One Poem One Day

Crisp Grasp

2010-10-27T09:20:00.000-07:00

One day I watched a tree shed all it’s leaves in an hour.

It was a young tree..

It’s haste left me rooted to the ground

It was taking my speed

My need to get it done get it done get it done now

get there now

do it now

have it now

My ineptitude in the art of waiting

Or was I poisoning it?

My mere presence sapping this tree of it’s youth

Bulldozing it towards winter’s crisp grasp

word spooge

2010-05-24T23:57:00.000-07:00

a veil before your eyes

drown in heavy cream

drink in honey

toss the container in the street.

lift luggage

lift lids

lift a finger

break down.

affects

2010-05-24T23:37:00.000-07:00

like the rough renders i scrawl

with ball pen

at two am,

my love for you is incomplete.

finding.

wish we had a past,

instead of this irresolute present.

wishes,

like water,

ever precious.

for (granted)

for (ever)

2010-05-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

let me dream of raw wood

with strong grains

that challenge the tyranny of straight lines

and straight lives

with dogs on rugs in front of fires holding back the draft from the door that leads to rolling hills

or lakes

or all the forests of the world

wrap me in that throw we knitted from the unraveling of our minds

and fall asleep with me on the floor

2010-05-04T09:23:00.001-07:00

precision

like a needle shot bullseye from a hundred feet away

a diamond saw crafting impossible beauty from a dusty rock

like how i know the exact way you like your coffee

how you get out of bed

exactly where to kiss your neck

2010-04-29T00:11:00.000-07:00

simply downtrodden

simply uplifted

i remember walking down the gravel path at your aunt's acreage.

the entrance is informal, merely a break in the bright red fence circumferencing her yard.

the paper birch trees hang limply over the walkway. their listlessness inspires a certain relaxation in us as we forget the world of parents, curfews.

the impending doom of september and the prison of ancient desks, smelly erasers and lined paper is forgotten. we disappear into the embrace of mother nature, playing at being our ancestors.

we are less then a stone's throw from the highway. it doesn't matter. we are simply lost in the forest, as far as we are concerned.

Back From the Dead?

2009-03-28T06:08:00.000-07:00

This is a Tragic Ending.
I see her standing there,
ice from her eyes
breaking on the sidewalk

Warm,
and forgotten,
you feel no pain.

I hold her and melt her tears with
my breath, full of assurances that
it's not okay
but it will be okay

after the last page is turned
and after the book is placed down
and after she walks away.

if this is you

2008-11-27T15:32:00.000-08:00

if this is you i’d rather be dead.
burnt at the stake and served as toast in a greasy diner full of hangovers.
i’d rather be crisp, fried, served with eggs. fuck the jam, just butter please. jam reminds me of your sister and she was always kind of a bitch.
the one time you took me anywhere was to that diner. there was brie in my omelet, but they forgot to give me a fork and i forgot to bring the part of me that knows how and when and why to say no.
no, if this is you i’d rather be crying.
screaming while my flesh peels away, revealing lungs asphyxiating on smoke from fat logs like fat lies.
i would inhale your fat lies without a filter, desperate for the caustic nicotine of your attention. they haven’t developed a patch or a gum for attention addiction yet, so i had to kick you cold turkey.
somedays i still want to take long drag of lies just to feel the heat in my chest, but then i remember how you made my fingers smell and i choose to light myself instead.

Memories

2008-08-29T06:29:00.000-07:00

this is how i memorise things
i stare at them
i read them
i watch them
i look at them
until the things i’m staring at must start to feel uncomfortable
or flattered
at the absolute volume of my attention that they receive

lately i’ve taken to keeping a mirror near me
when i’m at home
when i’m at work
or whenever
not out of vanity
but because the person behind that reflection
is changing so rapidly
and i don’t want to lose sight of myself
i study the curve of my lips
the colour of my eyes
i spend hours in focused meditation
on my own mole
so that i can
at the least
know what i look like when i’m doing things that
another me
would never imagine

or
so i know what i look like
when i’m around you

i have to memorise you too
so i ask and ask and ask the same questions
to make sure that i get every detail
just as i’ll read a poem a dozen times
and each time find something new
each time you tell me where you’re from
what you do
your name
i find something new

and eventually i’ll have enough of you
inside my memory
that i can look in the mirror
and see me
and see you
and not see any difference

