Absence a Presence

The way the air saturates,
flailing out of the mist,
grey into white, fog into sleet,
slush at my feet.

Face stings in the cold,
fresh to my touch,
hair soaked to my scalp,
brain freezing again.

Soaked to my knees.
but my parka is down,
and keeps the core warm.
My cocoon in the storm.

The waters rush like
a thousand whales breaching.
White foam in the night,
no seagulls, no screeching.

I feel your absence a presence
a comfort this wet that
collects at my boots,
keeps me sloshing around.

My Mind Takes Place

Billie Holiday was on the radio.

And I was having a hard time

making my mind take place.

You know, I have my reasons

for the ongoing participation

in this experiential sequence.

Especially, since some (so called)

time has passed.

Nothing is more permanent 

than the temporary.

Like eating bread and 

making no crumbs.

Or, when death will part

us from these kids.

See the bud, it stands

for all things,

even things that don't flower.

Sometimes it's necessary

to re-teach a thing 

It's loveliness.

Wild and Free

Her hair loose in the wind, wild and free.

With top down speeds and open sky night,

warm summer sweat between seat and me,

mapping our lives in broken line light.

With top down speeds in open sky night,

we don't talk, we just want to drive.

Mapping our lives with broken line light,

feeling, not touching, senses alive.

We don't talk, we just want to drive.

Warm summer sweat between her and me.

Feeling, not touching, our senses alive.

She's loose in the wind, wild and free.

Demolished

How did you find your feelings

after the marriage broke down

with your vows long forgotten

when the house and the cars and the cottage

came to claim more meaning

than the last thirty years and the kids

growing up and the dogs and the pups,
long rides in the car in warm summer nights
the windows all down and her feet on your lap,
her hair blowing wild and free.

How in God's name could you watch it all fail,

like the plate glass window after the bullet

with thick bands of tape holding it up

until the window guys came.

How in the hell could you 

keep it together.

You managed, but now,

your soul's in three pieces and

you sit on the street with your 

head in your knees.

Your house is empty and

the lights are turned off.

I hear you cough and

I want to go down 

to see you again

but then

I decide, it's all too much for me.

Genesis Love Song

If I reach beyond the 

borders of self

and fall into your

consciousness,

will I be saved?

If you catch me within

the web of love

and you cannot hold

liberation,

will you be damned?

If we both fall from grace,

becoming one,

where gravity fails

cohesiveness,

will souls be lost?

I don't think so.

Dissolved selves

make the best brine,

preservation

for the new world

Phone Call

I don't want to write.
Instead I'll remember
how grief took her
like demon possession,
heaps of emotion,
on a cold tile floor,
fluorescent light shading
us from her sight.

She had
left with her son
who vanished in a phone call
never to be heard
again.

We also changed
into transparency
as her husband lifted her
back to life,
but only partial;
what is lost is lost.

Poetry

Is meant to be read aloud

away from the crowd.

Get yourself all alone,

a dog with a bone,

growl and sneer

at all who come near

while you chew

for the marrow,

neglecting tomorrow,

because no one can borrow

today.

Pardon

I can never know the outcome;
my mind runs to disaster.
Imagining the worst;
proven wrong well after.

I think I've learned.
Think I'll just shut up.
I'll learn to laugh more.
Learn just to give up.

And accept my pardon.

Rumi

Let me dance like a Sufi

And spin tales of desire

for a vastness of spirit

and unquenchable fire

For abandon he's drunk

all the wine that was made

The wine of your presence

that's made him insane

but so many they follow

and give up on this world

My friend let go

and give it a whirl.

Expansion

I have expanded my reality
from a string of solid facts
as narrow, strong and
cold as a razor's edge
to a wild chaos of possibility.

When He Left

When he left the first time

I stooped over the car and wept.

A neighbor was watching thinking

I must be having a heart attack.

The second time he left

we got into a fight

railing accusations

well into the night.

The third time he left

I hired a lawyer

and dropped five grand

with no place to land.

Now he comes and he goes

and I fit in the place

of allowing the facts

and accepting the grace.

And enemies don't prosper,

resistance never wins.

And I stand in the place

of I don't know, I stand.

What I Will Miss and Miss Already

The rough hands of my father,
the coarse voice of my grandpa,
my grandmother's scoldings,
my brother's embrace,
my sister's clear voice,
my daughter's laughter,
my wife's explanation
of the TV shows ending.
The smell of diesel,
the lights on the highway
at 4 a.m.
the snow covered road,
the creek cutting holes in the ice.
The German Shepherd's bold stance.
The Canary's loud song.
My cat appearing with
 a squirrel in her mouth.
My friends slight smile,
the way she touches my cheek.
The heat of summer
unfolding my body.
The cold of winter crunching
my face.
My old wood stove.
Sawing and splitting logs,
stacking neat cords.
Sandwiches and beer.
Zena.
Kelly Myers, Brock Real
and Dustie.
Sue Ball, Uncle Greg
and George who slept
at the office.

Why Write a Poem.

Because next week I won't
even remember this moment.
Because next year this will
come as a surprise.
Because to notice something
for it's own sake is to be aware.
Because to be aware is to
know yourself.
Because to know yourself
is to be divine.
Because to be divine
is to be other than this.
Because to be other than this
allows you to be this.
Because being this is pure bliss.
Because pure bliss is who you are.

Thirty Years

That's what that ring represents.

Three decades of working the margins

because that's what it is.

This ain't text book stuff

but invention, created, cooked up.

Out of lives and stories factual enough

but with the slant eyed version

that sounds like Chinese.

A name that means John but

gets lost in translation.

So do the lives that join into one

become monstrous and angelic.

You say that cannot be. You

cannot combine them.

Yes you can I say. Just look at me.

