#1282 souvenirs

smoke
the only evidence of what once was solid
and even the smoke is floating away
not letting me catch anything but a smell on my clothes
still, tears in my eyes are souvenirs
of the life of the tree

#1281 january

the worst annual job
de-decorating christmas
but still
after the worst
comes a sense of change
of new

#1280 365

january 1st brings my resolution
re-solution
a solution again
because i had the same three last year
i reslove
(re-solve)
the same things again
but this time i devote time
and i write them
and i share them

#1279 counting sheep

let me tell a vision
i will tell you a vision of walking at night on empty streets
while loving families stare blank at glowing screens
they watch the light until darkness covers
then they sleep so they can do it again
i count consecutive houses
my record is a baker's dozen

#1278 1am snowglobe

late night walk
solitude on the quietest night
watching snowflake shadows chase and race toward an imaginary finish line
winter butterflies on white canvas

i pass another streetlight
all the shadows change direction
dipping
swirling
laughing

streetlight- east
streetlight- west
streetlight- east
streetlight- west

until my feet turn in our driveway
and the canvas is still

#1277 clutter

a house full of clutter and love
a home full of stuff and support
a kitchen full of food and food for thought
a fridge full of mayonnaise and memories]
i'll take the love
even though it comes with clutter

#1276 o tannenbaum

symmetrical green perfection
garland hanging just right
bows equidistant
classic white lights
store-window perfection

and i'm looking forward to a messy tree
hung by little hands
a tree drowned in fistfuls of tinsel
a dry tree because the importance of watering will drop down the priority list
yes, a messy tree will be fine too

#1275 and these are the minutes

time is the offspring of a three-headed tiger and a one-legged armadillo
no that makes no sense
but neither does time
kill it fill it
buy it spend it
time the friend you need
and the enemy's seed
time is an a$$%^1e and a grandmother
we love him, we hate him
we are him
i had a meeting with time...

#1273 4x6

two people, smiling, happy
inside a faux wood frame
framed in another time, another place
isolated, cut off
from today and the wall on which it hangs
separate

#1272 portrait, black&white

my keyboard is my canvas
my wife is my model
my reader is my audience
how do i get the strokes just right
how do i let the audience know
how much she means,
how great she is,
how her smile spreads
i am an unworthy artist
but i'll give it a shot

#1271 we are family

god threw all six of us together
him with eyes closed
tossing sticks north and south
and now we're on the same team
we might disagree, we might mock
but we're on one team
and yes, there's a scrambled "me" in team
but there is no me, without the team

#1270 second intermission

i will forever associate the smell of cheap hot chocolate
with the smell of cold small-town arena corridors
learning the rules for being in testosterone-filled buildings
learning to sound knowlegeable about sports
and to pretend that girls' opinions would never change my actions
learning to hide low self-confidence behind team coats
and to pretend that i'm not afraid of anyone

#1269 surrounded by reminders

the poinsetta sits on the table
staring at him
the phone rings
he ignores it
or maybe doesn't hear it
and still
the poinsetta sits on the table

#1268 lab report

i walked back from the hospital
in shock
retracing steps from when life was a luxury
watching my opposite steps
straight, consistent, predictable
and the other set, of the four legged variety
weaving, sporadic, adventurous
we pass through the park
i unclip the leash
she charges through 30 yards of six inch snow
only to dive into the six inch snow on the far end

i had no choice
i followed

#1267 standing on train tracks

(the horn is loud)
i don't stand here thinking of suicide
i stand here full of satisfaction
satisfaction and adrenaline
facing a concrete, tangible force
equal in size and velocity to the feelings that face me
each day i lift head from pillow
(SO loud)
happy to be able to face the challenge head on
without verbally or physically hurting those well-intentioned souls who think they are helping me
(SO LOUD. FINAL-

#1266 2 minutes on HIGH

the sound of his keys meeting the table echoed through emptiness
and he sat on the low part of the couch to meet the low part of his day
supper, quick and convenient
void of taste and filled with memories
still he sits
some nights tears fall, some nights they fail

#1265 autobiographical

as a kid, time dragged on like a family home renovation
now, time speeds like the ground visible under the rear car mat
these similes are truly similar to similar truths from my life
and i would trade for nothing
even i am envious of this life
great people, special places, endless opportunity

#1264 thinking outside the inbox

put it down, it's
killing us and magic and relaxation
put it down, it's
rude and inconsiderate and mean
put it down, it's
frustrating and isolating and insulting
put it down
you can check your e-mail later

#1263 all covered in cheese

i ate spaghetti
and i was 4 again
peaking up at the stovetop
i ate spaghetti
and i was 10 again
sitting with all my family
i ate spaghetti
and i was 19 again
visiting home for the weekend
i ate spaghetti
and was happy agin
chopping bits for my son in his high-chair

#1262 to pity or to hate

am i flotsam or am i jetsam
few care about the difference
but i do
am i the result of a wreck
left bobbing on the sea
discarded by circumstance
or am i the result of unwant
tossed overboard
discarded by choice

#1261 talking time

i switched clocks
but when i switched back,
the people were wrinkled and grey and slow
leaving me to wonder which is more
age's mark on them
or its mark on my perceptions

#1260 falling from grey skies

and they say no two snowflakes are exactly alike
only, when they say it, they seem to be talking more about people
than about snow
and i suppose they're right
no two flakes are identical; no two people are identical
but most have identical fates
whether we swirl, plummet, are float
in the end, we end up on the ground
with too many others to count
and mostly only snowflakes can tell snowflakes apart
sure, any two snowflakes are different,
but when compared to anything else
those two flakes have more in common
than they do in separation
maybe we should talk about our similarities more
and our differences less
snow on

#1259 dog hair dog hair

dog hair dog hair, everywhere
under couch cushion, and on the stair
dog hair dog hair, every nook
computer screen and in my book
dog hair dog hair, all over here
near and far and far and near
in my milk and in my beer
covering my shirt as i lay on the rug
where i give my dog a hug

#1258 mumsy

thanks for life
and wax paper sandwiches
wrapped tighter than saran wrap
thanks for life
and apple pie
with choo-choo tracks
thanks for life
and driving us everywhere
and making us walk everywhere else
thanks for life
and after supper husband/wife tea
and the certainty of love those teas gave me
thanks for life

#1257 one of those

even my legs are anxious
why
the sky is blue, everything is good
but i'm afraid of the phone
i'm wasting the day
i'm wasting me

#1256 the croupier stick

i had everything
the wife, the family, even the car
but i wanted more
and i got more
not more happiness, just more stuff
stuff makes you happier, but only to a point
and those to graph lines met long ago for me
i had everything
until the croupiers stick
swished it all away
no clatter or confrontation
just the muffled sound
of stuff sliding on felt

#1255 bullet-hole poetry

i wanna blow a hole in your rock 'n roll
a roman candle in your soul

if my poems were art
they would be the the four-year old's scribbled colouring book page
the page before the page the kid wants to colour
but is ordered to completed the prescripted pictures in order

i wanna be roop or soulful jones
koyczan or mali the man

i wanna write a poem that causes in you
a chemical reaction
like fire for a log
changing forever
unable to return to your prior state


i wanna blow a hole in your whole soul
kill cold, rock 'n roll

i wanna pen a poem
that brings you back to your fourth summer
digging in Dad's dirt pile
searching for Austrailia
practically another planet
back to the excitement of the prospect
back to the fear of the possibility, of orange-hot lava
back to the mathematical certainty
that if you can dig waist-deep before Mum calls, "Lunchtime"
then you'll be able to hit the Earth's core by supper
and maybe, before bedtime... Australia
just you, and your plastic shovel

i wanna blow a whole hole in your sole soul
rock your rock and roll your role

#1254 unforgiven

there are things
only time can forgive
and i don't have the time for to give
or to forgive

my tolerance is a seine
with the biggest holes you have seen
most fish pass through
but the biggest fish will never pass

there was a line
it was crossed
and now we will never be the same
me
myself
and die

