#965 in touch

with stories rewritten, updated
we press Send
packing our bags for home
we know their current stresses and hobbies
friends and paths

#964 this side up

enjoying a bag of popcorn
is less impressive
than enjoying
each
every
kernel
in the bag

to be present for
each
every
bite

aware, conscious, alive
each
every
bite

#963 happily ever after

i want to tell your skin its favourite story
a story it has not heard
i want to open your covers and enjoy each word
hold the book in my hands
i want to learn your parts of speech
nibble on your nouns
play with your preposition
remove your unnecessary articles

let's co-author a classic
come, break the rules with me
split my infinitive
double my bestest superlative
run on my sentence

#962 looking out and in; back and forward

the fallen snow pulls more flakes to join on the late december ground
though each flake is unique, they all fall to the same ground
though each flake is unique, it is the same snow
that fell when i wore a tiny sock and that will fall when i wear an older sock
the same stories play out different
on my side of the window

#961 good morning

this morning
in our bedroom
i lazed in bed
as she returned from the shower
in a towel

as she rooted for satisfactory clothes
the towel fell to the hardwood
and though her body is beautiful,
my eyes stayed on her face
as i smiled
thinking about forever

#960 +

if you can't find fun in a xylophone
release in bubble-wrap
childhood in a puddle

if you can't find a giggle over flatulence
excitement waiting for dessert
peace in a baby

if you can find none of these
then the world is not the trouble
nor are you
but the way you're seeing one another

#959 the latest status

clean out your Friends
prioritize, delete, and update
sort, contact, and block
fill them in on the ordinary, the mundane, the banal
omit the important, the personal, the undesirable
and watch
 as the self-importance of your status
overtakes the status of the importance of self
ttyl

#958 christmas mourning

i am a kid again
running down the stairs december 25th morning
except there are no gifts, no stockings
but the whole family is there
one's peeling potatoes, another's listening to his radio by the washer
one is cheating at scrabble (miffed she's not mentioned first), another's watching races (with his cap sitting high)
one is wearing his wallabees and glasses-with-strap, another's all ready for shopping
my heart is a helicopter in my upper chest and throat
the whole family is here
everyone

#957 a ball and chain named Guilt

he undresses
stares at his ankle
bleeding and blistered and bruised
crawls into bed, alone
wondering why

the next morning
he crawls out of bed
heavy and heartsick and unhappy
alone
wondering why

#956 hay is for horses

i was on the back of the full hay-wagon
enjoying the putt-putt of the muffled muffler
enjoying the view
then BANG
a gunshot-like sound as the rear tire below
hey i shouted
to the view that had stopped slipping away in front of me
and the axle gave way
then, what had moments ago seemed a well-packed load
let loose
slow-motion for a second or so
but gaining momentum into a fast-forward effect
i did not, i could not
see this happening
not without riding through the world imagining the worst around every turn
it just happened
not my fault
not hers
the wheels just came off

#955 driving through life

what i know is that i make some bad decisions
sometimes i know and steer into the ditch anyway, or the oncoming traffic
sometimes i don't know until i see my mistake with the words superimposed
objects in mirror are closer than they appear
but decisions, good and bad
are proof my license is MINE
earned and paid for

#954 a white chest hair

i am angry at age
  her cruel tricks of gray and stiffness

i am angry at age
  her bullying and abuse

am i angry at age
  or my procrastination and laziness

am i angry at age
  or at my failures to make more of this gift called a lifetime

#953 on writing thank you cards

how do i turn my soul inside out
inside a folded piece of cardboard
how do i express what i'm thinking
within the confinees of a human-made language

i can't

so i sit and overuse the adjective very
underline too many words
cover it all in exclamation marks
post it and send it

but THANK YOU
your kindness and your presence improved my life

#952 spaceships and birthday cards

I’m taking a spaceship

back to childhood

Where kissing kites was real

And the top of the fridge was a distant galaxy

I'm taking a spaceship

Preparing for take off to Planet Kid

Where crunching garden-carrots and their dirt was adventure

And dreading a full mailbox was something he swore he’d never do

I'm taking a spaceship

Leaving behind this stratos-fear

Back to the land of age-specific birthday cards for every year

To where adhesive strips and a mother’s hugs could fix the world’s problems

#951 when eyelids have much to say

she's the angry girl in grade 11
the one who always gives her gum a work-out
the one who has perfected the eye roll for when teachers tell her what to do
the one who always has an aggressive excuse for being late

but today a teacher caught her alone
and asked, what's the matter, you seem sad today
and her eyelids became a two-chambered dam
preventing catastrophic flood

she mumbled about bad news
not wanting to talk about it
family stuff
but it's all good now she lied

then she left for lunch
and stopped
to collect her hard exterior
harder than her top locker

#950 inspired by aesop

a Man and a Bear watch a movie
about a man conquering a bear
Man says to Bear,
see, Man is Stronger than Bear
Bear says to Man
if Bear made a movie
for every time Bear conquered Man
the Movie store would have a new section

People live in the past by boasting when they accomplish something they're unsure they can accomplish in the future

#949 bird crap and fairness

what goes up doesn't always come down
what goes around doesn't always come around
i'm 34 and i won't grow younger
my baby died before it was born
we pretend that life is fair
that good guys finish first
that cheaters never prosper
but the axis of the world doesn't care
bird crap doesn't distinguish
it just falls

sometimes
good things happen to bad people
sometimes 
bad things happen to good people
and sometimes, bird crap
it just falls

#948 on notes from the other side of the door

three fingers on six strings
drop my mind into a foreign consciousness
a language in which there are no words for
regret
money
or time



until the world
as it does every time
closes the book on this noble language
but then i return to our world
refreshed ready
an actor who has returned from the secret door
understanding the deceit

#947 a child is born

three stockings hang in anticipation
two mediums, matching in everything but colour
one red one green
the third, large and fancy
personalized
with the dog's name
the kitchen is bustling with two people preparing for the holiday
and neither knows that life is about to change

#946 repeat

notes massage my temples
like straight rain on a tin roof
familiar chords carry me
to a safe place within myself
the comfort that comes
from listening to a good song enough times

#945 a chance

the ship is climbing toward land and destruction
daily stresses vanish and life snaps into perspective
why didn't i spend more time doing what i love
with the people i love
seconds now, and it'll all be over
if only i had another chance
and then


the ship turns
i sigh relief
and return to my to-do list

#944 pre-independence

i remember when
hockey stats were as important
as the colour of each ninja turtle's accessories
when monday to friday were measured
in relation to recess, lunch, and, dismiss
and time was still considered in chunks
equal to your favourite tv show
when any problem could be fixed
either by dad's tools
or by mum's hugs

i remember,
but i'm forgetting

#943 once upon a time

everyone was heading the same direction
i watched, wondering
shy to ask, afraid i should know
i eavesdropped and it paid off

a baby, a king, born tonight
just an hour east
i walked, among the throngs
then noticed a gift in every set of arms

i was wealthy then
but i had nothing with me
what is a suitable gift for the king of mankind
born in a filthy barn

i asked mary, the mum, if she wanted gold
her head shook
i asked joseph, mary's hubby, if they wanted animals
his head shook

a forgotten part of my mind wondered if i should tell a story
the infant smiled

a story? i asked
i swear, three heads nodded
and i began with the best procrastinator i knew
to give my imagination time to flow through my veins

#942 a song for the sirs and the generals A,D

let me rock on the swing in my backyard
let me whistle to my kitchen radio
let me smoke my dirty ol' cigarette
for it's my last one in this here pack

let me sharpen my own saw
let me bait my worm on my hook
let me smoke my dirty ol' cigarette
for it's my last one in this here pack

let me fill this pail full o' blueberries
let me drive my own pick-up to town
let me smoke my dirty ol' cigarette
for it's my last one in this here pack

let me kiss carrie goodnight
let me mix up my kids' names with theirs
let us smoke my cigarettes
for it's the last two here in this life

#941 so unchanging

shin deep in fresh snow
that hides fallen trunks
we wade in winter gear
stopping here, there
to assess a tree
sleeping beneath standard white blanket
if the tree shows enough promise
i flip up my hood and shake the blanket
into a million little miracles
each catching the bluebird light

#940 relationship letters

i want to tell you it'll be okay but i don't wanna insult your soul with cliche
your love might work out and it might burn out, but life
life is separate from this love
great romantic relationships are one letter in the alphabet of life
without that letter there will words you will no longer be able to write,
then maybe you will misspell, then maybe you will re-spell
but you can still write, for you still have your alphabet
and time will tell
whether you lost a q or a z
or an a or an e
the first two seem more replaceable, but their uniqueness and character will be missed
the second two seem irreplaceable, but most words are recognizable with their absence
i won't tell you everything'll be okay
because it won't
but it will