Wooing

All are from a single point to be treated.
Be decently modest and then with ease.
You may get the blind side of them when you please.
A title first, their confidence must waken.
Then your art many other arts transcends.
Then may you, lucky man on all those trifles reckon.
For which another years of groping spends.
Know how to press the little pulse that dances.

Squirrel

I see that electric
fire squirrel.
The pine
that survived a toppled maple
has grown, has shown
a might, a grace,
noblesque.

Dusk

How many poems can I write
of black wires and branches
cutting into the grey sky,
pink and green roofs,
some trunks as straight
as the telephone poles.

Things My Father Tells Me.

Anger is never worth it. This is why wrath is reserved for God.

If it gets a hold on you, well, you will have to run the gauntlet

of spirits that inhabit anger. They are as old as the planet and

they are powerful. That is why you had so much power in your

anger and tantrums. So did I. We felt invincible but as you know,

you end up wrecking and being wrecked.

Spirits inhabit everything. Obviously the best spirits to encounter

are the spirits of love. They accept everything which is a tall order

for us. But if you live in either love or acceptance these spirits

come to aid you. And with them by your side life becomes easy and fun.

That is what most of us on this side are experiencing. A few go

into the wrath and the denouncing but not many. After they go

we cannot reach them; they are in a different place. They are

even hard to remember once they choose.

Choice is your one big option, the gift as it were. What you get to

choose is to judge or not judge, to love or hate, to denounce

or lift up.  You face challenges as we still do. And it is hard to explain

but a part of all of us is watching and inserts these things into our lives so we

must choose. Eventually we all choose correctly and that is what takes

the time and many lifetimes to achieve.

You see nothing really matters because we all make it in the end. 

But it does matter at the same time because knowing what matters

is the nature of the game. 

I would say relax and have fun and this watcher who is all of us

will guide you through the challenges and journeys you need to address.

Learn freedom. I mean internal and not external. You see, what you feel

inside becomes the outside, what you are living. This is what we do here,

practice feelings, and we are able to help you as well.

I know you know that. I hear you say it now and then. I am always

pointing out to you the beauty of the earth and people, animals, insects

and birds and especially children. I know you see me in their eyes. 

It's great here. In many ways better than before. But the fondness for

life as you are living it always grows within us here. There will be

a culmination where we all meet again. We just never know when.

Love, Dad.

Godspeed

Godspeed my friend, where did 

I get the idea that

we are more than you

are now. I'm sure that's wrong.

It's the other way round.

You are solid, we

are shadow, we diffuse,

we lack knowing. Shadows

inhabit where we are

now. But you live in light.

In fact, it is where you

move that causes reflections

that make us move and have 

our lives here. For from you

we come and to you we

return, like you we are.

Dear Friend.

This is a poem
that confirms that
even if a person
is the biggest asshole
in the world
someone loves them.

I know this because
I have been the
biggest asshole
in the world and
still somebody
loved me.

And you
have also been
the biggest asshole
in the world
and somebody loved you.

You do not need
to do much
to be an asshole.
Just dip below
the line of your
best behavior
let your guard down
become your unrestrained
egoistic self
Don't worry
You are still loved.

A Better End

Shadows cast dispersion.
Your actions cause despair.
We all are schizophrenic
with voices in our minds.

That tear us thought from thought;
the mental limb by limb;
dismantled self we are and so
feed neurosis that is blind.

To the purpose then to gather
all in one, to pull the fracas
into a whole, all the chanting
becoming one eternal gong.

Calls from where we started. From
where it all began, the ancient
God who's sought by all and one.
I'm listening, nothing is resolved.

It just carries on, life after life,
creating stories, same old themes,
betrayal, revenge and the lovelies.
We die in our despair or pretend

a better end, the triumph of story
to lift a soul from Hades to send
it onto glory, where tears are never
listed. I instead choose that now and here.

worth it

Worth it!


Love has me stretched on the rack
of your mercy.
It is like a shot of tequila,
has me wincing at the taste.
I am an addict for the cringing feelings;
forcing my shoulders together,
and it is so good,
even if you reject me
and cut me off from him,
that smile and the energy
of his small body,
dancing and skipping,
throwing his joy around with every movement.
Just the memory and the knowledge of risk
lifts me off this chair
and I will not succumb to despair.

tyrrany

Tyranny


I certainly have volunteered
to these tyrannies
That force me outside my self control
Into obscenity

I threw the handle at the tin shed
It went right through
If I were coarser it would hit you
And you be fallen

If I were true I would confess
To over duress
The voices pressing on a nerve
Ever sensitive

And now the more with what I store
Anger slushing
Like the shit that's been stewing
Until it becomes

An overwhelming gaseous storm
Bursting forth rage
The venerable sage becomes
A loathsome ape

But at least he is free.

bosses

Trinity

My boss has an anxiety disorder.
And he's a carrier,
passing it on to unsuspecting victims.
When he's in the room people puff up
with frantic thoughts
like purple blowfish
warning off enemies.

My other boss left.
He was infected.
Was paid 200 G's to scram.
Now he day trades:
up goes one-sell;
down goes one-buy.
Anxiety breeding in him
like termites in Georgia;
too late for exterminators.

And now I have shingles;
a snake welt
up the back of my skull
and down over my left eye.
Angry and ugly.
It seems we're a trinity of suffering.
And we have blamed each other,
and like countries at war we will
end up together in the dirt.

traffic

Traffic Jam

It is nice to sit in a forest
watching a fox.
But I am on this highway
watching Joe asshole
cutting me off.
An hour not moving
Producing a trance and
The car becomes me,
I become it.
The tires become asphalt
below where I sit.
All becomes one if
you can see it that way.
Like fluid in a jar,
and if you did not know it,
you would not look for a car.
You would see flashes of movement
in a mixed jello mold,
which would explain something
like how thoughts create fusion.
Add colour to the mix,
See yourself as intrusion,
Creating the illusion,
Casting the roles,
Making curtain calls,
Because,
it's only a made up world
after all.

things

Things I Notice

One small bird stretches a vocal chord,
mixing with the smooth carriage
of wind and leaf.
Purple crab apple blossoms slouch
over a grey panel fence.
Streets reach between tall narrow houses,
siding, grey brick, red brick,
bright signs advertising error-
not this way.
Concrete telephone poles holding
street lamps over us.