#1253 yellow teeth

love is not a perfect couple portrait
with bleach white teeth
and airbrushed weather
love is a lingering touch
unexpected and appreciated
love is not a painted fence
surrounding a two-story house
with the sadder story hiding inside
love is the wasted space
in a queen-size bed
love is not found
in small boxes
with big price stickers
love is the second hand marking moments
the minute hand marking memories
the hour hand marking our life shared

#1252 my hero

she always eats the heel
serves herself last at supper
new clothes, hah!
even her favourite number is 13
first one up, last to bed (lunches made)

#1251 out of the driveway

a car door closes
angry
not slams
but closes
gravel crunches under wheel
doesn't fly
but crunches
no fingers are flipped
no mean names are shouted
in fact, nothing is shouted
but souls are scratched
something breaks
that may or may not be painted over
but will never be undone

#1250 rrr

what is knowledge in schools
the intended and achieved result
of the interaction between teachers and
students and books and computers and government and
parental pressures and classrooms and friendships and
curriculum and fifty thousand other components
how do you measure it
no rubric could be that all-encompassing and clear

#1249 the aim of this pint

give me a beer and a topic
over a thesis paper any day
i'll learning from the latter
but learn more from the prior
i learn mmore from people then from studying ideas, second-hand, third hand
why the beer?
unnecessary, i just like how it turns my opinions
into philosophical ramblings

#1248 why not grown-ups?

talk to yourself
eat dessert first
walk barefoot
skip
build a fort from couch cushions
read under the covers with a flashlight
feel excitement for seeing your name on mail
play in the world that exists beneath the kitchen table

#1247 i've had a few

the music pulls me backward along the road of time
toward a the turn where she comes into the rearview
but the music plays on
and i in rewind
until she lives beside me
smiling and chatting
as if today was not a gift giganticer than a galaxy
as if she was never lost

#1246 like dodo birds and pagers

barbed wire surrounds the frame
him and her
smiling
happy
a thing of the past

#1245 13 yards

the photographer drove us to an old farm field for photos
tall grass all around for photos
the bride, the groom,
the bride and the groom,
the maid of honour, her and the bride et cetera

my skin itched and tickled
concentration was impossible
i won't be so authentic
the next time i marry
in my kilt

#1244 newspapers and toenails

like wet newspapers and dirty toenails
of course this is not what i imagined
reality bullied my dreams to their knees
i am an insult to myself
newspapers can dry
and toenails can be scraped clean
but i need some help

your pride was the loser of a bar fight
rolling out from the refuge of the lopsided pool table
and i kicked him- my cowboy boot, his gut
i kicked your pride while he was down
but really i kicked me
i kicked the world
i kicked the morning paper
i kicked my dirty toenails
i kicked the thing i hate most today- me
i only kicked you because you were down
an easy red X for my boot and my psyche

i wish i was man enough to thank you for being the last one to stand
by me
for me
up to me
my only anger is at myself
you should have torn your 50/50 ticket long ago

#1243 eyes open

deny night
count darkness between pupils and ceiling
fight night
so i will sleep the day away
removed from the rest of you
alone in a stadium without lights
this is my life
until i admit what happened
because of me
deny
fight

#1242 fall back

remember being young and cool
or if you were like me,
remember being young
so young that autumn time change meant an extra hour at the bar
and then meant an extra hour sleep
and then meant being ripped off an hour sleep
because the kids wake you
yeah, goodbye any delusions of being cool

#1241 puzzled

i start with the edges
sure, the edge is still hard
but i know i can do it
then i work inward
if i don't start with the part i know i can do
i'd never proceed past that

#1240 grey cup '12

i have two theories to share
one, that no few teens can make it through their teens without music
two, that the quality of the music they find (or that finds them) impacts the adults they become
for this reason i am dismayed at how hard genuine music is to find
at how pervasive the formulaic, manufactured, catchy music is
and how rare the real, genuine, imperfect music is
i hope justin's mother warns him to kiss heavy butt when he meets lightfoot

#1239 next stop

stop the world, i want to get off
the speed and spinning make me sick
to jump would be death
so just stop
just for a second
just enough time to hop off and breathe
to relax without the guilt of everything piling up into the clouds
just stop the world

#1238 on a dark november night...

i saw the hulking stray dog from a distance
i walked toward him to see if he had a collar
that's when i replied to a text i'd received earlier
i pressed send
i looked up
which thought my head held first?
that the dog was running at me
or that the dog wasn't a dog, but a bear

#1237 10

i am 10
my dad is my hero
i still see the majour leagues as a possibility
the liquor store still holds a sense of sanctity
i look up to my first male teacher
but my friends' opinions begin to matter more
my driver's license is a distant dream
like graduation and retirement
a day is still an event

#1237 trans-canada trance

the last ten miles disappeared
lost in a finger-snap mixture between awake and asleep
i press a button, sliding a window down
pulling in october night air
tonight the moon speaks to me
not a whisper, nor a shout
a plain voice two friends alone on a canadian highway
one sitting self-righteous in the sky
the other deciding whether he's driving away, or driving to
and whether one can happen without the other

#1236 one M&M a day

we who communicate with five different people in five ways at once
we who text and drive and chat and listen to music
we who clean and talk on the phone and watch tv
we
teach 5 year-olds to multi-task
we teach by example and by explicit instruction
and they love the busy-nessas much as we do
but when do we learn to uni-task
when to we teach how to sit and do nothing
and enjoy our one task
when do we teach to non-task
to sit and do nothing and enjoy the nothing

#1235 vivid and viable

teaching without learning is like talking without sound
without learning, there is no teaching
just lips flapping
if the outcomes on report cards confuse teachers
what purpose do they serve
aside from filling paper
and faking prestige

students learn from 9 until 3, monday to friday
we owe them meaningful material
purposeful projects
let us choose the essential
let us breathe life from our lips into that which we consider essential

let us teach

#1234 going gray

he dances alone with a bottle
in a widowed house in the evening light that slips between the blinds
smiling and crying are sisters
he won't finish the bottle
not even quarter
just likes the glass, the comfort, in his hand
stupor and sober are brothers
love and pain are an old married couple

#1233 tears of pain

preparing supper and tears pour down her face
she continues preparing, and the tears continue pouring
she says nothing just keeps crying
the steady thunk of her knife blade on the wooden cutting board
this happens every time
she chops onions

#1232 armageddon outside a chain store

a parking lot of panic surrounds a boy
humming a tune they all know
or knew, once
a parking lot of panic on a sunny day
filled with lightning
and cracks
the past and the present meet and they're off to visit the future
emories of lifting legs and giggling to escape the vacuum saves no one today

#1231 let me in...

don't take my beard
it distinguishes me from 90% of the population
without it, i'd look like a dog with fleas
don't take my beard
it provides a false sense of manhood on the days i need it
without it, i'd have to shave more often
don't take my beard
it's part of who i am
without it, my chin would feel cold

#1230 thoughts on bullying

a conference full of well-paid authorities
a symposium on bullying
they invent ideas that have all been invented before
watch videos that make them cry
experience a heart-twisting testimonial
but what if the cost of the day
was steered into healthy options requested by kids
lunch-time clubs
sports teams
breakfast clubs
rewarding volunteer coaches
putting time and money into the good
rather than how to bully the bullies out of bullying

#1229 bite your knuckles, son

when life is a jerk and jerks tears from wherever tears come from
when your favourite tv character gets cancer and the expensive music is designed to make you cry
when ones that matter to you need you to be the kitchen table that holds them together
bite your knuckles
bite your knuckles
cry later, or not at all
the knuckles will get marks
but what will the tears bring
are you ready for the alternative

#1228 Tips for poets: (or, a list of 24 excellent suggestions that are guaranteed to make your dream of becoming a poet, become a reality)

1 Commit. A poem a year. A poem a day. Commit to poetry. One good poem every two weeks, equals one book every two years.

2 Read. Read great stuff to get motivated or intimidated. Read awful stuff to get angry or inspired. Think you can do better...

