#994 armageddon

the noise
a whoomph and a crash
tell her the roof is falling in
tell her her world is falling apart
she panics
walks through the kitchen
into the bathroom
lays down, breaths heavy but shallow
her safe place

can someone please
tell my dog
it's just snow sliding off our metal roof 

#993 sticks and stones

words fly like gravel from a slap-shot
in a game of rural road hockey
and no one's usually hurt
but this time there is a silent moment
as the baseball-glove/makeshift trapper covers an eye
then leaks blood

the words were innocent insults
but now an organ is lost
a permanent scar gained

sticks and stones break bones that heal
but names change forever how we feel

#992 going for a walk

i know the dog needs to be put down
and though the thought of being the shooter makes me sick
so does the idea of not being the shooter
for with love comes knowledge and responsibility
i know her favourite walk that ends by her favourite tree
i am responsible to make the walk with her and with the rifle and the shovel
i know she will look at me and wag her tail
i know i will force myself to look at her and smile
the walk there will be the longest yet
as will the return

#991 on a quiet lawn in winter

onto one square of winter's white
a boy
and another boy
jump
landing in pure white with no evidence of how they arrived
they swing arms and legs
talking and laughing then
jump
hiding clues of any departure
leaving two angels to tell a love story
a story in which they can hold hands in the hallway

night arrives and with it, fresh snow
hiding the angels and their story
a winter dream

#990 under the bed

there are faces in the shadows
keeping children up at nights
faces in the corners and in the clothes and toys
friends in the day
strangers in the coming dark
and we are all afraid of the dark
but only the children have the courage to speak fear out loud

#989 the kitchen table

family is a kitchen table
family is a busy car
family is seemingly unimportant moments
   that grow in importance when they are gone
      turned to memory
family is shared experience
family is who you fight with and who you love

#988 toil and trouble

a heartbeat
give me a heartbeat
all i want is life
one life
c'mon god
c'mon doctor
give her a heartbeat
and make it last longer than mine

#987 first world problems (thanks fellas)

feeling annoyance when you run out of toilet paper
and have to reach the cupboard for a new roll

snapping from the frustration of searching the living room for the remote control
before watching sports highlights you've already watched, of games you watched last night

being too full from turkey dinner to enjoy pie
but eating it anyway, with ice-cream

paying so much for organic food
for your cat

searching your overfull fridge for chocolate syrup then giving up and eating your sundae anyway, while complaining about your unsuccessful search

#986 data corruption

we trust the weather report
more than we trust the view out our window
technology is a miracle
but the way we let it own us
      is a travesty
how can you believe your screen that says right now is raining
more than your window that shows you sun on a clear blue screen

#985 january morning run

five-fifty
running the people-free, snow-filled blocks
just me and the lab
a pace that would bring sweat in june

a feel a tug on the leash
we pull over, so she can pee
when i stop
the silence tells me how loud my sneakers had squeaked
on the white asphalt

we continue
one of us mesmerized by flakes falling through street-light cones of orange
the other, wagging a tail to celebrate the simple joy of being outdoors

#984 nacho toes

thanks
for not telling me to fix the squeaky cupboard
for always being in the mood to play
for always being in the mood to listen

thanks
for getting me outside when i don't know i need to
for making me get out of bed
for reminding me its suppertime

thanks
for never pointing out my failures
for showing wild excitement every time i return home
for being so excited for breakfast, even though it's always the same thing (brown kibble)

#983 pig-house

put the potato-peeler down carrie
he's waiting for you
and he keeps checking his empty pack, for one more cigarette
we both know that when he sees you enter
he won't jump or squeal in delight but
his heart will

turn out the lights carrie
say a final goodnight
walk a final walk up the stairs against your knees' will
let the laundry wait
what will he say when he sees you
or will he just smile, mischievous

the seventh inning was over an hour ago carrie
your blue jays won
pack your wrinkles and your memories
life's gifts to you
collie's waiting with his hat askew
collie refuses to enter
says he's waiting for you

put the potato-peeler down carrie

#982 365 times x

i tear the daily page from the calendar
wad it and throw it in the recycle bin
to feel better about my gross excesses

i line innocent necks up along the guillotine
but i make sure the guillotine is clean for them
so i can feel good about my job

i am the worst kind of apathetic
i am informed and educated
but action remains a childhood lie

#981 empty road (inspired by tune of "small of my heart")

this here driveway must be a mile long
and all the dj's seem to play all their lonely love songs
i stop and wait extra long before turning left onto the empty road
onto the empty road

well there must be a lucky eyelash in my eye
only explanation except my heart it wants to cry
and i ain't feelin lucky enough for a win, or even a tie
or even a tie

use my free hand, turn up the volume
trying to make it consume
but i'm decibels short and its saying max
its saying max

when you roam, do what the roamers do
wander until the ground it eats through your shoe
cause walking backwards won't take you back in time
won't take you back in time

this here driveway must be a mile long
and all the dj's seem to play all their lonely love songs
i stop and wait extra long before turning left onto the empty road
onto the empty road

