#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

#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.

#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.

#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

#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

#1102 a list of 7

1
you and i... so different
share love so equal
2
so different
sharing such strong principles: family, nature, the necessity of childhood wonder
3
the hundreds, thousands
of reasons we should not have lasted
4
you love white turkey meat
i prefer dark
5
you, social master and infamous chatter; you, the ever-moving ever-buzzing hummingbird
understand me
6
how you know what i'm feeling, with clues
so few and subtle
7
how we, speaking different languages, enjoy full conversations
without words

#1098 pick up the dogshit

hey
ever complained about something and done nothing about it
ever said that something needed to be organized, but didn't organize it
ever complained about what your town, doesn't do
this is our time
between that tic and the next toc
this is our time
as the digital number fades and before the next one is generated
this is our time
as the last grain of cheap sand falls through the plastic hourglass knowing it will be among the first to fall in a minute when it is flipped
initiate the introduction
ask the question
pick up the chip bag
or
wait for someone else to do the right thing instead
maybe they will
or
maybe
they will wait too
and the litterbug will win
and your park will keep the scar that is a chip bag
or
maybe
they will complain about how much tax she pays and that the city-worker
should pick it up
or
maybe
you
will pick it up

#1093 i want a crowd

don't, get me wrong
if the numbers didn't show, i'd get over it
i mean, i might sulk for a few days (maybe a week)
then i'd get over it

but, i want a crowd
i want
to run out of chairs
i want
lineups out the door and down sidewalks
i want
a hot dog vendor on the corner
making more money than...
than could fit in my simple pine box

i want a crowd
i want
   music and kind words
   booze
   salt tears and belly laughs
not too much of any one
just enough

i want a crowd
maybe when i age i'll, get past the numbers thing
overcome the pettiness
but i doubt it

i'll want a  crowd
after all
in the end
i'll still be human

#1075 for the bedtime ceiling-starers... you are beautiful

this is for the kid who sits back row to watch the world
without letting the world watch them
this is for the kid who dreams of running, a track star
but can't walk to try-outs for shyness
this is for the kid who dreams at night
what he would do if he had the power that comes from being cool
this is for the short boy
who all the girls like, but none of the girls like
for the tall girl who stoops short
avoid intimidating the boys
this is for the black kid
who can't dance or sing
this is for the tall kid
who can't shoot a hoop
for the fat girl
from whom the boy friends seek advice on women
for the wimpy skinny boy
who thinks being big is being man
for the fat boy
who packages hurt in hues of humour
this is for the bench-warmers
who want more than a morsel of belonging
this is for the smart kid's sibling, the cheater
whose 100% is displayed on the refrigerator
this is for the kid who is a target, for bullying
who, after six schools, has given up on blaming the bullies
this is for the boy who prefers to play with the girls

someone else has been here
you are worthy
there is another side
someone loves you
you are beautiful
business gurus say people need to hear things seven times
before remembering

     you are beautiful
     you are beautiful
     you are beautiful
     you are beautiful
     you are beautiful
     you are beautiful
     you are beautiful
and just because
     you are beautiful

#1068 dear best friend / thirds

let my body tell your body a story
then my body will listen to yours

let my body tell your body what happened today
then mine will listen to every word yours has to say

let my legs scream to your legs at the end of today
what my legs did while yours were away

let my lips sing to you and to yours
in beats and times of twos and of fours

let my navel kiss the button on your belly
and whisper how your legs turn mine to jelly


let us say this, all this and more- in the kitchen, in the pantry
any room, any chair, don't count out the floor

let our bodies whisper, hum
let them sing dance holler and roar


and when we're done

let me and my body
ask you and yours
for seconds
and more

#1050 fingernail grit

i'm trying to build me a mountain
but all i got is dirty hands
people shaking people heads

i'm trying
to build me a mountain
i need more dirt
but all i got is sunshine and babbling brooks

i'm trying
to build me a mountain
but their superior smirks are louder than my little voice
tempting me to join, to sit on a throne as a King of Lameness

i'm trying
to build me a mountain
i got no shovel, just two hands, gifts, received from the universe
these hands worked miracles before, they can build a mountain

i'm trying
to build me a mountain
you can watch
you can laugh
you can help
you can build your own
you got your choices
i got mine
i'm building me a mountain

#1022 cheese trumps chocolate, this is how

this is how
like, we weren't made for each other
because no one could guess how great we'd be for each other
that kind of match can be made up by none other than
the power of coincidence
this is how
like, i want to be nothing but my best
like wasting time on youtube or tv or sleeping in
is a sin
because she's in the world
so i want to be better than those things
(unless i'm sleeping in with her)
this is how
like, angels are cool and all
but expected, predictable, and cliche
none of which apply to her
this is how
like, sticking my chest out at other guys
is a waste of time
because she walks beside me
because she makes me want to make other people feel loved, not intimidated
and besides, it hurts them enough to know she's walking beside me
and so i hope they find their own someone
this is how
like cheese is more romantic than chocolate
because, she likes it more
and cheese makes her happy
and i think it's so cool that she
likes cheese more than sweets
this is how
like, rainbows and fireworks and waterfalls and northern lights
like they're just doing a job
like they're just trying to describe the feeling my chest experiences when call display announces she's calling
and like, forgiving them for coming up short
this is how
this is how my life has changed

#571 black and white

i'm a white man
educated and middle class
and i'm gonna stop apologizing
start recognizing
the things that come my way
'cause the colour of my epidermis
'cause of what i got
not
between my ears or caged in my ribcage
but between my legs
no not my mind or my heart
but because of another part
that only half of us got
the jobs
the weight on my words
the habit of interrupting
priveledge or right
some things ain't right
i'm a white man
and i won't say i'm sorry
'cause what is my story
i can walk down any torontonian street
not worry about getting raped
by that big guy who looks like that's how he gets his
i'm a white man
i've got things i didn't even realize i was receiving
because the world can be deceiving
hiding the truth behind the 4 star resorts, statistics, and the dark of the night
the throne speech is spoken to me
i'm a white man
i vote, got money, got schoolin'
or should i say schooling
i don't hide my low self-esteem under an overpriced hat
not a victim of societal lies
my belt lies not at my thighs
at my waist
my waste is not knowing what i got or how or where to use it
i'm a white man
don't feel bad for me
i'm the overpriveleged you see
i don't call my guy friends the N-word, or the B-word
to steal back my power that history stole from me me through my ancestry
i'm a white man
if i succeed,no person will say, congratulations, you're a tribute to your race
race what race?
the races are in life and i had a 2 hour head start that no one told me about
my athletic accomplishments are not followed by, especially for a woman
i'm a white man
living in a white man's world
doesn't mean i suffer
but it doesn't mean i like it
say what you want
i'm a white man

#501 a pessimist's optimistic toast

take risks

break some rules

use your manners

but take no shit

good people do bad things

bad things happen to good people

the world fascinates me but

what goes around doesn't always come

inspiration is 80% perspiration

81% frustration
100% mathematical nonsense 

so believe in yourself

like a salmon jumping up a waterfall

go against the stream

for maybe just maybe

you are what is forward

and the stream has had it it all wrong all along

live laugh and love

like the gift store trinkets instruct

and remember the fourth L-word

learn

learn that as beautiful as live laugh and love sound

they are even more

learn that pain and peace are inevitable by-products of living

learn that laughing feels best at the worst times

learn that love the word is overused and empty

learn that love the verb, the action, is underused
and full of learning and pain and peace and laughter

full

learn this

and disregard some of my words

and write your own

then

then my poem will be finished