3 Share. With friends, audiences, workshops, poets, publications.
Shove yourself against the elastic band rope that defines your comfort zone. The band will stretch.

4 Rewrite. What do lame poems and great poems have in common? Both can be improved.

5 Avoid clichés.
Avoid them, like the plague.

6 Play. Experiment. Not every poem will be your best poem. Embrace the achievement of creating crappy poems.

7 Always having a submission in the mail prevents rejection letters from meaning so much. Keeping one poem in the mail, means a potential "Yes" is always on the way.

8 Missed shots are to basketball players as rejection slips are to poets. If you’re not missing shots, you’re not shooting enough. A slump of missed shots beats a slump of no shots.

9 Beware procrastination. If you must succumb, trick procrastination into helping you. Procrastinate writing, by submitting; procrastinate submitting, by writing.

10 Physicality helps poetry. I don’t know why. Walking, juggling, stretching. See tip number nine, re: procrastination).

11 Find a critique group who is encouraging and honest. There will be times when you leave your group because you’re doing more meeting than writing. Stay in touch. These groups are hard to find.

12 Learn to critique others well. Critiquing others helps more than you'd guess.

13 Adverbs.
I don’t really like them. They are very avoidable.
I don't like them. They are avoidable.
Adverbs are red flags that read "Lack of Trust". Either you don’t trust your skill, or you don’t trust your reader’s intelligence. Your reader knows that when the main character skips, he/she skips happily. So skip "happily". Adjectives are sneaky little buggers too.

14 Writer’s block... Writer's block. Meals don’t get cooked by staring at the fridge. Bad poems are easier to start than great ones. Bad poems are easier to improve than non-existent ones. Start cooking.

15 Poetry comes from going outdoors, talking with friends, reading, and listening to music. But beware (again see tip number nine). If you’re asking yourself if something’s a procrastination trap, assume it is.

16 Babies learn to talk through imitating. Learning a language takes effort. Finding your voice, happens.
Imitate your favourite authors. Work hard. Finding your voice, happens.

17 You are a poet. Own it. Call yourself a poet. If you feel phony, say it more. If you can’t, then call yourself an aspiring poet. If you write poetry, you are a poet. Headlock your fear, and give it a noogie from me.

18 Write poems. Singers sing, painters paint, writers write. Poets write poems.

19 Tempted to go on the internet? Imagine how many poems you could write if you spent all your internet time, writing poetry. Picture your own shelf in the library, your own section in the bookstore. Internet off. Write on.

20 Share your poetry when you’re ready for someone to dislike it. Doesn’t mean they will, doesn't mean you want them to, doesn’t mean they won’t hurt you, just means you’re ready to share. Time always wins.

21 Keep a notebook (or whatever) by your bed. If you use it, bonus, a lot of earth-changingly wonderful ideas come just before sleep, and from dreams (a few are even usable the next morning).
If you don’t use the notebook, you still have one by your bed, and that makes calling yourself a poet, a wee bit easier.

22 If your title doesn’t have an item your reader can eat, smell, touch, hear, see, or feel, then your poem better be bubbling over with them. Cold french fries, fresh dogshit, broken wedding rings, rain bouncing off asphalt, sexy black dresses, wiggly leeches… these are the images which change your reader. Readers might “get” your poem, they might not. But if you make them experience these sensations, by the end of your poem, your reader will be changed.

23 Titles name your poem. Great titles improve and deepen your poem; they become an inseparable part of your poem.

24 Spelling and proofreading and penmanship and intelligence, do not a poet make. Sacrifice and effort and sharing and rewriting: that's the stuff of poets.

#1227 a lonely badge

the sheriff is a man who, every buddy know
the sheriff is a man who, never let it show
the sheriff is the willow trees, bendin goin with the breeze
the sheriff is a oak tree, standin tall as he can be
whatever it happens, always starts to rumour
whatever it fails, builds upon his tumor
a town fill with acquaintance
but he ain't got no real friends
the people are his children and the people are his wife
doin the right thing, that's his life
now gray is right and, so is every fight
left without permission, he'll get you with his right
the sheriff is a man who, every buddy know
the sheriff is a man who, never let it show
the sheriff is a man who, every buddy know
the sheriff is a man who, every buddy know

#1226 he changes his underwear

she has x-ray vision
seeing through his attempts to distract and evade
she loves him and he is in love with the superhero with the x-ray vision
but her superpower scares him
he knows
she can see the greatness buried beneath the bravado and self-mockery
somewhere in his soul, he knows the greatness is in him
but he can't see it as well
after all, he's not the one with superpowers
like most ordinary people
doubt visits him each day
sometimes overstaying, sometimes just saying Hi

#1225 why she called Gramma bitch

Grampa was the only thing right in her life
when Mum put her out on the winnipeg street one too many times
traded her to the curb for a warm man or a hit
sometimes both
Grampa mothered her
took her in
now Gloria's on the cusp of adulthood and still wishing for a mother to mother her
but she's seen enough of this planet now to know Mum is a fuck-up
one who'll never get things right
Dad left the room before Gloria left the womb
ran like ten track stars, leaving her to pack the scars
and the boys she met thought being a man was being the boss
so she took some hits herself
open-handed slaps, and words that hurt like bear traps
only two friends ever really "got" Gloria
Danny got tired of cutting his wrists and switched to swallow too many pills
Chelsea died too but not of choice, unless cancer has the freedom to choose

and Gramma
was almost 70
Gloria heard that the average person lives to 77
the word pulled tears from Gramma's eyes
but was a practice test for when Gramma dies

#1224 three hours west to heaven

i live in a valley
hidden by almighty mountains
who knew my home was alongside the running elk
home is the place you try things you think you might fail
i live in the womb between a castle and a ghostrider on a ghost horse
from a legend that is half told, long re-written on white paper
a miner's shack built in 1908... ish
after a fire that caused destruction that caused construction
give me wal-mart, but make me drive an hour
or three
give me real cheese, real chocolate, real honest bread
give me more coffee shops than fast food chains
because chains restrict and coffee spills
i'd rather spill my guts than restrict myself
rather drink with friends than chain myself
and when i need to go to the city
to see my brother, i leave here on friday
and i am a bull trout swimming the wrong direction
all the fish are coming down the 22 to the mountains
to where i live
if the wealthiest city in canda deserts on weekends to come here
what are they missing
they have everything
yet they escape to here
where we do not have everything
just everything we need
they escape to here
this valley
embraced by almighty mountains

#1223 1227 plays

you are my favourite song
stuck in my head long after you gone
your lyrics and beat meet
mix to perfect imperfection
i'm infected
i learn more about me each time i hear you
i listen on repeat and new something new each spin
like who i am is not a sin
like being white is alright
and doesn't mean i don't have my own fights
though i didn't need to fight for basic rights
you are my favourite song
so real, your lyrics feel like they grew out of me like skin
you are my favourite song
stuck in my head long after you gone

#1222 2:48am

sleep is my enemy
she kills me fresh each night
declaring my bed a war zone
armed only with imaginary sheep and real fears
i lose each battle
waking to fight again

#1221 on white paper

black ink
in a brown journal
thoughts and secrets and true lies
fill pages with scribbles
keeping sanity in mind as a goal
the ink like blood from wrists
spilling enough pain to meet another bedtime, another tomorrow
Loneliness is what she dresses in
Loneliness is what she eats
Loneliness is the only friend that really gets her
but part of her knows Loneliness is a dangerous choice for friendship

#1220 horizontal antecubital lines

everything about you is cliche but you
your dark baggy clothes and black make-up
your slumped shoulders and your slouched sitting
but something beyond the cliches
something that kicks the poets' asses from a century of slumber
your story is half-written
in these horizontal lines
foreshadowing a sad ending
we stick with you
hoping for a happy twist
cliche maybe
but happy