Did you see the leaves poke through the fence,
the stop sign concealed by a shrub?
The bearded man walking a hairy dog?

The years have thickened my skins,
though I look weather-beaten and mangey,
my eye is keen as a hawks
and my hearing discerns like a razor.
My gait is swift and silent.
Few notice me anymore.

poet

The Poet

Awaken the poet in me
so I can see through the veil
into the Holy of Holies.

Awaken the prophet in me
so I can be the fountain
spewing eternal waters.

Awaken the priest in me
so I can stand at the altar
offering the blood sacrifice

Awaken the warrior in me
with the shield of faith
and the sword of truth
cleaving marrow from bone

Awaken the worship in me
to break alabaster
and squander perfume
on the head of the wandering Jew.

past

The Past

For me, the past is too big.
I have to return to it
slowly,
to inch into it,
bit by bit.

They say those
events that occurred
hold the key
to the forming of me

And every single one
contains the whole
that will open
unfathomed dimensions


For I once heard that
the Baal Shem Tov
Considered himself a
Fragment ofGod
whom he loved
a chip off the
old block of
everlasting divinity.

crow

The Crow

When I on my deathbed look back
on my days full of doubt and debt,
I do not think remembrance of lack
Will gnaw at my mind to forget.

Will rather seek for the moments
in meadows the butterflys grace,
The sizzling days a sacrament,
The hoarfrost I shall embrace.

The brook it calls me to release
burdens and worries, old and dear.
Wind carried fragrance of my decease
Skin, bones and cartilage sunk into bier.

Am I conscious? I cannot know.
People in fine dress below I see.
I laugh and croak from raspy crow.
Sit content in an old pine tree.

sweetheart

Sweetheart

I heard you knicker as I slammed the truck door.
I smelled the sweet shit steaming.
I felt the cool gate as it swung on it's hinges.
I tasted the tart apple as I bit it in two.
I saw your ears push forward with your neck erect.
And I knew something existed between us,

I heard heavy clunking of steel shoes on cement.
I smelled the stringent mass picked from hooves.
I felt the curry and tasted the dust.
I saw your coat shine as I brushed with the grain.
And I knew you held peace in your mind.

I heard leather slap as I lifted the saddle.
I smelled the deep oil rubbed in.
I felt your soft mouth as I set in the bit.
I tasted my own dull sweat.
I saw you so majestic in tack and well groomed.
And I knew I was blessed to have such a partner in you.

raw materials

Raw Materials

God is not waiting for a new you,
as if you were a mistake waiting
for correction.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made
and you are still a work in progress,
every moment, every second every breath
is a divine
miracle in process.

You are right now the essence of life,
that was intended to dig roots,
grow stem and leaf,
and bloom flower to
attract and reproduce
before dying to seed
and returning to soil once more.

It takes raw materials to build a house,
a painter needs paints and a canvas,
the sculptor needs clay dug out
of it's settled place to be moulded.
And God needs a life like yours
to be God.

private

Private

Her voice settles about my head
Like an offering of pearls
How could the feminine hold such
Power to entrance a thug
The Lapis lazuli eyes that seem to phosphor
Like the lights in the northern sky
Lips of ebullience
Lashes that hold butterfly grace
Long black ringletted hair like
The mane of a proud Friesan mare
Your flesh a soft instrument of torture
My senses flagellation as retribution
To my common sense

I need to bolt me in my room
And recite psalms
To save myself
From your terrible allure

mid life

Mid-life Crisis

Sometimes, its quite boring this life
But only for five minutes
Until the strife begins again
Then it's quite engrossing
The good and the bad and
What you should have had
It all comes back full circle
To this place TGIF and
Wind it up again
Tell some stories
Quaff some beers
Saturday morning headache
Take the kids to hockey
Will Tommy turn out Gretzky
The job stretching long ahead
And the marriage
Like a road on a map
Etched in folds that wear
And tear and dissolve into
Fragments with use
So do I change with years
Of care and become discarded
But then free and
That is where I begin
Again to venture
Where no one expected
Not even me.

love

Love

Is love anything but attatchments and habits
and remedy for alone?
Am I so drawn out of myself that I can never
find my way back in?
God help me that pathetic.
I should infuriate at waste.
I am!

Jehovah called David his beloved while David took Bathsheba.
Solomon was the greatest king but had more concubines
than chariots and horses.
I take pride in monogamy.
Shoulders like granite bearing.
I was.

I am confusion left on it's own to bury deep
in a hill of stale dry crumbs,
trails of ants leading down into busy mines.
I lunged ahead for the best.
I fell, alone for the empty.
I sing.

Many come and go but I am one who is fearless.
Not for courage but for weariness and discovery.
You cannot hold me anyway.
You spoke too often to hear.
I end.

love

Love

Is love anything but attatchments and habits
and remedy for alone?
Am I so drawn out of myself that I can never
find my way back in?
God help me that pathetic.
I should infuriate at waste.
I am!

Jehovah called David his beloved while David took Bathsheba.
Solomon was the greatest king but had more concubines
than chariots and horses.
I take pride in monogamy.
Shoulders like granite bearing.
I was.

I am confusion left on it's own to bury deep
in a hill of stale dry crumbs,
trails of ants leading down into busy mines.
I lunged ahead for the best.
I fell, alone for the empty.
I sing.