#939 and that is music

sound and silence
share and compete
they dance and they fight

lyrics, a guitar, a bass, drums, and a voice
conspire to lose themselves in the collective porduct
the song

and when it's alright
it distracts me from this story called life
but
when it's all right
the song, the timing, the listener
it transcends language and lyric
touches the lub-dub of truth

#938 second-hand compliments

second-hand compliments
my favourite
with their motivation, unsuspect
they are as believable as the statement
that bad thins happen to good people
but bring happier feelings
when i hear so-and-so said you were the most trustworthy person ever
i believe it more than any first-hand version
and so, reader
let me say
i've heard from other writers,
you are the reason they write

#937 of libraries and gyms

but they'll stare at me and think i don't belong
they'll know i don't belong
i'll ask a stupid question
i'll commit a faux-pas
no, i'll do more on my own
join when i feel ready

#936 Break Point

a cairn at the edge
the edge of ocean's water, the edge of land's exterior
a marker for this moment in my life
the cairn left by a stranger at yesterday's high tide
this is my low tide
i search for a message, a clue for direction
but only significance is marked

i hear the ocean-smoothed rocks
tinkle inches out to sea
in the gurgling undertow of the surf
after each wave breaks
                         breaks
                         breaks

#935 time for a change

i am passing time, and failing life
my brain detests creativity
i fight motivation and spark
my friends Oblivion and Auto-pilot
help me through each day
i hide my mile-high messes
under two inches of pseudo-neatness
yet
digital clocks
continue
chronological

#934 pinholes

boys, growing up in different stages of a shared childhood
shared stories
memories of one river
one cabin
now each is a different thumbtack on the map
but when they re-unite
childhood and memories return to life

#933 teeth gnawing on varathane

the statue looks down at me
and i'm so i bored, i contemplate
creepy
fancy building with a bearded man nailed to the front wall
staring at me
i suppose every kid here thinks that
jesus and mrs. lisa have that in common
that and fame
oh-oh, kneel, kneel, people kneeling
the robed guy is droning about something
but the bearded guy distracts me
i mean, if he was alive, i'd think he was trying to get me in trouble
c'mon, pay attention to the robe

#932 sharing

words in a box in a closet
written and unread
would you cook a meal for no one to eat
paint a masterpiece for no one to see
build a car for no one to drive
turn the closet inside out
share
when it is ready, write the words on the bedroom walls
on the exterior walls
on the street

#931 an age, but not a number

i was old enough to talk
and young enough that the outlet tempted my finger
old enough to pretend to drink from the bottom of my baby sister's bottle
and young enough to be told to finish my vegetables
old enough to have a piggy bank
and young enough to think i'd be rich when it filled

#930 dear murderer,

i want to thank you for your gift of death
you killed me with your poetry
stuck a serrated knife between my ribs with each line
pulled the knife out with each line break

i was reading
felt my self die
your letters on my monitor
you changed me

i skipped old Me's funeral
not enough time
what with the ginormous to-be list you inspired in me

before your poem, i thought the world was one thing
like, for example, the colour green
until you removed my green-lensed glasses
folded them, inserted in your breast pocket

i still saw green, but now understood and knew green
beside white and blue and red
and all colours lips ever said

murderer,
thank you for your gift of birth
i see sidewalks and kitchen clocks,
like kellogg's corn flakes,
again
for the first time

i taste larger happiness in one sip of wine
than in a vat
i smell the zen in a one-bite supper
not every night
but some now and some then
i touch the visceral satsfaction
inside my bodied soul
a soul that glows like a lighthouse,
when i see at the end of my work day's commute,
my wife's mouth,
shape-shifting into a horseshoe, aligned for luck

i know you weren't advising me to be patient to the kids i work with
weren't warning me to learn that fly rods and figure skating mattered to two of them
weren't suggesting that one smile beats ten perfect instructions
i know you weren't
but you did

you aimed for truth, released your bowstring, and struck truth's meat
whatever lesson was in that meat for you
must have differed from me
for poetry is an imperfect translator

but truth means truth
in my language too

so
may old Me rest in peace
may the life that walked away from the chalk outline
honour him, honour me, honour you

#929 murder

crows stand silent
around a dead of their own
all in respectful black tuxes
then
they fly
a little closer to understanding life's limits
a little closer to understanding death

#928 The school bus

She gave us each 3990 minutes that year,

even Jenny, the fat retarded girl who sat front-seat

I was a kid then, worried about having the right shoes

And, like everyone else, we avoided her

Like Jenny

Not as bad, but we all avoided them both

Afraid they’d misconstrue a smile as an invitation for friendship

Which would make having the wrong shoes, a minor problem

This girl was the first stop after school, and the last stop each morning

Adding ten minutes to each of our mornings; ten more to our afternoons

But not my grad year

That fall, the bus didn’t drive to her house,

her soggy, tired driveway

We all knew why

We heard the adults’ whispered rumours

Her mother found her a few hours after they fought,

No, it was the younger brother found her, they shared a room

She gave us each 3990 minutes that year,

#927 back-country road

you are my back-country road
i didn't know how much i missed your turns
until i made three wrong of my own
this road weren't built for speedin'
this driver won't bury the needle
when it's gravel beneath the wheels
weren't built for boostin' tourism neither
just for getting from one Somewhere to the next
but now i'm drivin' here
i forget what was so important 'bout gettin' Somewhere
i want to learn every pull-off, every driveway
every hairpin, every straight stretch
do i love this road, or the distraction it provides
am i happy here
or is this feeling the lack of the hollowness that usually rides my shotgun
i could drive forever, without another traffic light
i could grow to love stopping at the intersections
just to chat with you
rolling our eyes in agreement at the tie behind me barmpin' on his horn
i guess he still has two wrong turns to go
before he finds his love
before he finds his back-country road

#926 Dear Abigail

the librarian wipes tears with her sleeve
after her third read of the handwritten letter
to an unborn daughter
some patron's bookmark
a recipe for apple crisp on the back

#925 i the atheist, have seen the face of god (on a childhood storybook)

gorilla on the front cover
my holy trinity
filling the whole page
scary but inviting
my holy father calls me

now
i see how loud the voice of the belief in god
was
for me to see all this
on a childhood storybook

#924 this is me

lost like a child at the bank
i am a football in a gumball machine
galoshes on a dance floor

odd like lightning in february
i am no-name ketchup in a bistro
an f-bomb in kindergarten

#923 making up one's mind

my mind is made up
i'm not sure who made it up
but this mind is a figment of some imagination
and if i'm wrong
let me be content in my ignorance
for if this mind of mine were real
i could not handle that
and might be tempted to make it go the way of pasta sauce

#922 net violation

while watching her daughter's junior high volleyball game
the mother wonders why teams now score even when the opponent is serving
one of her favourite things about her own volleyball days
was how the sport offered second chances
you could lose the rally
but not lose a point to the opponent
and, the sport did not go too far, by offering third chances
something the mother thought her daughter's generation was too often offered

why do they play rally-point now?
for advertisers
...
in order to compete with other televised sports
william morgan's sport needed to have a more predictable time duration
when the pros changed, the amateurs and schools followed
trading second chances for 30-second spots

#921 upon reading Elements of Design and thinking about teens in hoodies

a place of refuge
being inside looking out
      a kid's nook under the stairs
      or under in the floor-level kitchen cupboards
      later, a covered balcony
these spaces give us a defined area in which we exercise control
and grow the confidence
to exit said spaces
and to enter the world beyond them
      the hallway
      the kitchen
      the neighbourhood

#920 refecting on deflecting

sometimes, small changes
make more trouble than large ones
ask the goalie about deflections
ask the bruised knee of the guy whose wife
rearranged the furniture

#919 11

two minutes, once a year
and wear a red flower on your chest
and
remember
appreciate
respect
they fought, so we might not
those black-and-white figures are people
someone's neighbour, someone's hero
lest we forget

#918 born in june

a leaf scratches across november's icy road
as parents pack away ghouls and clowns and pop stars
for another year

such a waste
gowns and swords and plastic noses, sitting, useless for 364 days a year
maybe i'll have a themed birthday next year...