#980 amber

though her name was amber
she made me want to go
to leave caution behind at the traffic light
everyone knew she was trouble waiting  to happen
but she was an adventure-magnet
and adventure-magnets pull people to them
like the food table in the first few minutes of a party

she showed me adventure
she left me with trouble
and i think of her
each time i gamble on an amber

#979 slam

gone is the day of ginsberg
and here
(though not to stay)
is today's new word
with the emotion of rap
without the bitches and hoes and that crap
the truth of the bible
without the thou art
though it be art
its characteristic token
that it loses something when not spoken
the moment of performance
"perform"
from the old french parfournir...
meaning, to accomplish
because the words are one ingredient
mixed with abstracts turned concrete like emotion and truth 
and mixed with timing and sharing and audience and response and adrenaline
and, as with all great new movements it will become locked
in rules and politics and ownership and one-upmanship
even now- stay under 180 seconds
but, as with all great new movements it will become something
even now- it changes me

#978 2-3x/day

i never
asked my girl to scrawl on little slips scraps of paper
i never
asked her to stuff them in the suggestion box that is my pumping heart
i never
asked her to see the best in me
i never

i never
but she did
like my grade 12 mathematics teacher, only on a bigger scale
my girl saw what i was capable of
saw that the person inside was bigger
than my body showed

i never
been so afraid of nothing
i mean
my girl rewrote my dictionary
omitted words like can't, like impossible, and phrases like, yeah maybe tomorrow
she turned days, into possibilities
gandhi's words about world change, into reality
and silence, into comfort

and me i
realizing that being good is hard but, being great is harder
and me i
afraid of failing her and me
and me i
walk through fear like an elephant who lived youth in the wild, walks through chains

and me i
still discovering the me that she see, when she see me
when i brush my teeth in the mirror
and me i
using that mental dental time to do what the me staring back be doing
we both be reflecting
on me
(and avoiding cavity)

#977 the poem

there is something inside my head
a something with heft
like a rock
but its not a rock
this something surges
like a roaring storm wave
but its not a wave
for it whispers
like a back-up vocals unheard until the hundredth listen
but its not lyrics
for it is more visceral than words
like gregorian chant
but it is not a prayer
for it is clear
as clear as a bluebird day
but it is not a bluebird day
for it is angry
angry like a panicked mother who just found her runaway son
but it is not a mother
for it does not love me and wants to separate itself from my head
like a tuft of hair from my barber's clippers
but it is not hair
for this something has heft

#976 the load

days drag on as weeks whiz by
spending hours a day at something i used to believe in
now i am what i used to loathe
what i used to not understand
imagine- being what you hate

how hard a task it is
    to find motivation
how slow the process
    as you stumble and crawl
the weight of your old expectations
still knotted to your back

#975 eugene mission cemetery

on some playground, somewhere
kids are gathered, talking and sharing
and outside the group are the loners, the excluded
dreaming of being invited, of belonging

in a garden of crosses, behind today's casino
young crosses gather, remembering and sharing
and outside the garden are the lonely spirits, the sinners
deserving of being invited, of belonging

#974 postcard to grandparents c/o heaven

do you have adjoining rooms in heaven
are you living life again
without sore knees and weak synaptic connections
without bills and stresses
is there a swing in the yard
do you sit there in happy silence
or do you laugh and recollect
and make new memories

things are good here
i'm hoping to see you
but doubt i'll get there for a while
everyone's pretty good
no big changes
miss you lots

#973 wagging at breakfast

if life is appreciation
then i have found life under an overpass in a cold rain
i have found life in a handwritten letter
and again in a straight line

if life is the miraculous
then i have found life in the comfort of good socks
i have found life in a child's mispronunciation
and again in the wag of a dog's tail at breakfast


if life is the inspirational
then i have found life in the night sky
i have found life in the random song from my radio
and again in my mother's new hobby

life is all this and more
life is all this
and less

#972 the walls at grandma's house

the house has a tired look about it
tired but content
happily resigned to their reality

the ceiling sags
the faded walls show no signs of wanting fresh colour
the walls are old and content
not wanting to delude themselves with the latest fashion
afraid fresh paint would hide happy memories
of simple times
plain and good

the walls miss the days filled
with sounds of kids (now with kids and walls of their own)
rushing to catch the school bus

but reality tempers nostalgia
the idea of going back to that time is exhausting
they did the work
now stand content
happy in their memories