Many come and go but I am one who is fearless.
Not for courage but for weariness and discovery.
You cannot hold me anyway.
You spoke too often to hear.
I end.

bee

Kelsey

Cool breeze on my neck
quiets the whole blood.
Children squeal in joy,
or terror,
or anger.
Adults laughing, people quiet,
while cicadas moan in piercing cry.
Slow ripples of lifetimes carry the moments.
My wishes fizzle within the insects sizzle,
from the great giant willow.
"Don't fear the bee,"
I say to the child.
She looks at me with brown eyes and a smirk
as if to say,
how could I surrender this power
to draw my parents attention.
By a raised eyebrow I suggest,
you may be better off without that.
But the signal is too subtle
and her dad swats the bee.
Off to the hardware store to purchase
zappers of brilliant green
with wires that melt the yellow jacket
while legs flail
in furious helplessness.

Unfold yourself,
so we can read
what is written
in the private places.
"What, and lose my self importance?
Who would I be without it?"
A Bee!

lost

Lost

Your soft ambition has
Trodden the acquiescent spirit
And
Did it matter
Was there consequence born of this
Union
Or were we both
Becoming
Dangerous
In our opening to each other

No one knew it was happening
But it did
Occur
Right under the noses
Of those spitefully aware
But they did nothing
Because it did not register
On the pattern
Of their minds

It is to you I return
When I've lost myself
In this tearless place
Of cells that weep
I have been here for
A thousand years
I just keep finding you
And you draw me out
Into this hazard

Is this a song of love
and innocence
Where the night sky stands
For itself
Because it holds every story
Ever told
And our story is there
Ineffable mention of two
So small and illiterate
But I don't need more
Do you

i love you

I Love You

My thoughts have slowed
To a murky state
Where the scum
(some of it natural)
And the leaves
Branches and sticks collect
In a rhythm moving circular
Around the events we shared

I can see how our
Different perspectives
Gave us each
Something simple
That we took with us
And as I see you there
Your mind no longer with you
But mine I still have
Evoking images
That surround emotions
Informing me
How much I love you

street

A Street in Toronto

The tall Jack Pine with two trunks
One curving away, one straight standing
With bushes of needles
Forming it's own blurred visage
To try to focus is to adjust your reason

The fir droops its strings of
Coniferous softness

The massive walnut
Black and reaching
With strong arms disproportionate
To their circumference
Wide births of leaves
Crossing the road and
Filling the yard

This old neighborhood is
Quiet of action
But Kingston Road drones
In the distance
Trucks and traffic at
All times consistent
These days are full
They can't hold much more
But this street is empty
Except for the trees

hungry ghost

Hungry Ghost

I left my life today.
Walked out and left it standing there,
with it's attendant worries, griefs, despairs.
Said, "don't call me and I won't call you."
I sailed off into a void,
where I was no longer.
Where the emptiness was suffocating,
and I questioned nothing because I was nothing,
but the want of something.
So I went back to my life,
to where I'd left it and it was gone:
I could not find it!
"I am a ghost" I said,
"wandering in empty space
seeking now those things
I had declared loathsome,
and repugnant."


Oh... but you know me:
Because I was you.

Him

Him

A lake serene, soft and thick,
dark mirrored images deciduous.
Silence beckons the quiet mind.

My heart racing slows it's pace.
Pulse meets air, muted sigh,
at a lake serene, soft and thick.

Smell of decay, compost dreams
of who I was supposed to be.
Silence beckons the quiet mind.

This dense being, inside skin.
Earth's epidermis, ozone blue sky,
over a lake serene, soft and thick.

Here I feel you, sense your form,
The gun, the cap, scan for birds.
Silence beckons the quiet mind.

Smelling the Rothmans tinged air.
Hearing the ducks, stand ready.
On a lake serene, soft and thick,
where silence beckons the quiet mind.

30th

30th Anniversary

It has taken me this future of time
To learn how to love you.
I grabbed the scalp of your fierce grip on mine
To shake us into the truth.
We circled in a madness of crazy ideals
(I don't indulge you I accept you)
Because we believed we could pull off a miracle;
Daring god to send us a job so insignificant
That it could change the world
And we did not notice because it had braided our minds into each others
thoughts,
Each attempting to throw a quick fist that would unlock the
embrace.
But neither of us would risk the eternal
separation,
And the answer was left in a child a woman a teenager adoption cancer;
The radical faith that dares them all to face us to shout us to wrestle us
down,
While we remain locked now fused into each other into one the division worn
frail.
If one goes down the second is done but we stood and they watched and
then the
Bonds broke but the spirits were merged and our thoughts meandered
as gods mind did when the prayers were answered.

Lets Build It

An ark

An idol

A temple

A brothel

An image sculpted

An effigy burned

A gallows with shadow

A steeple reflecting

Erecting an archetype 

The phallic, the womb

Create a dark planet

And the bright morning star

The desert, the mountain

The heat and the frost

Feel what it is

To mourn and rejoice

To fall and arise

To sleep and awaken

To awaken then die.

The Pack

We prey on the weak.
Forsake mercy for food.
Males watch the young so the bitches can hunt
An adult is a mentor,
be it parent or uncle or aunt.

No one lives too long, you can't.
Nor would you want to.
Being has purpose,
there's nothing we want
and it's magnificent out here.

We breathe the sky,
herald the night.
The colder it gets
the harder we play and fight.
You can join us by becoming a wolf.

Rob Ford

I was brought here.
I never came.
And I never thought this could happen.
I am opened,
my spirit keeps leaving
and returning and leaving.
It wants me to go,
to abandon this mess.
And if it were not for love,
her love, their love,
I would.