#917 blame

a sound, the rushing of air,
buttcheeks applauding the earlier supper
the woman giggles,
looks at their dog,
accusation in her eyes
then, fighting a smile, the woman reprimands the innocent dog...
beware the ventrilo-farter

#916 half-empty bed

where are you tonight
on whose chest is your head
do you make him feel as good as you made me feel
do his rolled up laundry socks annoy you
this music is too loud but the silence was too quiet
for sleep

on the worst days, i wished you away
imagining you held me back
now i stay in bed until noon
not because i like sleeping in
but because i hate getting up
for life

#915 on listening to the braveheart soundtrack for the first time in years

wealth is a way of seeing life's moments
abundance to be found in each lyric
to hear the richness in each note,
the music in the space between the notes,
even the space between the songs
as the last song echoes in your brain's ear
while giving an adrenaline blip of expectation for the next one

#914 between

ball bearings and a rocking chair
reality and dreamland
the drool on the pillow
this is the large pieces of lumber beneath the expensive pieces of lumber

#913 $14.97

my jaw has been clenched so long i don't remember what relaxed feels like
angry adrenalin creates a constant creek through my bloodstream
how do i bust this shackle i built around my ankle
all the days feel the same
all the days end in Y
if only happiness could be bought for rollback prices from aisle 52 
though i suppose, that is what we try to do

#912 ...in the sky

the chief's daughter- beautiful, naive
the european man- exotic, powerful
he pursues
she succumbs
the chief- obstinate, stoic
strikes a deal
to save face and pride
but the white man's promise was a a white lie
and now the daughter appears black, to those who know where look
and how

#911

a weekend away, ignoring the mounting chores and tasks
but upon return, they await
complete a few to reduce the guilt
but, you have to wonder
is this what you want life to be

#910 25-something

oops, i mean 2308
simple mistakes make for complicated calgary cab-rides
and don't forget the schwarma
but one ninja, two randoms, and three sabotage cops make for a great last night in october

#909 the little man in my head is pissed

there's a little man in my head
and the little man is draggin' his left heel in the dirt, drawin' a line
see he's been pushed and ignored and insulted
for himself, he had to draw the line for others
and pity the person who crosses the line
for theirs will be the welcome of rage

#908 the game

many men shoot game
with and without respect
enjoy the benefits

but i heard about a man
who spent the weekend in one spot
so he was a bush to the deer
they wandered by him, aimless

moments like that cannot be shot with a rifle

#907 supper walk

at the end of the yelling, and the cold rain, and the boring meetings, and the reprimands
at the end of each day
at the end of monday and friday and each day between
i arrive home and i breathe
i walk with my wife and my dog
and i understand, the world is a good place

#906 the fringe

squish all the paranoid people into the same hospital floor
jam all the criminals into prison together
isolate the members of society we dislike,
until we are left with the best bland-middle-of-the-road
exile them all,
feel fear and appreciation
that you are neglected to stay

#905 orangutans and aardvarks: 3 chunks of advice

first:
list, in your head, the people who make you laugh
i mean laugh,
like there was a buffoonery of orangutans trying to escape your belly, kind of laugh
memorize that list


second:
do something kind for those people
and double the time you spend with them
if your list is empty, start seeking new friends
sign up for a course, volunteer for a cause, pick a new hobby

third:
ask yourself-
would i be on anyone else's list?
if yes, great
if no, go to the mirror
and do your best impression of an aardvark in heat

#904 earl gray

the doorbell rings
i walk
through the window, i see two officers
inside, my heart turns to a november sunflower
i open the door
their mouths search for words and fill the space between us with uh's and um's
then the sounds turn to words
accident... everything they could... so sorry
they enter and i ask if they want a cup of tea

#903 petals to the ground

she lent me a pencil today
  she loves me
she walked by me in the hall without eye contact
  she loves me not

she watched the stars with me the final night of grade 10
  she loves me
she started dating the new kid
  she loves me not

she shared her blackest secret with me
  she loves me
she left for college
  she loves me not

she's moving back home
  she loves me
she says she needs space
 she loves me not

i asked her and she says i do
 she loves me
her car rolled off the straight, dry highway, driving to work after our final fight
  she loves me not

#902 down vest over wool sweater

the leaves crunch underfoot
(the happiest sound i've heard from death)
adding reflection and weight to my walk 

the autumn temperature pushes me into myself
i watch two leaves fall
spinning and fluttering and crashing into one another
journeying to being grounded in this, the third season
i name them
My Past and My Future

#901 crossing the lake

i thought we would feel the same
together for a decade before exchanging rings
and we feel similar to before, but change is sneaky
overnight we swam across a lake
from the town of Couple
to the village of Family
we swam, two people, together

the lake is the same, the two sides are the same
i am the same, you are the same
but "we" and "perspective' changed

now we rest on the shore's edge
resting up from the swim
ready for the next swim

#900 angel garden lake (Am,E, D)

lost my new oar
lost my old roar
out on the lake
must have been some
kind of mistake
out on the lake
now she floats all alone
never knowing her home
bobs alone on the lake
i paddled by hand
until i found land
out off the lake
stumbled through fog
then carved her a log
...
now she lives in a rose
in the garden corner
...
i arrive at her tomb
ripped from the womb
...
....

#899 a bad day at work

weep for all your money cost you
cry for the memories and lament the moments
8 to 5 times 5 times 52 times you
trade your hands your mind your back your time
for a pay cheque and a pension
is it worth it

#898 the atlantic

the flower in its vase drinks water, drinks life, so slowly i do not see
so it is with me and this place
but, like the flower, my roots are cut, and i wonder how long
how long before i wither, how long before this vase and its water grow murky
can i go back to the garden
are my roots still there
is my garden still there

#897 to those in the know

how many barrels must a man stare down, before you call him a man
how many bikinis must a video have, before you can call it cool
yes and how many black friends must a non-black man have, before he can call himself black
the answer my friend is blowing in the wind. the answer is blowing in the wind

#896 reflections of a white person

I am white.
Unfairly, that gives me unwritten rights.

When the stranger crosses her street, I don’t question if it’s a product of my pigment.
When I am hired, I don’t wonder if they chose me, to meet some job equality policy.
When I received my degree, no one called me, “a tribute to my race,” and I do not carry the weight that can come with such a title.

I am white. As a kid, my parents did not have to drive to the city to find me white action heroes. They did not need to research to find movies and shows with white lead actresses and actors.


There is no pressure on me to be a great basketball player, or a genius mathematician, or to attend a powwow. I know little about my ancestry, and no one tells me that’s a shame.

I do not need to wonder if my native tongue (English) conspires against me with words like blackmail and blacklist and indian-giver.


I am white. I can find people of my colour that are powerful examples in a any profession or pusuit.

I am from Canada, like my mother and hers, like my father and his. I am proud to be Canadian, proud to be Scottish, proud to be MacDonald, and many other identities intertwined with the paleness of my skin. I am not proud of being white.

But nor am i guilty. Sure, I never had to lay awake at night, and justify hanging a human from a tree; but i have dealt with the guilt of wondering if, born there and then, would the lynch-mob list include me.

I am white.

I do not apologize for being white. Nor do I feel pride. I feel lucky. Fortunate. Unfairly so.

I am white. Unfairly, that gives me unwritten rights.

I do not need to fight for respect, it is assumed. I do not need to worry I’ll be the only white kid in a class full of kids studying white history month and, to date, I have never been asked to speak as a representative of white people.

Unlike the native man across the street, I can stumble home from my favourite bar with zero fear of being called a dirty drunk Caucasian.

When I am interrogated at the border… okay, hypothetically, IF I am ever interrogated at the border, I will not wonder if it’s because of racial profiling.

I have two sentences I will separate by a period, not join by a semi-colon. Let grammar reflect my belief that the statements are separate, not joined.

I am white.

I am proud.

I am not proud to be white. But I dropped the guilt years ago.

I did not choose to be white, I will not wish not to be white.

I am white. I am privileged. My life is easy and advantaged in ways I will never know. My privileges are not invisible; they are so visible I do not see them. Like the air in front of my eyeball, my privileges have been in front of me my whole life, so I don’t know what they look like. Like the wind, I cannot see my advantage, I can only try to describe it by its results.

You can hate me because I’m white. I can see how that would happen. And if you do, I feel for you, and I hope life delivers you happiness. I hope you use the anger i provide to do something good.

I do not look back on the history of white people to find my pride. I look at my brothers and my sister (siblings) who each fight their own fights. I look at my mum, who raised six kids. I look at my dad who worked hard, as hard as anyone I know, to provide. I look at my wife,  my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, at my friends, and at my neighbours.

I am white.

Unfairly, that gives me unwritten rights.