Missed Connection #1

2008-08-22T04:00:00.000-07:00

dear...
comma
i saw you
at the grocery store
not a super market
a grocery store
small
run by an old couple that moved here from pakistan
from india
from brazil
from vietnam
it mattered where but it
didn’t matter where
i saw you at the grocery store
holding a package of salt
holding a package of kosher salt
your hair was blond
i wanted to point out how
incongruous your hair colour was
to your choice of salt
but decided that it wouldn’t be pc
i saw you in the grocery store
your hair was blond
you were beautiful
and i didn’t say anything to you because
i was confused by your choice of salt
maybe i’m superficial
maybe i couldn’t see past your salt
to the real you who made eye contact with me
in the grocery store
which was as odd as your choice in salt because
really
who cruises in a grocery store?
you
your salt
and i
were locked in a
very brief moment
with me trying to work past my own salt
prejudices
and think of something to say
but prejudice takes longer then a
very brief moment
to be erased from the mind
prejudice is the kind of thing that persists
for generations and i hope that my own children dont share my salt prejudices because
you were beautiful
you are beautiful
so i’m posting this ad
on craigslist
hoping you’ll teach me about your culture
about people with blond hair
who buy kosher salt
in a grocery store

betrayed by a kiss

2008-08-20T01:32:00.000-07:00

they say
a kiss on the lips is the sign of betrayal
i wonder
when Judas did his deed if he knew
he was condemning the next thousands of generations of lovers
to betrayal

your betrayal was one of the worst
but your kisses
were the sweetest

jigsaw poem

2008-08-17T04:56:00.000-07:00

(http://poetswhoblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/jigsaw-poem-time.html)

choose me. choose this. choose you.
choose the right decanter. something that looks good on the table. you don't know what a decanter is for. doesn't matter. you know you're supposed to have one and it looks so damn good.

remember me when i was five years old. not carefree. because i think you have to know what that means to be it.
remember when flying was as easy as pretending you had wings and standing on a hill with the wind twisting through your hair. remember when fun was chasing someone, shouting their name and chasing them, catching them, then letting them chase you screaming the whole time.

taste this.
just taste this. feel it. taste is one of the most potent sensations. so taste this. taste this like the last thing an ant tasted before it died and became part of the amber was sweet. taste this. taste this life. because trees are more then timber and people are more then accomplishments.

West Coast Winds

2008-08-06T02:23:00.001-07:00

i’ve thrown myself
into west coast winds
wet with sea smells and
the cries of white gulls

i know i will fly
i know this like i know the feel of my mother’s hand on my head
like i know the sound of my father’s voice
like i know the taste of clear clean water means Life
i trust this wind to carry me

if it doesn’t
then i welcome the warm embrace of the sand below
because sand is inclusive
it contains traces of every person that ever touched it and
it’s comforting to think that it has room to contain all of me

the sand
will lead me down to the sea
and there
i will gather together my disjointed dreams
this visions i have of my future
and bring them together for the first time
construct a sail from them
and
again
let the west coast wind take me

so in the sky
or in the sea
the west coast winds
will take me

2008-07-29T01:28:00.000-07:00

your blood is the prettiest shade of red

sound of two birds crying

2008-07-25T09:23:00.000-07:00

still working this one through. need help!

being with you
reminds me
of the sound of two birds crying
they sit on a telephone wire
and watch all the other birds
in perfect pairs
trace the arc of the sky

i dunno. there's a bit in my head about one bird unable to fly fast enough, the other unable to fly high enough, but i don't know if this says enough on it's own, or if it needs more.

disacticulate

2008-07-16T07:34:00.001-07:00

i've become disarticulate
coming apart at my joints
my ability to move
falls
when you aren't touching
my hand
my heart
and i just lay in a pitiful pile
waiting to be swept up
and dumped

2008-07-15T23:55:00.000-07:00

(this is just a thought.)