Goodbye Night

Goodbye night

night adieu

adieu darkness

light is new

So long care

care dissolve

dissolve worry

emerge resolve

To walk away

away from the past

past leaving chains

chains never last

Journey alone

alone I travel

travel so far

far from the gavel

That passed sentence

sentence on me

me, I will go

go where I'm free

Light on my face

face to the wind

wind from the east

east to the friend

Friend, myself

myself, eternal

eternal the dawn

dawn not external

But internal

ever eternal

Me.

Hatred

I am hatred

i burn like

acid corrosive

i am not a giant

but a worm

that eats through you

slowly

i hide inside booze

intoxicating

so lovely so banal

so loose you can channel

thoughts of yourself 

into me

You'e done

your finished

no out

i clout with

words said

they took years

to grow 

you can't pull free

you must uproot me

and that so carefully

Don't fear

i've got you

i will carry you

to your grave

Ceato (my dog)

I buried you here
under these trees
now drooping low
that I must bow
and so it should be
beccause to me
you were a dear friend
brought to an end
under the wheels
of a truck

You knew my soul
every thought told
on our long walks
when I would talk
you would run and
return again and
listen to a master
his life a disaster
but he was not
about to give up

I got the call
it was the fall
dark rainy night
just not right
your body so dead
blood from your head
i dug a hole here
blood sweat and tears
still I kept talking
how i'd miss walking
but the body was cold
there was no soul
and I ask
are you now here
with me

Byron Katie

Hey Katie!

Did you know

after listening to you

I have no teacher

I have no guru

Only four questions

I keep asking myself

The thing that I'm saying

What I'm telling myself

Is it true?

Are you certain?

How do you feel

when you believe this thought?

How would you feel if this thought were not true?

A liberated self

A spirit who flies

A voice from the heavens

A joy that inspires

A person unhinged

In love every moment

That's who I'd be

A person so free.

Kiss

I shouldn't have kissed you.
By the shock in your face,
by the smile in your glow.
I shouldn't have
but he drove down
the flooded road
in the violent dark night
and we pushed ourselves,
up to our waists in lake
that had risen and spread
and we were elated.
I was Goliath and you my David.
But I shouldn't have done it,
because after that, we could not admit it,
we could not forget,
we could not be friends.

Dear Friend

It appears that I have arrived
at the place where I do not judge
anyone, anymore.

I have been blessed with a stable
mind and temperament,
at least enough to see
that everyone has a reason
for what they do.

And so do I:
I do not want to be unhappy
with anyone or anything
anymore.

You might respond,
"that is impossible
that any person could accomplish
such a thing."

I would agree and
that is my point.
I am no longer the person
you once knew.

Not to say that person is gone.
I still meet him occasionally.
I treat him with the same respect
and humility as anyone.

But unfortunately, my time
is limited and to indulge
his crazy notions is not
something I wish to do.

My Muse

You came after my heart was rent.

You found me once I am content.

As a seeker must find his match,

and maudlin humor needs a catch,.

A general will need a sash,

and a druggy needs a stash.

A door will need a latch

and a cow will need a patch.

You found my message sent,

My muse, you , my ascent.

Mom

You are the fall,

the season of transitioning.

When Dad passed

you called up snow

and waited for spring

to awaken desire.

You serve the poor.

You comfort the widows

who like yourself

are survivors and champions,

toughest on earth

but still you walk softly.

You learned to allow

what life must take

for it all to have meaning.

You learned to trust God

and certainly, most of all

you know to accept mercy.

Special Day

Your Mommy came and her friend,
and between them two Great Danes,
that jumped and played in water sprayed
from the hose on that hot summer day.

And the ladies came from the barn
who knew the story, they came for you,
bringing bags of cars and games.
Watching quietly your joy so fragile.

And the neighbor came who you knew
from asking candy at the store.
She brought water balloons we threw
but they wouldn't break, try as we might.

And the mess was great and it was late
when everyone left, I fell in your pool,
and you settled on me, your back relaxed
released the tension of your fourth birthday.

An Eight Year Old Fishing

out of the water
with spray in the light
quick muscled fight

rainbow hue fresh
from the deep cool
caught before school

smell of the creek flow
earthy and greening
pooling then freeing

into the rapids
joyfully flowing
as if knowing

I become naked
put the fish back
become what I lack

and dive in to join him

Everything's An Equation

The water that fills the marsh
equates to the sun's angle relative
to the tilt of the earth's axis
and the thickness of my blood in fall.

The anger that fills my blood
equates to the perceptions
resulting from the pain inflicted
now buried in folds of love.

The yogi meditates and
sees all things as vibration,
components that match, this and that,
random yes, but it all adds up.

Forgiveness is an equation
on a divine blackboard chalked
with how this and that equals nil.
So get over it now, will ya!

Let Your Heart

Let your heart

melt within you

Have it pool

molten yellow

Drawn up arteries

that flow no more
filled with tree roots

branching veins

You become

but a bough

the great tree

Hey now Look now

You're me

A Mere Boy

If it were not for reflections,
I would never know my looks,
for looking out my eyes
I never see my face.
Even looking down I only
know my arms, chest and shoes
and the front of my legs.
I am very fast and can run,
like a ghost, even my mom
cannot catch me if I choose
to run.

I can climb this wire fence
and I will when they
are not looking. I will
climb and I will run
very fast like a ghost.
They will not catch me
again.

Seventeen Sylables

I guess, you would have been born into this mess anyway. I am here.

Sweep For Me

I need you to sweep, darling

under the edges and

behind the fridge,

at the top of the stairs,

seeking out bevels

and crannies and nooks.

Find the dust hidden

only you can remove.

Gather it into a pile.

Then the boot droppings

and around the cat litter

(that damned dirty cat).

Under the counter,

just by the sink

where she chops veggies

they like to eat.

broccoli, lettuce cucumber.

Sweep it up and

use me baby, use me

like you want me

for I live to be

held on the floor,

for your bristles to 

touch me there, right there.

Human

What makes a human?
Have you considered
how complex a question
I have delivered?