#895 two trees

as a tree-climber, i saw loved both trees, as i do now, but with naivete
then, as i grew taller, the trees grew together
winding and turning and intertwining
and this shaped me
then life took me away for a time, across the lines of maps, through various colours of globes
and when i returned, i saw those two trees again
saw them choking one another, competing for all the sun in the sky
overshadowing, strangling, hurting

i sat
on the empty lawn 
away from the shade and false comfort
i listened to myself cry

#894 road trip

i know a girl,straighter than a prairie highway double-solid
but one night with your body, would turn her into the cabot trail
your shoulders and your straight stretches
your loops and your beautiful bends
would turn her into a trans-sexual
to experience your trans-canada

the word miracle has been made as cliche as the needle in the haystack, by hallmark and human mouths
but i know a real miracle and that is this:
each night, i get to park my body alongside yours

#893 smiling out

fraught is my life
fraud is my life
my life is fraught with fraud
my life is fraud with fraught
fraud is my username and my password
for banking, for loving, for singing
everything
because routine is easier than living
and the couch more seductive than the garden
although the crack behind her cushions
steals both my soul and my loonies

#892 on a rainy october 1st

fog and rain and drear shrink my world
mountains and views disappear
shrinking my world
curtains are drawn and fires lit
shrinking my world
thoughts erase curtains and flames
an hour passes as i travel inside my head, inside myself

#891 here's to sprawl-mart

a great wedding gift
two wedding glasses
nicer than any we would've bought for ourselves
and here i stand, washing them
imagining a crack

#890 mother mary

i buried mother mary, in the wet sands of time
dry landscape at my back, wet horizon ahead
i walked ahead until i was over my head
walked back to shore and drew a new name, in the wet sands of time

#889 112

with a slight accent
and silent ignored tears
she marches on
and that will change, but it won't
the body will retire, the heart will persist

#888 inspiration is a sneaky beast

inspiration is a sneaky beast
it can come from your garbage can
or your playlist
mine usually comes when i'm not looking for it
in fact, the more i force it, the more it hides
BUT
inspiration thrives in soil with at least some routine and a lot of epHort

#887 the world is wet

the world is wet
water seeped into earth last night, inches deep
i listened from my pillow
water hit my tin roof
no wind
just dump-trucks of rain

now i watch stillness
as townspeople wake up silent
like the blossoms and the worms

#886 like gravity

solutions fall from trees
as i run through the forest
struggling to be under the right tree at the right moment
a force weighs on me no matter how many steps i run
the hip would sing
i need to believe in us tonight
or i need to be leavin' us tonight
we all fall down

#885 mr. harper

you cannot call it a defence budget
if it is an american-offence assistant
helping them with offensive attacks
o-ffensive
if we insist on being strong and on the offense
let's spread love and peace
let us help those in need
through flood and famine and fear
then, we will have less need "to defend ourselves"
and when we do, we will have many friends wanting to help us

#884 what's on

you are the yang to my 6 o'clock news
filling me with positive views

i am your
sit
calm
but i give you credits

you are the best of my prime time
and you forgive my juvenile rhyme

you are my favourite movie i watch a hundred times
enough that my lips know all your lines

but yet you always give me new release
in General you R my favourite show

comedy, drama, action
you've got it all

you make my breath run off a cliff and pause and fall like an animated anvil
i am the lead and you are the girl that i get; not "get" as in own, but as in understand

you are my rewind, my fast-forward and my play-on-words
you are my tv and i love to turn you on

you are my remote control and i love to curl up with you on the couch
my guide and i love to read you

i fall asleep to you and your static and snowstorming til morning
 you, you are the yang to my 6 o'clock news
and you are my anchor, and the channel i choose

#883 a bundle of sticks (and stones)

the word started a fight

Fag

and i don't know which made me sadder
the, caller thinking the word was an insult
or the, insulted thinking the word was worth hitting fist into face

they put, male skin and hands to, male skin and
bodies rolling and grappling on the school's corridor floor
upping heartbeats and penetrating punches
together as artists they draw
       they draw blood
on canvas of 12inch-by-12inch neutral tiles

all from violence
nothing from love
because male love is gross
despicable
ostracizable 
yet using your birth-given hands hurting another human being is
worth bragging about in the cafeteria
adds points to status-counts

blame schools, blame kids, blame parents
politicians, and media

squeezing them into our babysitter-buildings by the hundreds
providing each a, half-locker of semi-privacy
forcing them to, drink from a shared fountain while guests and suits get water-coolers
write kids off as entitled because, it's easy
blame tv and gaming
bullying and shaming

finger-point all you want, they'll point their tallest finger back at you
amidst broken mailboxes and shattered glass and stolen pumpkins
pumpkins smashed on streets they feel
don't belong to them
pumpkins smashed on streets they feel  
own them

you will not find a stanza herein with an answer-
     just questions and anger

give me one stick for each time an adult says
names will never hurt you
i will build one enormous faggot
names hurt in a way that's harder to fix and in a way that
lasts forever

#882 everything good

4th, 5th, home to 1st
rising action, climax, denouement
intro, conflict, resolution
tension, more tension, release

#881 the bear facts of a misunderstanding

drunk idiots
someone bashed my driver side mirror
scratched my door
some drunk idiot
happened overnight while i was sleeping

#881 what is the answer

words blur
black and white turn grey
blue lines morph into daydreams

i am king of a magic planet
i am a kind king
everyone loves me
i give no homework and demand only that people worship me

the teacher asked me a question
but her voice was the ocean beside my kingdom
i did not hear the words
she looks at me for an answer
with eyes that do not show worship

#880 r.i.p.

i like to read in the cemetery
it provides lots of company
but no one interrupts
i read biographies and mysteries and kids' books
whatever grabs me

i read in peace while
the others listen to my thoughts
and i lose the feeling of being a loner
just me, and the words, and the headstones

#879 abundance

i saw something today that made me stop
a miracle
it was near the middle of a large field
breathtaking
it grew from the earth
stunning
it was a clover
one-of-a-kind
a 3-leaf clover
in a field of 3-leaf clovers

#878 the happy life of my grampy

the radio on the washer
the swing in the backyard
a bucket for blueberries
a stick for fishing
a sharp chainsaw
a full-tank truck
these are the luxuries in a happy life

#877 after the first day back

he is in grade 3
on his way home
his heavy head rattles against the bus window
massaging his brain

the bus stops and he jumps awake, his stop
his shining shos walk down the aisle and down the stairs and into the driveway

#876 clover

a pair of 3-leaf clovers met last week
when each had lived three-fourths of an average clover life
and formed something new
yes, there were still two clovers
but something new had also formed
the new thing was not a 6-leaf clover
it was not a clover

#875 lucy in disguise

diamonds in the skies
diamonds in disguise
diamonds in her eyes
diamonds in disguise

#874 "what could be better than now"

as he walks through the music shop, guitars clamour
like front-row teenage groupies
hoping he'll touch them, choose them
that he will enable them to realize a new self in themselves

the speed and the silence and the noise, the forms and the innovation
this is truth in the form of sound waves
this is music

#873 teachers teach, painters paint, and writers write

writing is not about waiting for a muse to visit,
but about what you do while waiting for the visit
writing is putting letters together,
and good writing is re-writing those letters,
in head or on paper
i have 26 tools in my writers tool kit,
some are used more often,
others for precision work
but that's all it is:
26 letters, discipline, and doing it

#872 the school of Mr. Hathaway

i ignored her larger-than-life life
assuming no talent lived there
but then came her death,
larger than her life
and, as all too often
i found her talent and her soul
through her death
and still i wonder
what tortures these souls

#871 human, being

not self-criticizing
not complaining
not talking over others

not thinking ahead
not planning
not even reflecting

just sitting
breathing
being

#870 dos cervezas por favor

his skin is dark, from centuries of sun
his language makes a doctor's prescription musical
he throws out more food in a day than his large, young family will see in a month
he smiles and speeds and sweats
smiles when watched, because it pays 150 pesos a day
smiles when alone, because he is among the lucky

#869 bling

his favourite colour is brown
      calming, peaceful, relaxing, practical
      maybe even boring
and these are what he vows to her

her favourite is a crazy aqua-turqoise
      fun, breathtaking, bright, full of life
      opposite of boring
and these are the things he vows to appreciate in her

#868 memory upon memory

six of them all on one couch
the memory of the last time and
the memory of the picture, blend
altering truth, updating it
as another memory is snapped, another memory built

