windows
onto the back trail
and watch curiously, as a man and his
dog travel by-
mesmerized by the sun
and Canadian sky.

these

oak hills rolling under
ploughed blade work,
having moved the earth as though she
were a great whale
travelling as a mole, just
beneath the surface
waiting, for the corn of next year
to raise a tired body
searching for air.

this great balcony view
or back porch presence

me

in the middle trapped,
looking south at city life
these future
concrete silos,
eyes searching north, past Campbellford
wondering if the whale will survive another year
or will it be pulled from the ground,
the same as the trees and rocks before its
arrival
when farm land was needed for a sustained future…

place a tired dead carcass along the side of the hwy
and name a future residential court, in honour
of her well travelled and now
lifeless body.

i freeze
just a little

no

just a tad,
walk the dog deeper along the trail
watch his behaviour change,
raising his ears
his
nose to the air,
seeming to realize himself
instinctually-

things can never stay
the
same.


lines and sunlight and hurried matter

we are built of lines
and soft tissue
caught in charcoal
bouncing in quick succession
when fleeing or sweeping

same tissue matter
same molecular cohesion
fighting to keep the space

and
how well you keep the space in between