It is a dilemma,
all your happenings,
choices and dramas,
ambiguous endings.

From decades ago,
unfolding now,.
like an embargo
against what you know.

Don't deny marvel,
when you observe
how a blind will
 has tested your nerve.

To stay true,
not give in,
become you
all over again.

You Know

You know how it feels,
that space below your neck
and between your shoulder blades,
the creeps and shivers,
when you're being yourself,
when you get excited
and show it out loud.
How it was received
before you could stop it,
before you could stuff
it back in,
so it wouldn't show
like it does now.

Devilry

She played a game with Quija board

thought some sad spirit might

Reach through and talk.

Reach through and talk.

Her hand was guided silently

to spell out letters of the name

Ellen in March

Ellen in March

A message too mysterious

she asked a little more

The month of my death.

The month of my death.

Her mommy stormed into the room

snatched the board away.

Where'd you get this?

Where'd you get this?

From my cousin Katie mom.

She said you not to tell.

She said you  would get mad.

She said you would get mad.

There's devilry in these here boards,

there's devilry in these.

Leave it alone.

Leave it alone.

But Ellen came into her dreams,

yes Ellen came to say,

I want to be you.

I want to be you.

Out of the Stone

The stone, with sharp crust
biting my hands.
Lifting it made me
think of you.

Gratitude
for taking me canoeing
on the Black River,
the day after dad's funeral.

I cut my knee
and blood spilled freely.
We kept paddling downstream,
had to walk back to the truck
(or you did).

I stayed and swam
under the bridge.
October warm days,
water out of the rock.

I Could Cry

An eighty two year old stabbed
his wife who was ten years younger.
It could have been funny
except that he killed her.

They had Spanish names and lived
in a neighborhood that used to be
cornfields and barns but now is
jam-packed with houses that
all look the same.

And I think the whole family lives there,
their kids and their kids
which makes it more tragic
than we can bear to think.

It's obvious grandpa was nuts,
losing his mind and he always yelled
at grandma but no one thought
anything like this could ever happen.

Oh my God, I could cry.

In The Silence.

In the silence I behold

my thoughts

coming and going

kaleidoscope of colours

dancing and spinning

They are just existing

on their own and I perceive

that they make me

and not I them

They are like currents in a river

that I chose to swim

and seeing it that way

I still like to swim.

Options on becoming a being (or a whole lotta J's)

Be a Jerboa

have strong muscled legs

and jump really quick

Be a Jackal

snickering terror

sly fevered teeth

Be Jehovistic

conjuring plaques

portents of wrath

Create jaundiced justice

like Janus who japed

while Sandy swamped

New Jersey shores.

The Shadow

How you treat others
is how you love yourself.

But your shadow,
he knows the truth.

Standing dimly to the right
or left or behind,
sometimes covering where you walk.

You tend to meet him in your dreams,
where you run about in hiding.

But his desire is never to catch you,
because he is you he knows

you never meant to hurt anyone;
you just hated yourself.

For Aranka

Schwish Schwish
Mmwhine Mmwhine
the sound of the wipers
me and my baby
driving in rain
soaking the roads
splashing up hard

We drive this road
each week every year
in the heat and the snow
in the rain and the fog
steering our lives
through dangerous corners
risking for love.

And we talk and we laugh
we shout and we cry
but we never regret
having got in this car
to drive on forever
mapping our route
to the bright morning star

The Journey/The Awakening

The Journey
By Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Awakening 
by Me

Have you ever stopped
when the moon is brilliant
either full or half
quarter or crescent
and the sky is clear
and never ending.
Did you realize then
that this same moon
and this same sky
have always been with you?
And you have returned
subconsciously to them
again and again and again?
But today is an awakening
that you have always been here
in one way or another
year after year
millennium after millennium
and that your awakening
has always come
and it always will.

The New Beginning

I want to touch you

Reach into your night

Drink of the stillness

You harbour inside

I want to bewitch you

With deep tender voice

Make you forgetful 

Of everything else

No more of the lies 

We once believed

Held us together

Gave us our ease

We crossed the bridge

And then we burned

We are transparent 

Now that we're here 

Gladness abounds

Just look around

But for us dear

It must be a choice

Love is Like

Love is like
open heart surgery;
learning to trust your doctor.
Let him cut your breastbone
and open you down the center,
exposing the innermost sanctum:
The holy of holy's,
where only a high priest can enter,
once a year with a rope round his leg
to pull him out fast
in case your wrath is aroused.

Love is like walking on coals
in soft tender soles
more used to loafers or slippers.
And after that glass
with shards turned up to hurt you.

Love is like finding out
that none of those tests were worthy
of who you are or who you've become.

Love is like walking out
and finding that doubt
is actually a very nice feeling,
and you can learn to live there
with less and less care.
Love is when
you lay down your burden.

The Old Place

I park the car, walk back,
the house gone, torn down.
Trees are bare but
for a few flitting leaves.
The yard a carpet
of coloured fall compost
I can picture us there,
you, me and her
and the dogs always barking
out on the road.

Your mom's house still stands.
Tom and Ali's is gone.
The pastures grown in
with cedars and brambles.
Spook out a buck and two doe's
on my way to the pond
which is black and reflecting
the bare trees reaching
into the sky.

Down where the creek runs
cold in the shadows
I pick up a puffball,
feel the soft mellow texture,
smell the decay as
the earth claims itself.
Cedars are bare, more trees
than there's room for;
old twisted trunks,
cross my eyes to see through.
A coyote is watching like
he's wondering who
the hell I am.

I find the old pine,
three feet across.
No worse than it was
with large branch limbs broken,
rotted sockets like shoulders
that have bore too much weight
for too long.

Butterflies

Adrenalined

Warnings of danger

stir in me, my gut,

where joy often tickles,

where fear also flutters.