#867 the calendar hanging from the nail on the kitchen wall

searching for the good ol' days
in overpriced meals and expensive alcohol
days we did not know were good ol' days
until they were disposed of
along with the calendars in which they were blocked and recorded

time is a depressing friend
and depression is the sound of fear winning
the fear our best days are our yesterdays
the fear we are living a drawn out denouement 

#866 i get around town

i drive, the gas tank full, mine empty
the bobble-head terrier mocks me from my dashboard
my speed is going up
my life is going down
100% tread left on my tires
0% for me, wires poking through rubber
the radio is silent
my thoughts scream blind spots are clear
but these objects in the mirror, are closer than they appear

#865 "sat on a fence but it don't work"

the belt tightens around my chest
as demands pile with to-do lists on scrap-bits of paper
rescued from the recycle bin
red ink, blue ink, graphite
these are my bosses
and that's the last belt-notch

#864 Deadly Crash at 4th Street and 1st

even though Smalltown was a small town indeed then
Mr. Morton and Mr. Gregors owned similar businesses, competitors fierce
they were friends as kids but that went down one Saturday evening
a misunderstanding involving a missed curfew, and a sister full of teenage tears

now one Tuesday, each drove his black car for work
with passengers in the back, more silent than a ride in a music-less elevator
from North and from East, both men approached one 4-way stop
each thinking i'll beat that jerk
years of anger came down on their accelerators

before the sounds of metal and glass hit the intersection of 4th Street and 1st
Morton was silent and Gregors let go a string of reflexive curses
and that is Smalltownville's story, of the crash of two hearses

#863 clanched fists and shallow breaths

here's to anger
for your motivation
for your help in stopping the unacceptable things in this world
here's to anger
for speaking up
for action
for the energy you create
physical, spiritual, emotional

#862 dad's love

short grass and a clean car
baseball games on tv
lawn games and car-chats

#861 picking the melody

fretting away our frets
stress leaves in soundwaves
turning into good memories
changing chords and outlooks
tuning up and tuning in

#860 helmets are mandatory

there is no inspiration for life any strong than death
yet we squirm to talk about it
death
death
death

our fear of death
has grown into a fear of age
and now, with policies and safety
with helmets and seatbelts
we are growing a fear of life, of living

#859 a snapshot

old pictures deceive
confusing one generation with the next
playing tricks on my present
adjusting and influencing my past

and now
instead of having a few treasured moments
we have a hundred pictures a month that count for nothing
only filling up memory not my own

#858 mountains

what was once a mountain
is now a smooth wrinkle in the land
coming east to mountains
like visiting your kindergarten school for sky-high coathooks
these hills' beauty demand there own awe
but for height these eyes have new perspective

#857 memories and old underwear

i will not throw them out
they are old and tattered
worn and frayed
unattractive and ugly to some
but they are mine
i cannot throw them out
someday i might lose them
but i cannot throw them out

#856 the crybaby

she thinks her bruise is big
like a kid who thinks they're dying at the sight of their own blood
and we let her think it's a big deal
that we think she's tough
with her Ziplock baggie of ice and her Band-Aid

#855 Y

the ratio is wrong

to many mean nice words

beautiful phony smiles

no elegant behaviour to impress the other half

each word has hidden meanings

and feelings are something to stab before yours get stabbed

#854 upon cleaning the closet

no more clutter
no more floor-covering crumpled jeans
no more dust bunnies
no more mismatched socks
no more scraps of paper with scrawled to-do lists
no more
i cleaned the closet today
and promised myself to keep it tidy this time
again

#853 853

readers are impressed i have 853
that i wrote them all myself
writers are impressed i write one a day
that i share the ones that aren't ready
which impresses you more?

#852 dry clean only

two men, friends
not best friends, but good friends

the first, dressed sharp
expensive leather shoes
expensive watch
clothes pressed, no wrinkles

the second, dressed haphazard
faded t-shirt
jeans that don't see the washer until they show stains
mismatched socks worn threadbare

the clothes make the man the first man said
trying to be helpful
to offer advice he'd learned

the second man smiled
glancing at the juxtaposing attires
i think
the man makes the clothes
 






 

#851 overprotecting

boys
in push-up positions
drinking from the brook
the same brook where horses crap and algae grows
cold clear quenching water
they finish and sit by the brook
talking of whatever boys of that age
before girls dominate conversation
then they go back to the yard and find baseball gloves and a once orange hockeyball
they arrive in the kitchen for supper
hungry, home
and they grow up
healthy, happy

#850 self-injure or self-endure?

universes swell while jesus plays toilet tag in the alley
kids use mower blades as weapons
while Christians sit content in proper pews
toddlers ecstatic over someone else's trash
while towns and cities self-hypnotize in half hour segments
and i type a poem about the problems
like a helpless teen gently cuts her wrists
letting enough pain and pressure out to get through another day
but not enough to fix even one problem

#849 "rocking horse of time"

we all want release
some, like me, achieve it through tv
the ones have stories that can make a sax talk
do it through drugs
but we all seek release
from the feeling we don't belong
and maybe we're all right

#848 exterior

peel away your layers of paint
each added to hide something you didn't like
pressure wash
strip your walls to nothing
scrape if need be
then choose your colour
and apply

#847 objects and objections

waiting in the passenger seat
in a parking lot
i daydream, staring at the side mirror

i remember my first grey hair
but when did the salt first outnumber the pepper
i stare at my age
at my future

thinking of the life left in front of me
of my mortality
adds weight to the words on the mirror

my hand finds the handle
my should leans in to open the door
i stand up on the asphalt
stretch
walk around the front of the car
and get in the driver seat

#846 staying busy

the buzz of doing pushes me ahead of the dog of grief
biting at my heels
stopping is dangerous
but inevitable
and when stopping happens
i will be ripped to shreds

#845 canadian summer

sunscreen and sandal tan
pasta salad and lemonade
green grass and blue sky
barbecue and smoke from campfire
icing bright drinks and playing yard games
hot steering wheels and hands out car windows
scorching outdoor asphalt and cool indoor concrete
sand between toes and summer on your feet

#844 check

sweat and dirt mix on my skin
and feel great
a clean garage
a visible tangible result
each thing in its place
above a fresh-swept floor
my soul needed that

#843 relaxing before bed

eyes closed
i pinch the bridge of my nose
with thumb and index
trying to squeeze away all the to-do list items
i failed to accomplish today
like yesterday and the day before
but for my last few birthdays
a fact has been growing in front of me
tomorrows are a limited resource

#842 miner covered in coal dust

he is a ghost
the weight of colour tricks my eyes
the whites of his eyes glow and seem to float
not belonging to his black face
his black body
his black clothes

his eyes remind me of one of pac-man's retreating ghosts
traveling without body
the illusion causes a fear in me
a fear i stifle
a fear not unlike that of a toddler
seeing a parent dressed as a halloween vampire
he showers, removing the costume
no longer a ghost

#841 pausing

familiar chords massage my mind
lost in the lyrics i've been listening to on repeat
my attempt
at slowing down this world while i catch up with myself
the same lyrics speak to something different each time
the music has never met the clock
an hour passes without my awareness or permission
now i must press pause
and give myself to this world

#840 launching the collection

there comes a moment
when i must dissociate myself
and push with my beak
launch my small creation

watch my baby fall
but it is not my baby
just some collection of bones and feathers
for if i admitted it was my baby
i couldn't push it out of this tiny safe bowl of grass
unknown to the world

soar or splat
i will, with detachment
feel for the pile of feathers

and soar or splat, in time
i will admit and i will second guess
i will rejoice and i will grieve

#839 concentration

the shelf and its books invite me

tempting me away from the keys and the screen and the day’s poem

but i'm here to work

...

the titles, the authors’ names, dangling straight on the spine

lined up, like carcasses at an old butchershop

waiting to be devoured

tempting me away from the keys and the screen and the

#838 in defense of the office space arson

it was his stapler
he had warned them
the world coralled him
and he drew a meager line
the issue was more than a stapler
the issue was the world disrespecting the tiny space allotted one individual
and he responded in flames
he was not a violent man
unassuming and gentle
but they took his stapler, again
i applaud him

#837 highways and low days (1 G Em/ 2 Em G/ 3 CCCD)

swamp's full of words
sky's full with birds

heart filled with hurt
in an Earth filled with dirt

mind full of pain
a puddle full of rain

mouth empty of smiles
my highway out of miles

my Singer's out of songs
a voice hoarse from so many wrongs

my rainbow has turned black
my Forgiver turned his back

#836 waiting for things to pick-up

spinning tires and time on his hometown main street
waiting for his future to improve
or for the right girl to notice
burning rubber and burning thoughts past the same tired falsefronts
hoping for trouble

or for distraction
changing gears but nothing else
same old radio station
same old albums