#1219 drying dishes

i hate drying dishes
but i savour the loneliness
i always washed, and she dried
but now i do both
and think of her
think of the suppers and the laughs and the desserts
my memories, like these dishes
never end
only give temporary reprieve

#1218 simmer

the best pots take time to boil
but hold heat for longer
don't believe me, try cast iron
even the name connotes a sense of lasting
but be warned
their handles hold heat too
but they're willing to give it away
to human skin

#1217 landlord say your rent is late...

i could not see the stars last night
we were covered in indistinguishable cloud
i assumed the lights were out, or gone, or dead
the stars, the moon, the sun
i sighed and stressed into bed
afraid of falling asleep and waking up to the dark morning
i watched the glow of the bedside clock
i pictured the worst tomorrow's possible

i woke up tired to a happy sun
and wished i could wish away my fretting
then i wished for a couple ore hours of darkness
in which to make up my lost time of rest to prepare for today

#1216 ...how old are you now?

today i turned 16 again
i did it once before
16 years ago
this time,
i watched the younger 16 year old me
and felt for him
he was a separate being
but i felt attached
he was like a sibling
so many things i wanted to tell him
but i know him well enough to know
he wouldn't have heard any of it

#1215 and puppy dog tails

interrupting feline yawns with fingers
and turning everyday items into weapons
sport-stat memorization

finding the accepted weak among them
arm-wrestling and pushing
jumping in all forms
as long as its higher than the other
and spending most of recess arguing over the nuances of the rules
instead of playing the game

#1214 feeling whole

i live in the middle of the mountains
if mountains were a donut i'd be the hole
but the mountains don't make me hole
they make me whole
there is no flat direction to look
mountains mountains mountains
yes i miss the ocean
and i love the mountains that block my view

#1213 no tag-backs

the sun and moon still play tag
yesterday's calendar quote still gets thrown into the recycle bin
new songs are written
new stories typed
and you're still dead
the sun and moon and calendar and singers and writers should stop
you're dead
somehow my head has adjusted to the fact i used to deny
maybe you didn't change the sun
or the moon
or the calendar
or the singers or the writers
and maybe i don't think of your smile every time i see or hear them
but you changed the way i experience them
you changed me

#1212 after

you made our bed and you lied in it
your body and hers weaving your web
your sweat evaporated and salt was all that remained
by the time i learned of your physical fib
a lie is an intention to deceive
and i knew we were bad
but you deceived me into thinking we weren't this bad
do i try to re-write this fairy tale with a spot for me
or do i lie alone
simplify by labeling you and laying the blame on your new label

#1211 it'll be real

they lied
the adults, they lied
they said i was the fastest
the strongest
the smartest...
the best.
and i was
i always won
always beat them
and loved winning
even though i won all the time
i loved winning all the time
i lost everything today
but if i win something tomorrow
i know

#1210 miss michaels' piece of wood

the pencil in my hands holds the tension that is my sanity
my neck muscles are tight and no part of me recognizes this truth
is it still exhaustion when it's everyday?
my belief that i'll fulfill my intentions goes down
as my piles of to-do lists go up

#1209 creation

the brush carries the artist
resulting in whiplash
in the end, the artist collapses, panting
and the brush is just is just a brush
the painting is good
but the ride, the ride

#1208 son rising

i remember thinking my dad's friends were gods
one put a sticker on my trike
and i polished that sticker for years
i remember watching dad work
being better than tv
and i'd wait for him to ask me to help
i remember trips to town alone together
like winning a lottery
sharing silence, just the two of us
i remember
and i hope to be as man as him

#1207 worker's prayer

after a full day
work and run and play hard
early up and late to bed
i am a hot chocolate in a pond skater's belly
a cold beer on a laborer's forehead
a plate of stew in front of a woodcutter
i am tired
i am useful
i am happy

#1206 round and round

her music box occasionally drags
but not tonight
tonight the dizzying ballerina
dances her into stories from a wold with unfamiliar rules
in the morning she'll remember flashes and snippets
but not the part when life changes
forever

#1205 shoulder check

90% of accidents happen within a kilometer of the driver's home that's what happened to both of them they were getting ready to turn the key in the ignition their engine never startedthey never left the driveway where would they have gone? the store? a visit? another country? a simple but important highway cruise we'll never know and only now can i cross the driveway and sometimes not think of them

#1204 look past the hood ornament

sometimes you need to drive away to let your old life fade away in the rearview with or without knowing where you're driving to leave Comfort Street behind and head to Unknown Avenue the people in the rearview are angry and crying but you must trust that someday they'll understand do not let their words and tears turn off your engine you need to ride maybe you'll be back, maybe not but you need to ride

#1203 an observation

smartboards and elmos and lcd projectors technology that can be faster and smarter than any of us but sometimes smartboards make us dumber i think of teachers who teach with sticks and rocks because sticks and rocks is what they have i think of them and wonder with all this technology and funding and space and equipment why are my students not all geniuses

#1202 lungs alive and dying

close the door but smoke crawls through empty space between doors and frames i revert to the fetal on the tile floor defeated but smoke does what it does rising around me filling the space until it has no choice but to surround me i forced this reality almost arranged the carbon and oxygen particles my self atom by adam

#1201 bedside lamp

ghosts from my family tree
visit me at peculiar times
uninvited but welcome
haunting the mundane
casseroles and wallabees
friends past the grave
affecting choices and tears
grief comes with age
like white hair and baldness
turn out the bedside lamp
and keep my eyes open
to fall asleep

#1200 combine with sweat

inspiration is a beast to be suplexed to the clouds
a slimy slippery eel to catch with your bare teeth
a holographic butterfly to be trapped in a jar
inspiration is an invisible calf to be hog-tied
a bullet to be ridden barefoot like a surfboard
a lake to be hugged

#1199 40th birthday gift

i picture riding the highway on a motorbike
and i forgot that i'm aging
the wind strips strips the white from my hair
and the pudge from my middle
and the knowledge that i'm growing stuck in my ways
the alertness and concentration
forcing me to live in the moment
at stops, i carry my helmet in with me
yes, to show them all
but also as a weapon
a sword and/or a shield
against reality
for no matter how much throttle i give
reality is never far behind me

#1198 in a day's state

1am in bed, sleeping
2am sleeping
3am sleeping
4am still sleeping
5am sleeping
6am alarm sounds, turn it off, keep sleeping
7am feet to floor
8am breakfast done
9am phone rings, world changes
10am denial
11am anger
12pm sadness
1pm more anger and denial
2pm my whole soul and being want to go back to 5am, still sleeping
3pm crying pours out of me, like under-the-kitchen-sink bucket compost pours into the yard bin 
4pm anger that crying hurt a little and didn't help at all
5pm lunch
6pm angry words at my favourite picture on... our walls
7pm i put the fracterd picture, the mangled frame, the shards of glass in the garbage can uner the kitchen sink. beside the compost
8pm walking, angry that the world is so... normal, uninterrupted
9pm ignoring phone calls
10pm internet surfing
11pm not sleeping
12am not sleeping

#1197 a cheesy love poem

she loves cheese
old and stinky
reduced or overpriced
she loves cheese
she's got her favourites
but she's not picky
she loves cheese
on toast on cracker
alone on a platter
she loves cheese
better than chocolate
better than flower
and that smile that invades her face
with the appearance of some smelly gorganzola
that's the smile i'm in love with
that's the smile i'd miss more than any all-inclusive exotic destination trip

#1196 womb2tomb

i cry
usually inside and alone
too scared to let the humans see water roll down from behind my eyes
i cry
when i think of family
burned in a jar, or placed six feet and a world afar
i cry
when i see fathers cry at funerals
when life never sees the world outside the womb
i cry
for light bulbs and chocolate cake
for potato peelers and scrabble boards

#1195 EADGBE

jesus is a mediocre cover song
doing justice to the truth of the original
while adding his own flavour
what more can he be
in a world filled with suicide and wing-plucked flies
he sings the lyrics and means the
hiding closed eyes behind his kobain hair
what more can i expect
in this world of humanity and its own breed of insanity
he plays his heart
to sleazy bar quarter filled with patrons
who'd rather dump their own choruses the bartender
than listen to this jesus character

how many people can you save with six strings and some truth?