My horse hears a noise,

tense shoulders, neck bulging,

head lifts and ears perk.

Intently looking for something

to flee, I prepare.

Half Clyde, slow blooded.

Half racehorse, small brained,

big hearted pumping,

muscles lubed with quick blood.

She loves to be scared, 

fear and flight is her nature,

to run like an asshole,

huge clomping gallops,

turf and mud flinging.

And when I feel that blood rising

 I get some

butterflies.

I Am

I Am                                   I am                              I am
Tell them                             waiting                          sitting
I Am                                   for your                         breathing
sent you                              return,                           stilling
into                                     so long                          my mind
this life.                               have I
                                          missed you.                  I am
I am                                                                       so tired
in love                                I am                             let me
with you                            sleeping                        sleep on
she said                             dreaming                      into                  
driving                               and there                      the dawn.
her van.                             you are.

I am                                  I am
like you                             letting
Grumpa                            the rain
he said                              fall on
taking                               my face
my hand.
                                        I am
I am                                 wading
grateful                             water
today                               and mud
for all                               up  to
you say.                           my knees.
Listen

Miley vs Sinead

Miley:

I am pumped
Strut the stuff
Hands are stretching
to touch
Hot and stooked
Youth is fast
Cranked to the limit
My hot blood
My hot blood
Out of my way you old bitch

Sinead

I took back myself
to answer
Spoke with the girl
who was me long ago
Held her inside
Honoured the sacred
Saw it in me
Saw it in her
Allowed our pain
Allowed our shame
And offered the gentlest warnings

Miley:  I ride this train of my success
Sinead: To destruction
Miley: I am on top of my game, loving this fame.
Sinead: Pimping your doom.
Miley: My life to live
Sinead: I've lived some of that also and
            what you live comes back to live you.
            And that won't be so gentle
            as this sincere warning.

So you think you can tell (loaned Wish You Were Here from Gilmour and Waters)

So, you think you can tell
                                                             A dark hole had opened in the center of myself
heaven from hell
                                                             Drugs only gave it expanse
blue skies from pain
                                                            Taking all the decency out of my life
can you tell a green field
                                                            I eventually gave in
from a cold steel rail
                                                            Spores of decay settled in
a smile from a veil
                                                            My hair grew long and I stayed out all nights
do you think you can tell
                                                            My friends were like me no aim no purpose
did they get you to trade
                                                            My parents who loved drifted onto dark paths
your heroes for ghosts
                                                            Lost in arguments and blame
hot ashes for trees
                                                            I fell to sleeping 12 hours a day
hot air for a cool breeze
                                                            waking to seek oblivion
cold comfort for change
                                                            lsd vodka blackouts and fear

did you exchange a walk on part in the war

                                                            once a good hockey player getting good grades
for a lead role in a cage
                                                            I broke down and fell off the plank
how I wish
                                                            but then one night a mescaline voice said   go home
                                                            i did   and sat with dad
                                                            told him this story he listened
how I wish you were here
                                                            a new thing began to grow a hope

we're just two large souls swimming in a fish bowl

                                                            it wasn't long after   I met her
year after year

                                                           and I wrote her a poem about lily pad flowers and love                                                      
running over the same old ground
           
                                                          my dad who had sat and listened through his own
                                                          disappointment
have we found the same old fears

                                                          has been gone for ten long years
wish you were here

Hidden

In her eyes
In her hair falling
about the bare shoulders

In his hands on the keys
In the scotch on the rocks

In their arms long and elegant
releasing doves to the sky

In the fat man's face
where joy builds
into a sweat

Don Juan on his horseback
In the copper skied dusk

In each artist's mind
As each image is born

Fall in my backyard.

I was out with the Autumn.
The pear trees were breaking
their long flexing limbs
with the weight of their fruit.
I was raking the grounders
to cut the lawn one last time.
This year was so wet
each cut took a raking.
Now it's the pears sweet stink
with the air moisture laden.

I hear sounds like small bombs,
like fireworks muffled in fog
and the geese circling and honking
against the grey cloud, disturbed
that landings at dusk are delayed
until darkness has settled
and shotguns have ceased.

I rake into night,
get a beer from the fridge,
pull up a lawn chair to celebrate
the mosquito's demise.
The geese find their place
at home in the marsh.
I am alone and content
with the season's advent.,

the real

sitting on this porch
feel the breeze and shade
horses swatting flies
with their long full tails
windy singing trees
the odd happy bee
flowers in the pots
the cedars and the sky
looking down the lane
breathing in the air
hearing joyful voices
crickets everywhere
vultures circling high
this moment never dies
it waits for me always.
Always it waits.

The Moment

The Moment

The kid screams and throws a fit.

The wife chews me out.

The boss calls me up on that

And I exit so pissed off.

And then the wife takes kid to bed.

I turn the cell phone off.

The humid day fades and fades

And it begins to rain.

Sound of trilling in the dark,

Crickets stop and start,

A cool damp breeze through the screen

As I sit alone.

I let it all go, open mind

Allowing me to be

One with nothing, empty free

Being, just being, being.

The right place, at the right time

Dr. John had it right,

because they never line up,

the time and the place

until destiny forges a moment,

like a spike driven through

the veil of your chaos.

Such force to produce

the still small voice.

This is the time.

This is the place,

to hazard it all

on a chance so slim,

it will determine your life.

Yellow Submarine

Abandon,

I once had it

Staying out all night

Wandering star webs

Humidity like dew

Condensing like sweat

On young tense skin

We were heroes in space

Sitting in sand

On a hill in the Ganny

Listening to Ringo ask

Where is he
the nowhere man
Did he fall into a black hole
Did a blue meanie find him

Call out for Jeremy
who disappeared
I hope he returns
in  magical mystery
with a bright coloured jacket
and long sparkling hair
and white dazzling eyes
Something to free us
again

Friends

Friends are a place of cool sweet air,
the lake beaching in soft loose curls,
seagulls riding waves of the breeze
with the fierce independence of eagles.