#835 me vs. evil

i stomp an ant and feel accomplishment
but the colony does not enough laugh at my effort
does not even notice
and the march continues

#834 in common

communism
common, communal, community
democracy
"by the people for the people"
yes, communism ignores human greed
while democracy thrives on it
and we circle the world
enforcing democracy
hypocracy
my democracy must be lived before it can be spread
and even then
my democracy can be only be planted, not enforced

#833 if only

i squeeze my eyes until they spot and spiral bright
alone in my adolescent bed
and aspire to being a cool kid
and fixing my world
on the news and in the cafeteria
the world is full
of things out of my control
and so

i squeeze my eyes until they spot and spiral bright
alone in my adolescent bed

#832 "sing to the mountains"

i walk this aisle that leads to the focal point of the cathedral
this is where god lives
in the traisl of a mountains
mountains formed from a multi-billion year creative dance by Earth herself
rising up for longer than humans have existed

a perfect balance of masculine and feminine
pride and humility
a life-giving blend of light and colour
power and surrender
each leaf, each footstep, each old rock
miracles

i'll raise my voice
i'll lift my heart
i'll dress my best merrel apparel
and worship nature seven days a week

#831 i return home and he's not there anymore

my fridge died
a simple, solid, standard fridge
left-handed
the new one is good
i like it enough
it's brighter, but still, i like it
it's right-handed
it's been weeks now and still
i reach for the right side

#830 so from where does misery come

massaging your partner, relaxes you
volunteering, attracts employment
teaching material, is the best way to learn it
spending time with youth, nurtures youthfulness

#829 advancing laundry and language

words thrown in a hamper
rinsed and soaked and cycled
hung to dry
snap-flapped and folded
now donned for showing

#828 trades dreams

grass grows tall 'round the rusty sedan
where children play mechanic
dreaming of a future within the Nascar infield
but dreams and reality have not collided yet
the wreck is still around the corner

#827self-fulfillment

our checklist is done
miracle of flight, check
instant global communication
technological advancement
weapons of mass destruction
check
check
check
each item is scratched
but one

#826 ready for abandonment

my decision
bugs me like a post-publication cover page typo
an amaerican spelling in a canadian book about canada
but
what's done is is done

#825 pike place

fish fly and voices repeat
flowers and books and people
rich tourists and poor bums
an energy and character that took years to build

#824 the storyteller

in her hands
the guitar tells a story
beyond the lyrics of the song

on the other side of her closed eyes
no crowd sits
just family and memories and smiles and bruises

#823 the art of begging

i open the fridge
behind the fridge-hum, silence
grab the cheese package
toenails click on laminate floor
hopeful eyes enter the room
the head lowered, humble
and i understand the cliches origin

#822 projection

have you ever been jealous of a kettle
it's ability to blow off steam
it's guaranteed usefulness
predictable schedule
the zero pressure to talk

you haven't... oh
me either

#821 lying on the shore

fibs fade like water-rings from a rock in a lake
spreading out to invisibility
a plop that turns into silence
then walk away or,
pick up another rock

#820 plaid

lines crissing and crossing
thick and thin and thin and thick
colours starting and stopping
light and dark and dark and light

#819 5:14

my savings account has 4 digits
counting both sides of the decimal
my future plans
include defrosting 5:30 supper in the microwave
my retirement fund and my pension are evenly matched
zero each
which makes no cents
and man,
i love my life

#818 game 7 post-game show

drunk people watching drunk people commit drunken crimes
tear gas, explosions, burning cars
embarrass a city
4-0
go home

#817 we all know how love ends

Only owls hear mice move under snow
Siebert's words throw you to my mind's front
slap against the inner skull

i the mouse, you the owl
others see snow
but you sense my timidity
my scurrying, my fear of everything on the other side of this blanket

#816 it's time to stop

when life is too busy to live
when to-do lists grow, like the spider plant you've been meaning to tend
when the love of your life is someone you high-five at the door
one leaving, one arriving
when you've turned down the same good friend for 5 consecutive outings
when dirty dishes claim your sink, your counter, your kitchen, your house
when questions and demands come from every room and every phone

#815 what are the chances

if you won the lottery, would you still do the same job
hang out with the same people
keep the same hobbies
would you stay the same person
chase the same dreams
play the same games

#814 WYBMABIITY

happy things happen at the hoz
birthdays and game 5's
and all that is good
finding the right song on the juke box
returning your bottles at the cash
imports on your right, shelly's left
three categories of wall paraphernalia
sport, farm, and random
WYBMABIITY

#813 map

a paper map tells you which way to turn
but stays static
as roads erode, and rivers turn

#812

mount fernie looks like an ice cream fudge dessert on the counter the morning after a party
gross melty slop
frustrating because i want ice cream
i want to hike, to explore

#811 google wacking

i lie with my guilt
@#$ the morning
instead of masterminding the mourning
for a plan for world peace
in this piece of the world
as the mask of the world falls to pieces
a poetic way to explain
adult to child
the transition
child to adult

#810 for Life

i relay for the golfball in my throat from the simple luminaries
i relay to remind me that Life is strong but that each life is delicate
i relay for the volunteers
i relay for all the after-school visits i made to Mary's house
i relay to meet great people
i relay for the breeze that hits my spine on seeing the yellow t-shirts
i relay for Life

#809 ted

the man inside the laptop tells me i'm tying my shoes wrong
and myself promises i, we will try the new method
for a change in habit, is a change in brain growth
and today, today, i crave a change

#808 best of the season

game 1, first round of the play-offs
five minutes in
the commentator's voice,
like the players' play
full of energy
both forget the pay-cheque
performing for the wonder of play
for the little boy inside
who flipped and traded for cards
in the grade 6 hallway

#807 a chore for Father

the boy mows
fearful of rocks and sticks and demons
of the ka-cha-chunk of unwanted debris
fear affects his heartrate
fear of these things and fear of Him

#806 stations

like most men whose parents outlive them, i was a little boy when i was condemned
despite popular belief, i was cross, and received wood to match my emotion
i fell on dirty dirt, but mum was there and i found the strength of simon
my sweat and filth were wiped by compassion
thanks V
i fell a second time, but by then i was beyond their ridicule, i found a new strength
hidden all my earthly life
met the daughters my knees hit earth for the third time
blood and clay, together again
stripped, nailed
dead
deposition, or lamentation, whichever you prefer
both a step to my tomb

#805 the big leagues

remember getting a run-on,
like a cfl kicker
closer and faster
as you approach it
then kick it
it goes flying, end over end
and lands seven feet away
a defeated dandelion

#804 sorry

stairs thump and sandwiches fly
suitcases fill and dishes rotate
never everything done
but who cares when you get away for the weekend

#803 rain rein

rain and wet fill the town
forcing me inside my house,
inside myself
grey outside
grey inside

#802 "it's bigger than you"

piercing strings
followed by skull-thumping bass
build up to lyrics that question man's contribution
to this blue gumball
forcing envy toward any one grain of sand
on a beach or in a playground sandbox

#801 greener on the other side

walking with my grandson, i see a leaf
resting on a rock by the fence
on the rock is a fossil
this green leaf leaf will one day fossilize

which is more beautiful, more impressive?
the green leaf or its ancient imprint?
i pick up the leaf, hand it to my grandson
but he seems more amazed by the fossil

#800 ALEX WAS HERE

i pour words like concrete
changeable for a finite time
setting in place from the moment they hit paper
and like the ingenious teen vandal
if i time the change just right
my words live until the sidewalk is re-done

#799 ferris wheel churning

time is a conspiracy
clock tic corruption
time zones and twilight zones
hands spin against, forcing motivation
each moves at its rate
climbing left, falling right
ferris wheel stomachs for those who watch too close
and the digital hides its progress in 60 second bits
arbitrary units invented by the clock's own existence

#798 CG Y Hate, the red plate

I LOVE Fernie.This place.