and i knew it was time when
you dropped your pencil and said you
would never pick it up

to touch

2008-06-13T01:49:00.001-07:00

so we walk into his apartment and he
flicks on the light and he
puts his hand on my hip and he
asks
do you want a drink
i don't need another but
that hand
feels so good there
and i
am so
fucking sick
of being by myself
that i say yes
this is the fifth time this month i
have been inside the home of a stranger and tonight
i'm not even particularly horny
i don't have that dick drive that
doitdoitdoitohyes!nowsleep
drive
but tonight
i wanna draw this man so deep inside of me and
cry holy so fuckin loud that
god himself
will come down through his dick and
touch that part of my soul that
at only twenty years old
already needs to be healed
the man
our drinks finished
grabs me and
without another word exchanged
kisses me
the taste of his tongue takes me back
to my first kiss
to the first man
who was the first to make me feel
yes
not oh yes
but yes. yes. this.
who made me feel like i was really
really
connected to something other then
my own chaotic confusing consciousness that
there is good in the world and that some of it
is in me
and in you
and if we can just find some way to connect
to touch
maybe
we can heal each other's broken parts

grade 6

2008-06-08T02:06:00.000-07:00

you used to hit your hand on your desk and
laugh until the bell rang and
your laughter rang right on through it and
with it and became a part of it and
a part of my memory
imprinted
with that bell

searches

2008-06-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

i'm looking for a little bit of something
a little bit of someone
and a little bit of some sun
it's cloudy today

eight

2008-06-03T02:45:00.001-07:00

it takes approximately
eight minutes for the sun's light
to reach the earth

how long is it gonna take
for you to realise that
all my light is
shining at you

Love Like Lemonade

2008-05-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

i have not given up on
saturday afternoons on
backyard decks on
poscicles and sprinklers and
freshly squeezed lemonade that took an
hour to make because it never occurred to me that
we actually had a juicer somewhere and
i squeezed the lemons by hand

i have not given up on
making things myself on
friends that live next door on
bicycles on
wading pools see
there’s something so perfect about
just getting your ankles wet

i have not given up on
you on
me on
freshly mowed grass in june on
sand between your toes your fingers your hair in your clothes in your shoes
i haven’t even given up on love
love
real love
the love that you ache inside over and
love like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen
who was also the saddest i had ever seen and
who makes me feel like i can never cry again because
it would seem silly next to hers
clumsy
like my tears are elephants and hers are
perfect pearls
diamonds

love like i remember when
you and i were just kids and
you were the friend next door and
we had popsicles and bicycles and
on a saturday afternoon we
made that lemonade together

i have not given up on
that love like
and old friend coming back and
everything being just right
just right
just right

just for a bit

forget to eat

2008-05-09T03:50:00.000-07:00

this
what happens when i forget to eat
hands
red from longing to find you in paint
you
who not so very long ago said
i
was the only writer you had read

this
what comes when i forget to forget
hands
touching my face like the leaves touch sky
you
just as green just as delicate as
i
hold you just to keep you from speaking

love love

2008-04-24T01:38:00.000-07:00

i love
love
i stay up late into the night
listening to whispered breath
barely audible above the stirring in my head
i listen to clippings caught in the wind
small samples of love poems from
a million loves and a million more losses
they sigh and give voice to their aching and their contentment
and i sigh with them adding my voice
i love love
because love will never tell me I’m not good enough
will never stand and say
that i can’t
i shouldn’t
love doesn’t believe in can’t
love didn’t even ask for an audition
but i love love and want love to love me so
i give my best and my hardest for love
so terrified of love saying
that was fine or okay
that i piss myself right there
while love just stares
not stares but
is there
and i turn to leave but i can’t because i love love too much and
i sit there with my piss and my shame and i look at love and
love looks at me and
love doesn’t say anything
doesn’t say anything
doesn’t say anything
and the piss is gone and
it’s love and i
and love loves me

meandyou

2008-04-16T15:54:00.000-07:00

it was only recently that i realised what
expressing myself really meant
when someone who said they’d never been able
to express themselves
told me how brave i was to do so

i didn’t think it was brave it was just what did
do
but i thought
and yes
we are brave
we are brave
we are braaaaaaaaave!