#1194 'til the end

friends that border on family
are the friends who walk in your house when you're not home
and have a snack

the ones who visit without reason or forewarning phone calls
the ones who arrive early to your parties to help with set up
and to avoid awkward first arrivals

the ones who sometimes know you better than you
the ones you love to hear laugh
the ones who matter

#1193 rising smoke and falling snow

the smoke rises from the chimneys
traveling straight, to get to a place in heaven
traveling slow, to procrastinate leaving this heavenly place

snowflakes fall in the opposite direction
at the same speed for the same but opposite reasons

and the mountains keeps the town safe and nestled

#1192 a question ringing in my ears

all the degree-seekers
the ones with extra time
the ones who want to fix the world
or earn the prestige
study how to improve life for the ones at the the wrong end of the bell curve
the ones who get donged
instead of dinged and rewarded
and bored of the reward

do they help

#1191 look up, what do you see?

sorry bob, but the answer ain't been blowin in the big breeze
the answer is in the concrete, in the question
answer?
question.
the answer is in your man walkin down the road
in your white dove sailin
in your cannon balls flyin

sorry bob, but we can see the answer, we can touch the answer
the answer is in the things and people we see each day
the answer is in the mountains
in the people
in the turned heads

we know the answer
now we must act
we must choose times to ignore policy and safety and due diligence
the answer is more kindness for people and for life
kindness, respect, sanctity

the answer does not blow around us all mystical-like
the answer is this moment
between the last tic and the next toc of our second-hand
and every moment after

#1190 the sanctity of time

do not let a recorded voice tell me my call is important
do not interrupt the whole school to call one student for a forgotten lunch
do not make your motto customers are #1 in a store with line-ups and closed tills
do not ask me to a meeting that takes more than an hour and expect me to care or to remember or to like it

do not let fear alone stop you
i know there are other areas of sanctity
laughing, relaxinging, eating
and many more

#1189 one spark

big pit, big fire
small pit, small fire
make the ring large and supply endless wood
make the ring small and reasonable, beside a bundle of wood
you don't control the size of the fire, the fire-builder does
but you do influence it
and no matter how big
or small
all fires start with one spark

#1188 let's toc time

the second hand is a soldier who freezes for a break between each marching step
but the more i watch the soldier, the longer his breaks
if only i could ignore him
but even when i look away, my head twitches to his metronomic beat
my teeth bite my tongue
to
the
slow
rhy-
thm
and when the bell rings, i rush to another room
to go watch a soldier on another wall

#1187 for that boy

for that boy who looks like he wishes he knew how to hold his backpack
for that boy who is more of "the new kid" than the dozen new kids who have arrived since
new jeans won't fix your problem
the death of your meanest bully won't fix your problem
you've learned more from your life than any science or english teacher can impart
keep sitting in corners and back rows
bide your time
but do something great
this world needs your contribution

#1186 juno

who is saturn's sister
-you know
who is the wife of jupiter
-you know
who is the goddess of marriage
-you know
but i don't
-you know
i don't know, you know
-yes, you know

#1185 but i get both

i'd trade sexy
     for jogging pants and a bleached hoodie
i'd trade all the sultry smiles
     for the one that hijacks her face when she catches me staring
i'd trade hundred-dollar-plate dinners
     for saturday morning beans on toast for two
i'd trade all-inclusive destination hotel rooms
     for spooning ourselves to sleep
i'd trade all the members of a great mariachi band
     for singing one silly camp song together

#1184 no earlybirds please

sure, one dollar
she accepts the loonie
dropping it with a clink into her change belt
saying goodbye to her her mother's big breadmaker
saying a little goodbye to her mother
before moving down to the young couple
testing her mother's ironboard
as though they were in the produce section
and the ironboard were a pineapple

#1183 like cinderella and rumpelstiltskin

god is a fairy tale hero
i used to believe
he sat on a chair in the cloud
an undentefilled chalice in his hand
but now i believe in people and life and good
doing right
not because of the almighty boss ready to strike us down or love us without condition
but because right is right

#1182 all in the style

the difference between a fiddle and a violin
the first makes you stand up and dance
the second makes you lie down and relax
the world needs both
which are you
fast and fun and furious
soft slow and intense
do you make people go and move
or stop, and think

#1181 before today

goodbye yesterday
thanks for the smiles
and i forgive you my frowns
goodbye for yesterday
i'll miss you and remember you
you'll live, a legend behind my forehead
i wouldn't be me today without you
you are my oldest and my newest friend
we shared a hospital room for our birth day
and we share all our birthdays
farewell old friend
today will not forget you
and tomorrow cannot be you

#1180 wind warning

the wind is blowing where it never blows
and she's warning, but warning too late
relocating construction tarps and light lawn furniture
the storm is fun until a tree falls, followed by another
both frightening your ears
you push fear aside
but somewhere inside
you wish the warning came earlier

#1179 haiku: yama-who?

avoiding line-up
awkward chopsticks clapping to ease
drink, dessert... relax

#1178 of bones and hearts

i'm still fractured from the fall
when your stuttered sputtered october words
left me waiting for terminal velocity
now choosing socks and eating breakfast is a chore
i'm still fractured from the fall
the worst part is, you were right
but burst deflated my biggest truth balloon
so now i lay on the floor
still attached to the string that once kept me from flying into the blue
just lay here
fractured

Computer broken. Will post sporadically until its fixed.

#1177 november 1st, dawn

she is an angel
sleeping half on sidewalk, half on a stranger's lawn
she imbibed in the bottle
hence this fall from heaven
wet toilet paper and an empty bottle
this world overwhelmed her
and she tried to escape
for a while it worked
laughing and dancing and childlike
next year, she should dress as a lady of the night
to make the scene congruous
but she'll still be an angel
an angel i've known since spelling tests were a weekly part of our lives

#1176 weekdays

if only there were a poem that spoke of my love for you
it would be volumes long and three words short
if only there were a poem that spoke of my love for you
it would be in my handwriting on a napkin, and in perfect print on thick cardstock
if only there were a poem that spoke of my love for you
it would be full of full-stops and commas and colons and semi-colons; and free of punctuation
if only there were a poem that spoke of my love for you
it would fill every inch of space and breate with the white space of the empty page
it would yell from skyscraper tops and whisper between pillows
it would be raw as sharkbait and powerful as gator jaws
if only there were a poem that spoke of my love for you
if only, but there's not
so you sit ahead of me monday to friday
unaware of my cowardice
unaware of my love

#1175 320 Series

green and yellow coming up the hill
today's projects, yesterday's memories
only something this old could run this long
and "nothing runs" like this one
i'd trade you five new ones
to keep this one
and all the memories stored on the rear platform

#1174 how many stories

how many storeys
asks the real estate agent
mrs. williams thinks for a moment
thinks about her children
her late husband
births and deaths
tears and smiles
birthdays and holidays
bad days and sad days
millions
she wants to say but all that comes out is
two... two stories

#1173 green

my childhood is a forest filled with big trees that used to be saplings
big happy trees
and blooming flowers
and every hue of green
trails of mystery that never scare
a story hidden around every treed bend
my childhood is a forest filled with happiness that used to be the everyday

#1172 a guevara fan

last night 150000 revolutions spun around above my head
the noise was slight
unlike the impact
then, this morning
with the flick of a switch
revolutions finished
and the air was still