Smalltown pace, knowing the clerk’s face, night-time drum-n-bass, mountain-sheltered …           space     

godly things, NEW chocolate shops, OLD stumpy, up 3 sisters, down 3 kings,

familiar eyes and lawn trimmed perfect by, old Italian guy

But tonight my slam is for all       CAPITAL-A CAPITAL-B     HATERS

who, like me, ever said “BEEP BEEPIN, red-platers”

Birthday brats, we brag, unwilling to share            

But these mountains are not ours or theirs

Though wrapped in green ribbon and white bow,

by the, Higher Powers.    The Powers-That-Be,

Powers that be wishin’ we seein’ their vision.     

of Kindness, Understanding, Respct-       

But heck

I play the game in my mind, SUV pulls in from my blind

Cuts me off without pity like 2^nd ave is his Cow-Town city

RED-plate, but I don’t  hate

I used to seethe, now I breathe

you see, SUV slaves to collect enough…  paper quadrilaterals

 to enjoy the mountain, saddle-bowls

And when I city-drive, I need to draw on rage, release my

Mario-Andretti, psycho-speedin  horn-honkin, finger-flippin   INNER BEAST

okay, I’m not that bad, but here’s my pledge

I WILL NOT JUDGE CALGARY BY ITS WORST EXAMPLES

plenty of BLEEP BLEEPS in this town, my hikers and campers

Weekdays SUV chooses to, make Big Money; weekdays I choose to, ride Big Money

Mr SUV is 5-lane insane Mcleod Trail-men-tality

Not because he, wants to be,       not because he tries to see?

but because that’s 5 days of his 7, workin’ to afford …      condo in heaven

I’ll close         by stealin', words aristotelian     “We ARE what we repeatedly do”

So I      ask you,     see G        Y hate, the red-plate          Why CG Y

#797 cheeseburger philosophy

life is a burger
we're all a little different
choose your side
choose your size
patty between buns

life is a burger
dress it how you want
add some colour
add some condiments
cow between bread

life is a burger
eat it up
enjoy every morsel
savour every bite
meat in the middle

#796 the beach

in every person's life
blows a teenage night
a nocturnal gust
snapping the kite in a new direction
the flyer feels the snap as a tug on the hands

#795 weight

my soul is weighed down with anchors
social commitments, to-do lists, meetings
when do i cut the chains and leave the anchor to rust on the ocean floor?
trust the winds to take me

#794

when did i buy all this stuff
why
things on top of gadgets underneath trinkets
electronics and furniture and clothes
more clothes than any one person will ever need
at this rate, wall space will be non-existent in 2014
when did i buy all this stuff
why

#792 the horror

my face is the wrong size
my skin blisters and peels
glows an unnatural red
i risk early death
all because...
i forgot the sunscreen

#791 first year

dismantled pens
hold bits of paper, wet
as does the ceiling
a pile of undone to-do lists lies a large desk
covered by uncorrected assignments

#790 order

i stare at the open drawer, full of tupperware
begin to close it
slide it open again
stare another couple of moments
then i answer the battle call
empty the contents onto a free space on the counter
spray and wipe the drawer, inside and out
dry it
sort and order containers and lids
pitching the singles, the un-mated, the useless
slide it closed
open it
wallow in achievement
slide it closed again

#789 sharing

i put my soul on their table for supper
and instead
they ordered out, kfc
so i scrape my soul from their plates onto one plate
then to the stainless steel can beneath the kitchen sink
and later, curbside

#788 poetry matters

poetry is everywhere
the kitchen table, a desk, your own hand
everywhere

poetry is not a specific state of mind
but it requires a specific state of mind to be observed
an awareness, that facilitates a connection
between observer-mind and observer-environment

poetry is not matter
poetry is the reason matter matters

#787 may 5th

the mountains look like a half-eaten dessert
beside the kitchen sink
the morning after
but still
winter hangs on like the smell of fish on hands

#786 lies we tell our children

cheaters never prosper
you might get arrested for that
be careful, or your eyes will stay crossed
what goes around comes around
if you don't start trying harder, you'll never make it in (insert grade or post-secondary year here)
you'll understand when you get older

#785 nhlfomo

why do i need to see the game tonight
why not the score in the morning
and the highlights if i want
fomo
how do they use it against me so well

#784 boring

my friends call me crazy
and i call them the same
insane zany and quirky
are all compliments three
because the antonym of crazy is

#783 our kitchen table

our kitchen table provides 3 meals a day
turns people into friends
supports meetings that improve community
wears scratches and a red wine ring
our kitchen table
is the nucleus of our house

#782 take two every four hours maximum

antibiotics and lyposuction
prescription happiness
comes in a child-proof topped bottle
push and turn to unscrew
i have a cure for  95% of headaches
rest for 30 minutes in a quiet room
but no, we need the 30 second fix

#781 the poet's pledge

i promise
i promise to write crappy poetry
i promise to write poetry that will benefit others
i promise to call myself a writer, and a poet (especially when the title feels false and scary)
i promise to share poetry (mine and others)
i promise to notice the extraordinary in gum-wrappers and large leaves
i promise to beat Self-Doubt, Excuses, and I-Can'ts with a really cool whacker-stick
i promise to manipulate procrsatination
i am a poet
i promise to write

#780 it's over

a hollowness in her tone
like the hometown announcer
for a visitors' sudden death goal
and i know in that moment
whether i leave or stay
our game is over

#779 how the house turned blue

each brushstroke counts for nothing
one half-shingle on a two-story house
but somehow
the job finishes
each brushstroke counts for everything

#778 point A to point B

i put highway between myself and the mountains
they're visible on the western horizon if you strain your eyes
without the mountains as reference
the drive up the 22 feels like a treadmill
steals my energy, but takes me nowhere
monochrome and sameness whiz by me on a screen
as my matrix stands still in space and time
already
i await my return to the mountains

#777 CGY

remember the delicious single dorm bed
small for one
me falling off

that's what i'm thinking of
here in the king-size bed, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling windowed wall
down over the city

in a world of pastry souffles and mousses
i'm wishing for chocolate chip cookies
pulled from an oven by a mitt worn through in places

#776 hawks

how does a giant fall to a tic
first place bow to the last
nerves?
cockiness?
is it the tic that wins
or the giant that loses

#775 10:25

playgrounds at recess
my favourite microcosm
playing, sharing
shoving, fighting
turn-taking and monkey-budging
then they turn into adults
and nothing changes

#774 my dad

my dad never said i love you with his mouth
because he was so busy saying it with his life
my dad always washed the car for me before i went on any date
he worked hard 8-5 monday to friday to provide
he didn't say much but when he did
always worth hearing
did not believe in skipping to the second layer of chocolates
until the first one was done
was content leaving a book for supper
even if there were only two pages left in the last chapter
my dad lived the addage "a place for every thing, and a thing for every place"
he had dark fingernails from earning a living with his hands
my dad

#773 run on sentence

i run for the sense of accomplishment
that starts around 1k
and peaks on arriving back home
the accomplishment of winning against the voice that says
no, skip today, it's just one day
i run because i feel healthy
body yes, but especially spirit
i run for solitude, and for company
i run to think, and to escape thought
i run on crappy cold snowy days
because someone in a heated suburban will give an incredulous look at me
a look that makes me feel hard-core
i run because i don't always feel like running
i run because the alternative, is not running

#772 junior high dance class

hands and elbows and hips and sweaty palms
a racing mind and raging hormones
ymca, cotton-eye joe
wishing she'll be your partner
and being petrified out of your pants when she is

#771 sing to your dog

is there a tax on passion
is soul have a marketing scheme
is raw authenticity a slogan
is talent a manufactured product

is quality a facade

#770 destiny in his right hand

he rolled the dice
no matter how many black dots face up
he rolled the dice
he did not stand against the wall
watching with nervous heart
someone else roll
he rolled the dice
whether the odds are with him or with the house
he rolled the dice
and that made them his

#769 the books on my shelf

the paddle on the wall lies about all the rivers he wishes he'd paddled
above the shelf with the picture of him and her, perma-smiling
another lie of decorating
the cheery hues
the complimentary colours
lies, all of it
lies

#768 god has entered the building

chills and spills
entertain thrills on these hills
sounds turn into music that turns crowd members into instruments
that play the art of listening
rocking together
rolling individually

hours of practice and failed gigs forgotten
even the present moment is lost
because there is no object of relativity for comparison
when a crowd experiences Art through moments of music
eyes close, bodies sway, girls scream

#767 trash talk

hiding the worst of your community only works so long
the snow will melt
leaving you exposed
disposable coffee cups, ignored dogshit, discarded chip bags
and then comes the even uglier part
all blame, no responsibility
coffee-drinkers blame dog-owners blame junkfood-eaters
until winter returns

#766 not my god

like change under my children's pillows and gifts under balsam fir
the sunday hero from the cathedral of my youth
exists only in its strength of having been imagined
the bread is dry, and sticks to the roof of my mouth
the wine is dry too, and tastes cheap
the key to the tabernacle
hides travesties and tragedies committed in vestibules around the world