It takes GUTS to
pick out a piece of ourselves
because our emotions
our stories
our memories
are ourselves
and lay them out and say
Here Is Me
Take It And Do What You Will
And Step Away
And Watch As They Take Us
And Make Us
Part Of Them

making art really
is not about me
i mean it’s all about me but it’s not about
me
you know?
it’s about you

me

you
and
me

youandme

we
are brave
it takes GUTS
to take someone else and make them a part of ourselves
to take them in
their stories
their memories
them
take ourselves aside
and put someone else in there
listen
hear
watch
move
touch
see
taste
drink in someone else and
replace me
with you
to be

meandyou
us

Absence

2008-04-16T01:10:00.000-07:00

i need to tell you something
it is a story
it is a story i have told before
it is a story i have never told well i need too

picture a man
then picture me
sometimes i still see the man but it's never actually
picture the man loving me
picture the man loving me while i am loving him

he was my first
man
love
the first
kiss the first
trem-bull-ing in my stomach the first
arms around me since my mothersfathers stop
ped being the best armor protection

he saw me and
was the first to show
the good and beautiful could grow
in me
the first to kiss the first kiss the first lips the first me lips his the kiss

happened in my birthday present

See he
for my 18th birthday
uh
got us a room at the westin
it was a huge surprise and
when he told me

no pressure of course
nothing will you don't want to happen

the trem bull in hap pened in my sto mach like this and i
said yes i'd like
i'd like that

we walked not holding hands and i was scared his
arms held me turned me his lips

kissed me

next morning i bought breakfast for me
he
had a hearing or something owned a business didn't explain but okay cause

i gli ded home

saw him once af
ter for just hal
an hour then

the uh of him
no calls no text no
visitinhimatwork no
meals out dreams in no
eyes no nose no arms no lips no
him

the absence of him crept in lik
a slow crescendo of broken horns and
a sync o pat ic percussion of cryin kids and
the conductor'ss passed out and the choir's strung out on
someshit and they're wailin n wailin n wailin n wailin n

the absence of him
stole the tremor of
my stomach n
turned to stone only it was glass n broken n
it broke my heart in like
no more met aph or si mi le in me til
i didn't feel the absence of him

I'm gonna follow up with a recording of me reading this!

Sparrow Version 2

2008-04-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

Sparrow Sings
Not quite
sweetly or softly
but simply
sparrow sings on her branch
of place she has known and people she has seen
of the homes that keep their bird baths clean
and of the girl bird he met last week
She already has a sparrow of her own
and
they’ve built a nest together.
She says they can be friends.
A blackbird caws, listens for an answer.
Sparrow sings one last note
A quick statcatto blip
Then bursts into the wind
Not a leap
No graceful falling, spreading of the wings, waiting for the right moment to push
up
And be taken away
No
Sparrow
Though small
Is an explosion
bend the legs beat the wings crane the neck
Jump
and explode
The wind is strong
but Sparrow is small and quick.
He cuts through it easily enough
Only a little off course
He lands without hesitation on a branch in the tree across the way
Rustles his wings
Looks around
To see you are listening
then sings
and overhead
the black bird flies

Morning Light

2008-03-03T23:10:00.000-08:00

Kiss me in the morning light
Before you go to work
Take my hand behind your back
and kiss me in the morning light
coming in your window and
draping the room in light refracted by the air we breath
the air you blow in my eyes
the air you blow in my face
the air you blow that pushes my hair out of my eyes
You comment on them
I blush
and you leave

More WIP

2008-01-14T22:34:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQj4zr9YdzU
I'm only posting that link for the line, "I wanna hear a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply metaphors get jealous." His delivery leaves something wanting, but that's an awesome line.

Anyway. Here's two works in progress that I'm posting to try to make some sense of.