Enemies are thunderstorms that rise
expanding in clouds like smoke,
building mischief into the ground,
releasing charges of light frenetic.

One follows the other.
The other follows the one.
Both are freedom wanted.
Both are freedom gained.

White

A friend once told me she liked to paint herself each morning,

a colour for a mood.

Red was porous and bleeding out.

Purple was energizing; good for what she knew would be a hell of a day.

Yellow was for cheerful and happy, like dandelions or buttercups.

Green was for sex, feeling fecund, wanting to grow something inside.

Orange was for formal, evoking good taste.

Brown was for earth, getting soiled inside, letting the hubris compost,

a time for waiting, a time for caring for everything.

Black was her favorite, a time for nothing at all.

I liked to drink vodka most of the time.

She liked to paint as you know.

I took to dropping acid so I could see colours.

And then when I became too paranoid the vodka would help.

That's why I found her.

I was afraid of my colours.

I did not like threatening my world.

But when I finally gave up I found white was my best,

the colour of explosion,

the colour that breaks things apart

when the atom lets go.

When I admitted you were right.

I had done all those things,

things became white.

Over time I allowed the other colours to bleed in.

Red became the suffering I caused.

Blue became the sea that swallowed what was lost.

Black I avoided and avoid still, at all cost.

Definitions

There is no quiet

but an absence of sound.

There is no dark

but an absence of light.

There is no turmoil

but an absence of peace.

There is no hatred

but an absence of love.

There is no sickness

but the absence of health.

There is no hell

but the absence of God.

There is no me

but the absence of you.

Food Court Patrons

Waiting for my friend,

while sitting in the food court

at a round green table

with steel chairs attatched.

An old man reading a free newspaper,

Lifting colorful pages against the air

and they fold peacefully into place.

Groups of Greek elders,

Socrates and Plato

scraping caked ink 

off the lottery game cards

and blowing chaff with weak lungs.

Thick glassed eyes

telling tales of old,

of events that happened to them,

free of the editors mind,

the splendid ego

on a rampage.

A pretty Asian girl in slim slacks,

and fine ruby red sweater

and stiletto boots,

walking, texting, talking.

Old women,

complain about hospitals

and nurses while sipping

from coffee time and shaking their heads 

in disbelief.

I am 

waiting for my friend

in whom schizophrenia

has reigned  for many years.

I see

him walk in from the opposite side,

furtively glancing,

until I walk over.

His smile is an awakening

at first,

but then his countenance lowers 

onto his face like wrinkled wax paper,

red and welted with bloodshot eyes 

and half his smile knocked out.

He tells me gambling stories

and of women who are burning to have sex.

How he won two thousand dollars

then gave it all to a friend

week by week

until it was spent.

because she needed food for the kids.

"Do you have the Holy Spirit?"

he says.

"I can't tell anyone

but I can tell you

the secrets of the kingdom."

He rubs his palms,

"I know something I can't tell,

I'm going to change into a baby."

I look

At infants in strollers

with so many mothers,

and believe him.

Grief

Still shadow in the grey mist

Crystal sounds of clear springs over pebbles

Odor of cedar acrid herb

Contemplation of emptiness a cold fear

Gnawing at my mind replaying the voice

forgotten its timbre the heightened laugh

Anxious scoldings almost but still a construction

Not an authentic memory

What was the last thing she said

It felt so good to vanish with her

All of my emotions resonated with the songs

Of her arrivals and departures

I am dissolving because of the loss of her

How Can You?

How can you be so happy

after telling me those words

and laying your burden on me

while you dance away gleefully.

Could you not see it in my eyes,

the gnawing fatigue of loving,

with a fragile conscience,

those who cannot be trusted.

I decided today that I've

given up being the strong one,

the reliable stalwart pillar;

because I have deteriorated my core.

And the roof is not certain any more.

So please let me go to drift

into the river of randomness,

where lives are like flotsam carried

by any eddy and flow into

pools of events where

eventually they become water-logged and sink.

Just let me be that, once.

Love

Is love anything but attatchments and habits

and remedy for alone?

Am I so drawn out of myself that I can never

find my way back in?

God help me that pathetic.

I should infuriate at waste.

I am!

Jehovah called David his beloved while David took Bathsheba.

Solomon was the greatest king but had more concubines 

than chariots and horses.

I take pride in monogamy.

Shoulders like granite bearing.

I was.

I am confusion left on it's own to bury deep

in a hill of stale dry crumbs,

trails of ants leading down into busy mines.

I lunged ahead for the best.

I fell, alone for the empty.

I sing.

Many come and go but I am one who is fearless.

Not for courage but for weariness and discovery.

You cannot hold me anyway.

You spoke too often to hear.

I end. 

Love Fear

I was afraid to love

for so many years,

as I was afraid to hate.

But one comes 

with it's mate;

another poison

for they both will kill you.

The Buddhas and the Christs,

the Gurus and the Sufi s,

they do not love,

not like that.

They detach and

float off

and then holler back

for you to come along. 

Love Kills

It was between my breast bones where

The crest was hard and 

Inpenetrable like the shield

Of granite that held our footings 

But your love turned that

Into a smear of jelly

And when I saw the spear

In your aim

I knew I was free 

Marsden Theatre Saturday Night

A jet sparks the sky 

with movement and noise that

strives to catch up.

My wife, drunk, is humming

In her snoring.

And a grandson is in bed,

with mommy far away

In mind and intention.

The sky is still light grey

as the day slowly retreats.

Listening to Marsden

as I do so often

sitting on this deck.

As Mosquitos come to greet me,

to eat me,

this silent supplicant:

this seeker of what

can never be answered;

for the answer

is being

here.