Monthly Archives: October 2015

Someone is Being Silly Online

While Steeltown for Mary, Memoirs from a Dick is available online through Blurb, Indigo, Kobo, and Itunes for 20 bucks in paperback and 10 bucks in eReader format, hell just a penny on Itunes…..there appears to be someone looking sell the book on their own through Amazon for…..$1,000.

If you want a good laugh you can go to the link below:

Otherwise, Steeltown For Mary, which is now shortlisted for a Hamilton Literary Award, can be found at a more reasonable price at the online locations:

BLURB in softcover/hardcover and PDF:

KOBO and KOBO INDIGO/Chapters for eReaders:


SteelTown For Mary – Memoirs From a Dick… HAS BEEN SHORT LISTED!

SteelTown For Mary – Memoirs From a Dick is indeed shortlisted for the 2015 Hamilton Literary Awards which will take place on December 8th!


Thank you to everyone for their support!

More news to Come!

Steeltown is Available through:

BLURB in softcover/hardcover and PDF:

KOBO and KOBO INDIGO/Chapters for eReaders:

the band stand

don’t you want to
play music where the trees are oak’d leaves
standing straight on the limb
with strummer with a drummer
straw hat – flipped down ice cream cone

don’t you want to?

don’t you want to
wear a button coat – blue
look like a farmer who may once have been a hippie
a farmer who once lived in New York or even Calgary

don’t you want to?

don’t you want to
stay up all night with me
explore the forest floor and ask about Ontario
how far does it stretch if you went cycling for a day or two

don’t you want to?

don’t you want to
listen to the rain outside
count every drop – let the beats hit the snare
and when the song is done won’t you want to sit under the tree
and count her oak’d leaves

don’t you want to?

what’s the name of this storm?

jazz music and rain
Jean Pierre-
cut pieces of chicken with orange pepper and potatoes
learning to get along with some rosemary
lemon and pepper

a pocket book that can travel on the hip
diet of treacle
noon hour chores that can’t compare to you


who breaks all the genre rules
basic training in Quebec
suffering 12 weeks for a life time

the washroom is cleaned
the laundry is tumbling in the dryer
and i am working hard on the nothingness
inside a sound barrier….

jazz music and rain

who might bring you Your horse on the otherside…..

your balls ask you
‘why the fuck are you trying to sit on me’
your legs say
‘i’m not resting around this angle for 2 friggin’ hours
your back protests
‘you will not make me weave to and fro you ungrateful…’

but your eyes

they say
‘baby let’s go’
your heart settles in speaking softly to your mount
‘let’s take those paths over eh’
and your soul….

your soul hopes that when you die
an angel will give you your best horse to ride on
and you won’t have to hold the reins
but you will….and your long lost friend will ride you home
he will take to God himself and before you get off and bow
you will look around at the grandeur before you
praying that He will let you stay
that He will let you keep your friend underneath you


if you get there before some others
you’ll ask God
‘let me greet them when you call them up. Let
me be the one to bring them to you’.

if they rode like you did……you’ll bring them their horse

you’ll ride a certain distance before letting them take that
last part through the gates…
and you will join family and friends to the side
and watch as rider and horse pass through

in the meantime

ignore your body cursing at you
sit on your mount
and look over the plains in this great backyard of yours
remember the times behind you – smile for the times before you-
if you’re able enough….kick the horse up once again
but if you’re not…let him take you at a pace through and back again

and again

and again

and again….


your first reaction seeing the horse shit
is wondering-
‘could it be from the last time we rode through?’
then realize it’s been a dozen years since this trail
and someone else has found an old path you almost thought
long forgotten

it’s never forgotten

not in your mind or dreams
it is simply shortened down into sections

‘turn here – there’s the apple orchard – and it’s right at the creek bed’

it almost feels as though someone were trespassing
when you find evidence such as this
then lose track of time and yourself when the trail opens up
and memories move past the saddle

in the city you think
‘things are always changing – the fast pace erodes everything’

while out here things may move at a slower pace
it is the same thing-
because other people come along and
discover these secret passages
-the trees close in on themselves and new tracks are created

so while the streets between concrete become home
these old trails remind you of what you once were
what is still inside
and what your age truly means……


books on life are over there she said
beautiful arm hair – short sleeves
directional arrows past the fire extinguisher
fingernail approval towards the back of the shop.

do you pick your teeth with those nails i thought?
(and i did think it)
-her arm drawn back in – elbow on the countertop
sawing down on fingernail file

at the back on one shelf about 6 feet long is 4 categories
plays/art/poetry/canadian literature
-the most exciting things are hidden from the mass public
poised and set – shooflies on the summer screen door

my gawd aren’t we cleverly smart
people want to read this stuff – they want to take it home and dream of deNiro
they want to fantasize of a Canadian Mountie in Chicago
and buy all this work collecting dust in the back corner of intellectuality

she looks at me once wondering what the hell could i be searching for?
well i am searching for her of course
i am hoping while the customers shop the best seller shelves at the front…
she will come back here and fulfill my librarian style fantasies

but she will not come back

and i feel lost…..point me darlin out of this darkness – how do i travel home to freedom?

where are your beautiful arm hairs? The draft from the emergency exit will raise them
i will lick a finger and catch the breeze which will push me to back to the front
where you can be comfortable again picking teeth and selling the works of fictional pen names
such as – Patoosh and Ginoosh……Darwinkleman

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