#1170 on having my license for 19 years

they used to fascinate me
waaaarrm-cool-warm
now they feel everyday
i pass under without noticing
the miracle
the wonder
the other-worldliness
this is nothing to be passed over
yet
that's exactlt what it is

#1171 table of contents

if i carried mine around
if they saw my earlier chapters
then they could understand
why apples and peanut butter
like oxeye daisies
make me happy then sad
and why baby carrots just make me sad
given a quick overview
they could decide whether they wanted to read me
i am an unfinished book
just begun my thirty-fifth chapter
i have an ending in my outline but
for me
outlines and actual endings never match up

#1169 dread

i preserve words in mason jars
for winter days when i will welcome their warmth
i pack them in sentences and paragraphs
seal them with two-piece lids
set them high on basement shelves
these times of wealth and smiles will end
and words will see me through

#1168 in memorium

a tree
just a tree
symmetrial-ish
but imperfect
no distinguishing features though
just a tree
but so much more to me
roots of memories of what could have been
leaves that die
but come alive again
a tree
life
growth
the things i waste my life wishing for

#1167 letter from student to teachers

you're failing me, by passing me
each time i hand in less-than-mediocre work
i get mediocre marks
what does 70% even mean anymore
in a world where 50 is the new 30
if at graduation, more than half the class gets "special recognition"
is it special? is it even recognition?
your 60% insults me
it should say 40
i can handle failure
especially if it's mine and i earn it
because of these inflated marks i distrust:
you, the school system, adults, authority
stop failing me, and start failing me

#1166 childhood is a blink

a lost childhood motorcycle dinky toy
rusts in a childhood field
forgotten like the feel on teeth biting a popsicle
as life's ride speeds to breakneck speed
and we accept as ordinary
like frogs in slow-boiling water

#1165 rusted golf clubs

litter our lives
abandoned extravagence
my possessions
the "wants" outnumber the "needs" more than 99:1
the more wants i collect, the more i need
something's wrong...
we know what the problem is....
something that couldn't be more fixable:
us

#1164 dj papa

i was cool once
no really, i swear
i had expensive jeans that fit just right
knew what people talked about
had opinions on the latest in-nest lyrics

i was cool once
no really, i swear
then came that little fellow over there
now my jeans are stained with tutti-frutti
and i talk more babble than english
except for books that make my eyes heavy at bedtime

i was cool once
no really, i swear

and cool is overrated

#1163 writing wrongs

a mean word in kindergarten
a stolen dollar at age 10
an ignored friend in junior high
an inconsiderate break-up around grad
a superiority complex in university

#1162 on the chopping block

you pick the one
the oldest, the biggest, the toughest
and you use her
you abuse her
leaving scars and cuts that with time
turn into character

you bathe her imaginary feet
in bark and slivers
she is there
   every time
   years
and you never say thank you

#1161 the language tree

words fall, leaves from the language tree
sometimes i stand, letting their letters bristle by my cheeks
sometimes i scramble, catching words by bunches in my shirt-front
sometimes i sit, choosing them for specificity
today i watch
amazed
at how how words, by themselves, mean little
but add and gain meaning when beside others
then i am ready
i set down my words
freeing my hands

#1160 bay street, 12:24

the man's well-chosen shoes speed along the concrete in confident rhythm
in a city of millions, he feels like a king
leading with a tie he might never wear again
followed by a belly big enough to show wealth
tight enough to show the gym's battle against business dinners
accumulate, accumulate, accumulate
is that the goal
when does it stop

#1159 a sunny outlook

with her umbrella under-arm
she says she believes in the power of positive thining
i believe in positive thinking too
but i still carry an umbrella sometimes too
i've learned to see the joy in rainfall
and i am learning to see the miracle in a raindrop
positive thinking is not getting what you want by a snap of fingers
positive thinking is having a clear vision of what you want
while having the ability to be joyful in the times other things show up
or when what you wanted shows up in unexpected ways

#1158 making up

tell him "sorry"
then wake up your tired bed one last time
y' both are a concert by someone overdue for retirement
playing yawning gigs to pay overdue bills
tell him "sorry"
then wake up the bed one last time
the sheets, the pillows, the springs
remind him of what once was, what could have been
then pack the bed on your back
dig out your tacklebox and a food sack
go fishin for new dreams
don't you dare look back
just tell him "sorry" one last time
then leave him feeling all the connotations and denotations in the word

#1157 invisible bruises

these invisible bruises
hold pain that no one recognizes
no one credits
and hurt more often
because people bump it more often
unable to see what they'd avoid
and the bruisee
wavers between victim
and self-doubt
the pain is real
if only the bruise were visible

#1156 george's rabbit

hug you until you break
pet your head until you bleed
i've never had anything to love before
and so you carry it all
28 years of love

#1155 woken. spurred.

I was a horse. a sleeping horse. i did not know i was sleeping because, i was sleeping. then life kicked me. slammed her spurred heels into my flanks. not once but twice. first my left flank. i was gauging the depth of my gash, the smell of blood had not yet travelled to my nostrils. the words, "Life, why do you kick me with your spur?" not yet translated from pain to word, when she struck my right flank. before i was ready, life kicked me afresh.

But the second time, Life did not kick my wind out of me. all my wind was snorted out from the first kick. my wind was just about to be pulled back into me. i could not speak. yet i learned a new language. a language that had words my old language did not, letting me be more understood.

I learned. i learned Life's spurs are strong, and sharp, and random. but i also learned that Risk... is worth the risk. today, i always risk. i choose my risk, but i risk. always. every day. obstacles which scared me in my foal years, are commonplace in my stallion/gelding years. obstacles that scare me now, are signs. sale-signs marking discounts in bins containing good deals on tack, like Life-Lessons, Growth, and Strength.

Thank you, Life, for kicking me. for i was a sleeping horse. now i stand. woken. spurred. speaking truths in my new tongue, spoken word.

#1154 lyrics

haunting, guttural, black
but there is hope
never stated, but present
this river is dark
empty of colour and life
still there is hope
guilt, honesty, raw
but still
there is hope

#1153 eraser tears

hail hollers from my tin roof
someone above has seen inside me
angry at my ugliness
blue is eased from the sky
leaving a once white canvas
filled with grey and black eraser marks
light does not hide behind clouds
light is gone
the mastepiece is gone
leaving an insult to the canvas that preceded the masterpiece
today, poetry is useless repentence
for atrocities committed
victims watched
moments ignored
opportunities decayed

#1152 embers

lighting a match to logs
does not work
we think it does
because we see it work
an illusion

before the match
were tinder
twigs
kindling
decision making
big and small

the simpler the success seems
the more work preceded it

#1151

enjoy this
the future is good
but when you get there
you'll wish you enjoyed now more
ask the girl
dump the chump
do it all

#1150 home in clouds and culverts

home is a cloud in the desert
the wind in a vacuum
the wal-mart greeter on another planet
we understand the words
but their sense sits like six snakes on the head of a flagpole
home is not a place, nor people, nor a feeling
the definition of home is slipperier
slipperier than an eel in a culvert

#1149 relatively speaking

family is a relative thing
and relatives are a family thing
a tree's stability
depends on its roots
just like any member of a family tree
traditions are passed on through generations
as generations pass on
and i pass
from one family to another
a member of both

#1148 lace secrets

lace garments that no one sees
and a smile that hides a black cloud bigger than the sky
everyone loves her
and no one knows her
she only feels known at night
alone by herself
in her lace garments that no one sees

#1147 under water

water drips and runs and poors
from the once happy ceiling
to the basement floor
pots overflow, forgotten
the only daylight visible
is grey
flat grey
i sit on the depressed stairs
anxious
too tired to cry

#1146 letter to the camp counsellor

no one calls you child anymore
but "adult" seems phony
early twenty, late teen
you find yourself in between
deciding where to go with school and life
this summer you will work every job imaginable
nurse and doctor, mechanic, psychologist, singer, athlete
yet you will be paid next to nothing
but here's the cool thing
you'll meet so many more uncategorizables
who choose to do something not for the pay
but for what they can give and take away