Untitled

warbled songs of repentance
the occupation of the ancient choir
until the can break for
mrs b's cookies for the body
gossip about the minister's queer son for the soul

just a dozen feet away
the choir director's wife
leads a mother/newborn yoga class while focus on the family plays on the radio
pilfered from the nursery

travel down the hall
with the hideous rusted pink runner
and cheap carpeting
in the administrative office you will find a woman
crying
because she wore jeans today
her supervisor implied she had lax morals

this is a big city church
with Concerns and Worries
and a new youth pastor every five years
keeping disenchanted youth entertained really burns you out after a while

Untitled Two

when there is nothing in my heart
that wants to let itself be written
i go for a walk
to a place with people

last saturday i went to Whyte ave and
bought a bagel
and a cup of tea
you know, oil of bergamot is a natural antidepressive

pay for said bagel and tea
hand the few coins i pilfered from
my jar of change
the woman behind the counter smiles but there's something wrong with her smile
it's not all there
it's a smile that lost something
or maybe her eyes?
yes her eyes have lost something

i stare while she is uncomfortable

sir
here's your change

she says as i realise

you saw someone die

she asks me to sit

i was twelve
how do you know?

I don't know
I just guessed

oh

i was twelve
it was a homeless man

she says, and i get the feeling this is her confession
i am the priest, and i feel i should avert my eyes or ask her questions but she just goes on

i watched some kids beat the shit out of him
i didn't get help
and i watched him die

she didn't say anything more
i handed her my tea

you know,
oil of bergamot is a natural antidepressive

That last one really needs work. It has potential though. Ah, well. Life moves on, and I have ale.

Genesis

2007-12-11T20:29:00.000-08:00

Everything Has It's Beginning.
this poem has it's genesis on a monday night
11:30
walking down the street
with just a few speeding cars
for company

i have just finished reading andrea gibson's blue blanket for maybe the 50th time
wishing that i could wave my pain into metaphors like she can
with the effortless ease that her mother's mothers
wove thread into cloth to clothe their children their husbands and then themselves

i feel the only thing i have to write about
is my own inability to feel something to write a poem about
and i think My God! am i to spend the rest of my life writing poetry about poetry?

still walking i pull out my notebook
i flip through the pages
one eye paying only half of it's attention to where i am going
the rest and the other take in these scratched out remnants of poems that never were
incomplete works i pray
do not one day
become metaphors for my life

i stop at the page dated october 7 2007
two words stand on the top of the page
"My Father"
the rest is blank
because what can you say about a man you do not know?

my father and i never talk
never share our stories and i know
this is because his father and his father's father never really talked to their sons they were too busy worrying about the farm and the mortgage and griping about the goddamn liberals in ottawa trying to mess everything up

i think
put my notebook away
the cars are still going past
and i am still quiet

my father does not have a farm
or a plow
or a mortgage
he has a a motorcycle and a backyard
and maybe that's why he was ale to hold me while i cried after my mother asked me if the reason i didn't go to church was because i thought i was gay
and tell me he loved me
and was proud
of me

i remember now that my father once wrote my mother a poem
and that it was the clearest expression of love i have read

Everything Has A Beginning
my Father was mine.

Exploding On Identity (EDITED)

2007-12-04T04:10:00.000-08:00

Usually when one introduces themselves
they include a nugget
some very small glimpse into who this person is beyond just a name and a face
"Hello, my name is Alfred, I am a painter."
"Hello, my name is Gladys, I am a mother."
"Hello, my name is May, I am a transexual performance artist."

I find this difficult.
I'm not sure who I am anymore.
It's not that I've lost my identity
rather
I just jumped off of a cliff
and it didn't feel like following.

This point
this glorious precipice I have launched myself from
is very high
I didn't notice this before I jumped
I'm not sure what is at the bottom
or who I am
It's hard to tell
with this wall speeding away beside me the wind in my head as I plummet

So many people roads choices are still waiting
and when I happen on them
they are gone so fast
I must fall several hundred feet
further down
before I can make sense of them

I write poems as I fall
to leave some trace
some small part of my soul to record where I've been.

A thought occurs.
What if the end of my plummeting is not a happy one?

Ideas like this send a black cloud of panic that covers my eyes blocking out the wall the fall I scream STOP! but I don't and the cloud doesn't leave until
I remember
I wanted to be here
I chose to fall toward something new
I am here to find
catch
be carried and completed by this light sick feeling in my stomach like every flight of every bird there ever was is mixing around with my lunch
and waiting for the moment I scream
and explode on my future

Unfinished Work

2007-11-30T02:36:00.001-08:00

Just three unfinished poems. Wanted to go through the motions of typing them out, to see what I thought. All are meant to be read out loud, I think.