#765 me and my friends

heaven has no cover price tonight
best drink specials around
and the angels walk around in winter
with strapless tops and fuck-me boots
but i'd rather find a quiet pub
and make our own noisy corner

#764 mr teacher

the 3 o'clock bell rings
the little ones rush out
adding to hallway chaos
in their attempts to avoid it
the big tries to use time well
tidies, meets, sorts
but his brain was off duty at the bell

#763 hooked

words
as slippery as freshwater eels
at the heels of kids standing in rivers
and the right words
even slipperier

like spearing your first fish
the refraction must equal your error, in the right direction
and the excitement
your heart flipping like the fish
albeit much happier

#762 art

borders and edges blur my landscape
suggestions beyond the frame
actions continued
the brush is always present
even in its absence

#761 slow harmonica solo

people try
but optimism drops
as the number of birthday candles rises
did you want me to lie to you
no, the slow harmonica demands a truth

#760 the comeback

last night
when i eased into bed
the season was spring
greens fighting browns
showing signs of imminent victory
but i slept through a battle
and this morning
the world outside my window
sleeps under a white duvet

#759 with age

during youth, i hid inside myself
a habit i'm learning is hard to break
but now share and talk and initiate
are concrete words
verbs full of meaning

#758 on the wall

the pane in the mirror
too much for this obstacle named "today"
i see me, but i fight reflection
and its accompanying pain
i see the reflection, but refuse to see myself

#757 why do you write?

i write because i have something to say
i write because i have nothing to say
i write to find answers
i write to find questions
i write to brag to others
i write to humble myself
i write to understand
i write to confuse
i write to prove something
i write because i have nothing to prove
i write for the voiceless
i write for the shouters
i write to fill words onto paper
i write to purge words from my head
i write to be meaningful
i write to be indulgent
i write to invent new
i write to achieve routine
i write because i write
i write   i write   i write

#756 behind the goggles

his grief goes unnoticed
like a white man on a ski hill
but he's there
making his silent turns in the snow
making polite conversation on his chairlift

#755 jaws clenched

the vice grips my smile
holds in place
using tension
squeezes, into position
until
the handle
tightens

too far

#754 simplify

i cut back death, encouraging life
the more of the rot i cut
the more the green will grow

i stand back, admire the tree
feel inspired to do the same in my life

#753 banning balls

many boys turn flashlights into sabers and popsicle sticks into ninja stars
whether we want them to or not
and our newest response
banning balls in playgrounds
is a guarantee for aggression to be released elsewhere
somewhere less appropriate

#752 unhappy kings

we are unhappy kings
lives filled of everything
fulfilled by nothing
surrounded by various friends
emptiness our only constant companion
we own houses and yards
drink running water
that appears from our taps
cupboards full of more appliances than anyone needs
but if we bought a new cupboard
i'd fill it
if money is evil's root
then evil is a tree
and we pick and eat its fruit

#751 account balances

why you spend your smiles all over town
but save your frowns for home
i try to buy your kindness with deeds and treats
but you pay me insults and harsh words
i repaint the house and build an extension
and you notice how long the grass is getting
but every once in a while i get that million dollar smile
and think of verve singing their bittersweet symphony

#750 molasses cookies

i listen to a dead musician and wait for a pulchritudinous poem to pour forth
found that word on dictionary.com while procrastinating
the voice speaks of rail-cars and love and homecooked meals

i dump my own ingredients into a stainless steel bowl
1 cup of verbs
1/2 cup of nouns
1 T of adjectives
stir together and hope for the best

the song changes
a new band, peaking
riding the line between unknown and mainstream
deserving to be discovered
deserving to remain undiscovered to the molasses

#749 floozy

spring teased, with her halter-top, cold drink in hand, smell of charcoal in the air
let us think she was coming home with us
then at last call, i saw her back sneaking out the door
felt a chill in the night air
hours after the sun crouched into her hide-and-seek spot of choice,
behind the mountain
i went home to sleep it off
dreams of flip-flops and frisbees
but when i woke
the world outside my window
was a blank word document

#748 hurt

do not let the world get close to you
do not get close to yourself
walls and fences are human inventions,
for a reason
pain is a symptom of a too-close relationship
between the external and the internal
whether it be a dagger or a love

#747 quaecumque sunt vera

i wrote fiction four years ago
and now it's labeled as memory, non-fiction
i wrote and re-wrote until the scene turned real
and now i swear the cold night air met my warm breath
visible as white air
like childhood photos
writing fiction builds memories
truth is a small and slippery word
found under "t" in the dictionary

#746 grief

13 daisies and a pool of red
how will friday ever be the same again
i will live my days, an outlaw from the tyranny of happiness
my face will never feel tears again
cold and hard, i will not feel

#745 music industry vs. music

imagine if we only used what succeeded instantly
we'd all be two-finger typing on an a-z keyboard
underhand volleyball serving
and snowboarding wouldn't exist
just because you don't like it instantly, don't give up
maybe it's you
maybe you'll take a while to "get it"
or maybe it's the art
and it'll take a while to "get there"
so please
explore outside the top-40
nurture real music, real art

#744 fall

an apple tree
two apples at one outer edge
a small one on a lower branch
a bigger one above
the small one, looking up to the bigger, as with us
the small one shares a fear of the ground
and an impatience of being small
Small One, we all fall to the ground in our time, and we all have immense size in us
months later (and months wiser) the small one lets go and falls to the ground
decades later, in her spot on the ground
an apple tree

#743 time and tables

he eats though he's overfull
afraid of giving up that feeling associated with the privileged
but now, no elbows fight for space
no hands fought to win this morning's cereal prize
but soon

#742 wax-paper sandwich and dish-soap shampoo

i didn't know i was poor
i thought new clothes were showing off
i thought barber trips were wasteful
i didn't know i was poor
because no one told me
and when they finally did
i failed to believe them
i knew they weren't lying
i just thought they were wrong
i didn't know i was poor
because i wasn't

#741 did you hear the one about the caucasian, the middle-class male, and the well-educated businessman

did you hear the one about
the person who aimed for a cheap laugh
at an expensive price to someone or ones absent

did you hear the one about
the present victim who laughed
not out of humour
but shame and lack of self-worth
using a smile to hide the tears inside
a loud laugh to hide the soul's sobs

did you hear the one about
the segment of society overrepresented as the butt
of these ones,
even if they are
individually
clever and un-insulting

did you hear the one about the caucasian, the middle-class male, and the educated businessman
no... isn't that funny

#740 fourth period blues

the hammer that caresses my head
pounds out of my teenage speakers
the world watches me
while no one notices me
everything is colossal
because nothing matters
hold my soul until i'm 19 and wise
keep it safe, in a clean box

#739

what if i only had 738 ideas?

#738 august 18th

what will change
the bed will still be shared
just like the lives
oh sure, a name will change
but what will really change
he'll still love her
and vice versa
oh there will be some papers get signed
but what will really change
nothing?
no
something

#737 the blinking cursor

gives me first tracks on virgin white snow
a never-ending mountain
lets me choose when to call an end to my day
even allows night riding
and the next day:
new terrain and fresh new tracks
without lift lines
...so why, some days, is riding so hard

#736 pain today

coats of shadows and blood
thinned with lacrimal additive
on my bedroom walls
as i sit in bed
trying to remember
the last words i heard you speak

reality's stains will fade behind the tinted primer of memory
but until then
i absorb pain
in my own walls

#735 a down day

a decaying seed sits in my stomach
my only happy moments are false and fabricated
like the warmth from a fireplace-monitor
happiness is a lie i wake up with
resulting in the let-down of reality
have you ever felt so low you had to hurt your neck
to gaze up at the valley

#734 steep metal roof

our cozy house
(real estate speak for small)
wears a chef's hat
as the snow crystals collect and connect
forming bonds
but then
in one quick WHOOMPH!
the house is stripped of the hat
bald

#733 i am the tree, the forest is me

i'm lost in the general details
between the trees and the forest
detailed generalities have me lost
between the family tree and out-on-the-limb
i love my roots
am my roots
family stories flow through me, sap of my soul

#732 blues master

his voice and his guitar go together like old-time dance partners
knowing when to lead and when to follow
when to push and when to pull
playing to the other's strengths
pushing limits and having fun
he doesn't sing because he has to
he doesn't play guitar because he's told to
the two are like breathing for him
even when he's not singing and playing
he's singing and playing
like the moments between inhalations and exhalations,
it's still breathing