#1145 stuck

fire and desire
are done
yesterday's relics
tomorrow's dreams
fire and desire
i miss you

#1144 stop the bleeding

anti-bullying
what is that sounds like bully-bullying
bullying prevention
that's more politically correct
means the same thing
a bit more cya though
most, maybe all of us, are mean at times
why
we feel small
or tired
or incompetent
let's focus on finding things for people to excel
arts
sports
communtiy programs
all the places we make our cuts

#1143 the doorstep

a welcome sign on the beast's front doorstep
invites my feet to wipe themselves clean
the doorknob forces my hand to open it
then i must enter
creaky modern floorboards greet me
and i feel at home

#1142 drummers and dreamers

the drummer sits at the back of the stage
rocking out in his own world
unaware of his own solos
his eyes are looking at something not of this plain
his shirt is wet with sweat
his mind is muted with music
he's not there for glory
he's there for the drums
and the state of being they provide
after the show he is buzzed or exhausted
like a dreamer waking from the dream

#1141definitely infinitely

creation can be impressive
art, design, music, scientific invention, poetry
but sharing your creation
changes the world
forever ripples in an endless ocean

the best poem never shared
changes the poet
and i suppose changes the world through coincidence too
the poet is distracted while thinking about writing the poem
the poet misses supper while writing the poem, et cetera

but to share
to have people hear your poem, see your painting, use your invention
their lives are changed
which changes the lives around them
exponents to the exponents to the exponents
the power of exponents
forever ripples in an endless ocean

i'm not talking fame
a potential by-product
but effect
a powerful effect which is healthiest when chased responsibility

your idea, shared, will change worlds forever
and even if the construction itself is lost, burnt, victim to decay
the effect
forever ripples in an endless ocean
and forever
is a long time

#1140 you're pink and i'm blue

the carnival's in town
taste the cotton candy
smell the 4-H barn
hear the spinning wheel cl-cl-cl-cl-cl
cl-
click
click
clicking

i sit on a bench
staring at two rides
the ferris wheel
the same one since i was a kid
and the fancy new spinning one
where all the kids and college students line up
i stare at the two rides, thinking of us

i am the ferris wheel
classic at best, boring at worst
with a predictable small thrill

you are the cool ride
SO fun
and everyone wants to see you
you are the attraction
people visit me when the line-up to see you is too long
and we go together
like carnivals and cotton candy

#1139 sin

the sheriff stopped at starbucks
    playing our game, and asking my name

the sheriff is my shadow
    riding his train and singing my refrain
the sheriff is my confessional box
    offering penance for the sin i'm in
the sheriff is my country pond
    demanding reflection, introspection, resurrection
the sheriff is my hat
   on my mind all the time

i thumbtack a poster to the starbuck board
telling him my name
hoping he ends our game
telling him my name
hoping he ends our little game

#1138 time and place

two wrongs rarely make a right
but two rights make a backwards
a return
to all that was behind us
so if we kept walking
would we walk back to childhood
to playing in pot-and-pan cupboards
to hiding in closets
to picking petals to learn about love
take two rights to right
all that you left behind

#1137 afternoons take shape

triangle octopuses fill the liquid sky
with speckles of reality clarified by darkness
night and day have beautiful babies
when they forget their afternoons together
on the smalll-town bridge
by the neighbour's lumberjack

#1136 after school

i walk up the hill to your house after school
but you are not home
your family is there and they are busy
but you are not home
where are you
i checked under all the beds and behind all the doors
where are you
this is not a joke
people say you died
are you in your coffin
did you float up with the shifting clouds
did you just disappear
where are you
i miss the convenience and the ease and the support
of you
where are you

#1135 bat on mailbaox

i feel
like breaking beer bottles
like
doing donuts in the soccer field
like
not remembering what happens tonight
i feel like drowning concern with a full tank of gas
like
letting the world try to keep up with my tonight
like
finding an unknown at the bottom of a bottle
but i won't
too much pain
never enough release

#1134 teen brother's bedroom

posters of rebellious rock stars cover the walls
and pictures from magazines that try to sell the allure of risk
dirtbikes, skateboards, fast cars
loud music yells at the world
demanding self-importance and listening ears
quality second to volume
for volume is life
volume is proof of existence
quality is more often ignored

#1133 sound hole

my guitar's got three broken strings
and the remainder are out of tune
so it protects a few square inches of basement floor from dust
the frets are faded
the melody
ran away with two years ago
with another old guitar
one with a better sound

#1132 choo-choooo

look out mama
there's a train coming straight down the tracks
get up mama
the train does not look friendly
it's not stopping, get up
get up mama
why are you sleeping on the tracks mama
why am i watching
get up mama, get up

#1131 the forester and the schoolteacher

my grammie was a schoolteacher, when they were called schoolteachers
my mum loved her mum, and i love mine
my grampie worked in the woods, when they were plenty
before nature deficit disorder
she kept her pencil sharp, and he his saw
they had so little and shared so much
a country house, a family, simplicity
he played hours of solitaire a day, but enjoyed it more when she was in the room
his mind went with her body, and the rest of them met up when the time came
i don't know where they are now
i hope it's not a pristine castle
or a cloud-filled bliss
i imagine a garden, a swing, solitaire
and disagreements over cigarettes and too much salt
that's the heaven i hope for

#1130 mountain ash

we walk our favourite trail
mental interpretive signs line the sides with dandelions
picnics, laughs, arguments
the day's temperature agrees with my decision to make this hike
sweat and tears mix, indistinguishable
at the top, i rest
remembering
before leaving you behind

#1129 o

a concert room full of humans sits
enthralled
hypnotized
effort, performance, skill
all unite into a perfection onstage
even those not enjoying their lives
enjoy tonight
in the end
the fans stand in ovation
like they do for mediocre bands

#1128 roots

my umbilical chord was clipped almost 13,000 days ago
yet my naval remains
i am still a son and always will be
yet now i am a husband
yes, the tree grows
but so do the roots

#1127 shaken

when she
visited the hardware store
she was banned
by the manager-on-duty
but banned only from the paint section
manager-on-duty felt banning her was his duty because
upon hearing the poet's voice paint pictures, that they couldn't even dream of,
all the paints in the hardware store turned green green green, with envy

on stage
her dedication to the moment is so, soul-bogglingly brilliant
her pace-changes give gods orgasms
her simplicity is a reminder to humans of what
"being human" could mean
reminds me that rainbows are as magic now as they were before science explained them

her words and the voice that speak them leave me,
walking away with music between my ears
no
leave me walking away hearing the music between my ears
for the notes and the melody were always here
i just forgot how to listen

she reminds me of childhood solutions like that
kind words and hugs
honesty and bravery
daydreaming and stargazing
will paint the world
any shade of beautiful

a stranger posted the poet's poem on facebook
and i felt like... like "Liking" it was wrong
so i built a button that read, "the world needs to hear this voice and these words"
and another reading, "if you believe in humanity, click here"
and a final one reading, "if you don't believe in humanity, you need to click here"


her words
her words
her words
are the paint-shaker
in the hardware store
in the paint section from which she is banned
and my world
my way of seeing
my life
are the paint can she
sh-sh-sh-shakes
molecularly mixing me
preparing me
mentoring me
to paint the world
     my shade of beautiful

#1126 ad vice

because great minds don't think alike
they think for themselves

because those who say what goes up must come down
they haven't thought of age

because stairs are meant to be taken two at a time
and they are all meant to be enjoyed

because when we have a tough time
we need to forget bad role models and remember good ones

poetry cartoon

#1125 open mic

she wasn't sexy until she sang
then i was done
i was her puppy, her pillow, and her houseplant
if she asked me
she sang to an audience by singing in, to herself
she left her soul on the stool and i followed her to the bar
not because i'm brave
but because i had to
can i get you a drink
she answered without the confidence she must have left in the host's guitar,
sure... umm, an orange juice?
a surprise answer that would have turned me off 10 minutes ago
but the voice, that voice on the stage
had changed reality
where were once question marks, now were periods
after her drink, she made an excuse to leave
i've been back five tuesdays straight since
and haven't seen her ponytail
until tonight
until now