#971 the man in the chair

the metal recliner faces away from me
a heavy voice comes clear from its sitter
belittling me, mocking me, challenging me
i've known the voice, and its sitter
since the days when my schoolwork lived on the fridge
still he sits
still he speaks

#970 the end of the song

a voice travels from inside the iPod
a voice drowned in emotion
sliding agony down my throat
in this different here and now
the instruments too
send me to a scary dark corner in my soul
but the song ends
while my day goes on

#969 old pendulum or new paradigm

remember the days when a computer filled a room
and computed less than today's calculator
and slower

will that be how we look at today's education system
will "personalized learning" make today's model obsolete
or is it yet another pendulum that will swing back soon
to learning by rote

i'm not sure what i think
or even what i hope
but i'm excited to see

#968 no one wins silver

bronze is won
while gold is lost

second best in the world
or best in your final game

win on a high note
or lose on a higher one

third place winner
or first place loser

losing gold hurts so much, even the Golds
want the Silvers to sulk in the locker room

bronze brings more high-fives than does silver
silver brings more slumped-shoulders than does bronze

every cloud may have a silver lining
but every silver medal has a cloudy lining

#967 massage, music, and life

hands
push
hard
then fingertips skim, light

chords
tighten
your soul
then enter the root chord, home

unhappiness
stress
self-uncertainty
then a smile returns you to a place of confidence

tension and release

#966 familiar fear

the familiar creeks and groans
of feet in the hallway
upstairs, above your head
comforting
except
tonight
you're home by yourself

#965 in touch

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

#964 this side up

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

to be present for
each
every
bite

aware, conscious, alive
each
every
bite

#963 happily ever after

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

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

#962 looking out and in; back and forward

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

#961 good morning

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

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

#960 +

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

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

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

#959 the latest status

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

#958 christmas mourning

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

#957 a ball and chain named Guilt

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

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

#956 hay is for horses

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

#955 driving through life

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

#954 a white chest hair

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

i am angry at age
  her bullying and abuse

am i angry at age
  or my procrastination and laziness

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

#953 on writing thank you cards

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

i can't

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

but THANK YOU
your kindness and your presence improved my life

#952 spaceships and birthday cards

I’m taking a spaceship

back to childhood

Where kissing kites was real

And the top of the fridge was a distant galaxy

I'm taking a spaceship

Preparing for take off to Planet Kid

Where crunching garden-carrots and their dirt was adventure

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

I'm taking a spaceship

Leaving behind this stratos-fear

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

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

#951 when eyelids have much to say

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

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

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

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

#950 inspired by aesop

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

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

#949 bird crap and fairness

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

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

#948 on notes from the other side of the door

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



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

#947 a child is born

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

#946 repeat

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

#945 a chance

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


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

#944 pre-independence

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

i remember,
but i'm forgetting

#943 once upon a time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#941 so unchanging

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

#940 relationship letters

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

#939 and that is music

sound and silence
share and compete
they dance and they fight

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

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

#938 second-hand compliments

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

#937 of libraries and gyms

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

#936 Break Point

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

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

#935 time for a change

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

#934 pinholes

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

#933 teeth gnawing on varathane

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

#932 sharing

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

#931 an age, but not a number

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

#930 dear murderer,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but truth means truth
in my language too

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

#929 murder

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

#928 The school bus

She gave us each 3990 minutes that year,

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

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

And, like everyone else, we avoided her

Like Jenny

Not as bad, but we all avoided them both

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

Which would make having the wrong shoes, a minor problem

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

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

But not my grad year

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

her soggy, tired driveway

We all knew why

We heard the adults’ whispered rumours

Her mother found her a few hours after they fought,

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

She gave us each 3990 minutes that year,

#927 back-country road

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

#926 Dear Abigail

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

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

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

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

#924 this is me

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

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

#923 making up one's mind

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

#922 net violation

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

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

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

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

#920 refecting on deflecting

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

#919 11

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

#918 born in june

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

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

#917 blame

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

#916 half-empty bed

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

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

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

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

#914 between

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

#913 $14.97

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

#912 ...in the sky

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

#911

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

#910 25-something

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

#909 the little man in my head is pissed

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

#908 the game

many men shoot game
with and without respect
enjoy the benefits

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

moments like that cannot be shot with a rifle

#907 supper walk

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

#906 the fringe

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

#905 orangutans and aardvarks: 3 chunks of advice

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


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

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

#904 earl gray

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

#903 petals to the ground

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

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

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

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

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

#902 down vest over wool sweater

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

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

#901 crossing the lake

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

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

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

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

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

#899 a bad day at work

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

#898 the atlantic

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

#897 to those in the know

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

#896 reflections of a white person

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

I am white.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am white.

I am proud.

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

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

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

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

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

I am white.

Unfairly, that gives me unwritten rights.