#1124 "crying's not for me"

with simple heavy piano music in his head he kneels backward on the couch, gaze lost in one raindrop
driving crookedly toward the window's bottom
one raindrop on a day of more than millions
but he is in the one raindrop
his life to now, his grins, his sobs
his all
he feels himself sliding, down the window pane exterior
held together on a molecular level
and at the bottom, he joins the other rain
no longer the one drop he was

#1123 hearts

in gambling and in relationships
people say hit me
only the gamblers are gambling though
the others are playing safe
the gamblers have a chance at income
the others have a guaranteed outcome
the odd gambler wins against the house
abused are guaranteed to lose
the house always wins
the home always loses

#1122 objects in mirror

remember when the grass field, was a forest
when a room full of adults, was a jungle of legs
when mail was exciting
what happened to that boy
how would he judge you
where is he now
who is this being you have become
go, drink from a book
go, find a colouring book
go
come back when i am patient

#1121 lion's tooth

the grass lawn looks natural, easy
but took weeks of grimy fingernails and tired backs
the happy dandelion choked and suffocated
their straight roots strong as bailer twine
and holds onto the earth
like a toddler to their favourite toy
but, like all good work
the sweat is vanished
the work invisible
and the grass lawn looks natural, easy

#1120 sharp

he smiles at the world
a smile rimmed with anger
she thinks she can fix him
paint over the anger

too bad
no one ever told her
not to catch a falling knife

#1119 sewed to my sleeve

we had trouble before
now, our relationship seems... fragile
i'm wondering when you'll fail next
you're wondering why my demands are so high
i thought we were only one third through our trip together
now i wonder, if we're further along than i thought
if the trip is shorter

#1118 today's forecast

i forget
i forget that her home life is a daily tornado
sometimes she's caught in the eye and thrown, bruised and broken
sometimes she sits unscathed
i forget
i forget that restful sleep is her tropical vacation
a luxury item
her emotional bank account can't afford
i forget
life for her is the existence of a tsunami
being present is dangerous

she sits
silent
back row
in another world
and she is a miracle
that she has survived
that she sits
a slow drifting cloud

#1117 tall person to short person

i be long, you be long
let's belong together

i look down at all the other boys
but the other boys think i look down on them

i like 5-foot boys
but kissing them is a 2-way awkward

i be long, you be long
let's belong together


i be long, you be long
let's belong together

#1116 fade to yellow

make my invisible bruises visible
let the world know the hell that is my home
the lonesomeness that is my life

let the thoughts that coincide with the 6 o'clock news
and the doubt that travels with kind words
let these blood vessels break and be seen by the eyes of others

let the names he calls me
show purple
and the self-thoughts
show red
make these bruises turn visible
      so they may fade to yellow

#1115 mulch

Minds rust and rot through lack of use

     like lawnmowers hibernating

The grass they once conquered

     now conquers them

We fib to ourselves about our place in nature’s matrix

     and the fibs rust and rot our selves

#1114 five dollar tip for a beer

he mistakes karma
for tipping hot servers
and ensuring they see
he thinks the right clothes
make the man right
his soul is a trans-am passing on a double-line
and we molded him

#1113 pedaling nowhere

my back on my bed, my feet on the slanted wall
i ponder think thoughts thought a millions of time by millions of other teens
escaping from the fear of being just another being
as my ears turn vibrations into music
i slide my feet down, alternating, repeating
pedaling an an upside-down imaginary bicycle
yesterday still special
because they are so few

#1112 i still see pink and blue cotton candy in fairway mud

i saw him with another woman
i sat on the carousel
they stood in the chip-truck line

i gripped a pole that grew out of fiberglass mane
the first round was just a physical closeness
the second circle, a flirtatious laugh
      two-way
the third time, a furtive glance and a holding of hands

shooting up, sinking down
spinning spinning, round and round
recorded marching band music drags
i see the cotton candy in the puddle by their feet

the ride slows, stops
i step off
he is there to greet me
the same smile as ever

#1111 i want to be a superhero

a man in the crowd
not in the front, or in the middle, or at the edge
just a man, somewhere in the crowd
shouts
say something new, say something true


so i
leave my safe poem in its safe folder at my safe feet and i
stick my finger down my soul to
puke up something with potatoes and meat

something new, something true..?
alright

i wanna be a new-age superhero
one who
fights mysogyny and brings out the man in men
a superhero
quintessential masculine
but takes off the mask now and then

a superhero who stops playground bullies and says
look inside
a hero who stands between two men, 2am, outside a bar
helping them see how stupid they are
that win or lose
they're choosing to be losing

a superhero who helps men understand that he who farthest sticks out his chest
is rarely if, ever the best

one who fights everyday crime
like at the peelers, catching men sticking their family's bills down g-strings for thrills
and saying to them
this is someone's daughter

or to the man who empties himself into his cleanest laundry
three seconds of feeling full, for a day full of feeling empty
that girl grinding on the internet
is someone's daughter
she's got issues
that will never be fixed by your, misused tissues

i want to be a superhero
super
hero
two big small words
i want to
put myself to the test
to
make testosterone a good word again
to
know when silence is louder than lecture
to
know the muscles do not the man make
i want to be a superhero
to
all the boys in my life
for
all the girls in my life
i want to be a superhero
i want to be a superhero


that man in the crowd
arms folded
he smiles, nods

#1110 my catholic upbringing

makes me
   look for meaning in suffering
   feel big guilt over tiny lies
   torture myself to feel good
   speak in bed to an invisible being
   listen to my silent voice

#1109 the mess

the same messes surround me
the same books
the same dishes
the same clothes
all waiting to be returned to their rightful home
with one difference
this time i lack the motivation to rise from this couch
some might tell me to 'fake it till i make it'
that 'depression is just a state of mind'
but the weight of the world keeps me here
all the dark news stories
and all my own failures
each adding pounds to my shoulders
equaling a weight that will not register on the scale under the bathroom sink
but a weight that these shoulders cannot hold

#1108 aortic valves

the crowd will be there and i will be ready
with my voice full of lava and gravel and rock-steady
delivering them a gift
from my being not from the page
direct to their ears from a simple, transformed stage
they leave the building changed
brains and blood-pumping organs rearranged
leave them dreaming and rhyme-scheming
Eh-Eh!
Beat-Beat
Eh-Eh!
Beat-Beat

#1107 my dog, my teacher

i sit in my home

worth more than some people make in a lifetime

tired 

of surfing on a net that has us all trapped

i don't even know if the sun is visiting today

and at my feet lies the dog

staring at ninety-nine cent tennis ball

with pleading eyes and a hopeful tail

#1106 too many ingredients

square trees and rectangle eyes
unnatural, but hard not to consume
we begin consuming the unnatural for silly reasons
jealousy   novelty   publicity
we continue
habit and greed but not for need

#1105 fifteen candles

a world
more mature
    adult
       dangerous
like an older brother's stereo

small things
take on
    big
       meanings

we watch
passive participants, acting

we sit in the excitement around us
unable to stand the events around us

then we go home
pretend nothing happened
until we escape to our beds
replaying the movie in our changed heads

#1104 rocking out in solitude

distortion precedes sense
followed by a drum
delivering you to your mother's doorstep
hypnotizing you
before deep-massaging your being with opening lyrics
so broad
so precise
a song whose closing notes make you hope
no song follows
only silence can follow noise that right

#1103 every bad girl deserves an eric

will he still on me for fretting
i thought that was all under the bridge by now
will he barre me from playing
will he mock my long neck
or will he slide his fingers along my neck
and help me tune out this world