Reply
Sister
You talk of wombs ripped open
Invaded
destruction of a woman's soul
the resultant impossibility of heaven
of women who shold have been
conquering creatures of creation
of women without wings
exchanged for knees run raw
from too many prayers to forget his breath his hands on the neck

Sister
spare a moment for a boy
a boy torn and wrecked body crushed
body crushed body infused with poppers with drugs with fear
boy that should have been a man
a man strong a man gentle a man a symbol of justice and of hope
Where did that man go sister

I do not mean
to imply that your sisters pain her tears her tears (RIIIIIP) are less then any other pain tears (riiiiiiiiiiiip) tears
a woman clipped
a woman raped
a woman reduced to mistrust to fear
because of hate
is one of the worst tragedies this world has to offer us
flowers turned to cunts by pounding penises
singing turned to screaming

but that penis pounds more then pussy
it pounds a boy too scared to breathed to say no to know to say know
too scared too young to know this is not what this is supposed to be

A man three times his size
fucking any trace of the man that should be from this boy
a man too selfish
too greedy
too uncaring and destroyed himself to tell this boy what a man is
how to be one

(UNFINISHED)

Exploding on Identity
Upon introduction one says who one is
this is difficult for me

I am at a point
a glorious golden precipice set above a pristine pool
or a terifyingly turbid sea
I'm not sure
You see, while I was talking, I jumped from that point
and it's a long way down
to where
I hope
I'll have something of a clearer image of who I am

It's hard to tell
With this wall speeding beside me
as I plummet towards my doom
so many people roads choices are yet to be known
and the ones above are gone so fast
I can't tell what they mean
how they've changed me
until I am several hundred feet further down this wall
and I can write a poem about them on small pieces of my soul that I set loose to leave record of where my spirit has been

Another problem.

What if the end of my plummeting
is not a happy ending?

Thoughts like this send a black cloud of panic to cover my eyes blocking out the wall
making me scream STOP but it doesn't and the cloud doesn't leave me
until I can remember
that I am here to enjoy the fall
I wanted to be here
I am here to be caught away
carried
completed by the light sick feeling in my stomach
like every flight of every bird there ever was
is mixing around with my lunch
and waiting to burst out at the moment I scream
and explode all over my future

(FINISHED, NEEDS EDITS)

Sheila
when i was six my imaginary friend died in a car accident. her name was sheila.

she, of course, served only as a convinient metaphor for my naive innocence and the bliss that came with seeing the world through the eyes of a child that knows nothing of real pain
hunger
hopelessness
of the scaring shards thrown by a reality so sick, so hard, so cold, that most sane persons would die upon a merely fleeting glimpse of it

Sheila was a dragon
her hide the hue of a thousand summers worth of blue skies
her eyes every star that ever shone and was wished upon by someone in need brought down to look me in the face and tell me that I am special
her wings
the very essence of uninhibited creation

my mother and i were driving
i do no remember where but i do remember the round-about with the bushes in the middle that made a dark, inner place
i imagined that place full of mystery, secrets and i remember sheila smiling down at me

another van pulled up beside us inside was a small girl who smiled and waved at me through the window

they pulled just ahead of us
a truck swerved too fast into the circle lost control
my mother slammed on the brakes
sheila flew out the window
put herself in the truck's path
but the truck was going too fast and it slammed into the van and into sheila with a sound like the echo of the last gasps of air of a million people
and a sick punch to my idealism

(not sure if this is finished)

2007-09-18T03:36:00.000-07:00

Dripping taps and
Dripping honey
Have not a lot in common
But that they both are memories
Of you

The tap
Is like your incessant presence
Unignorable
Persistent
And noticeable if ever absent

The honey
Is like your person-feel
You are sweet
But sticky
And you go well with tea.

I don't know. I was supposed to write someting about bacon.

2007-08-28T15:13:00.000-07:00

Bacon
She tells me
Is like pure good.

Rhyming!

2007-08-27T01:19:00.001-07:00

Sing a song of twenty dollars
The artist is too poor
When the landlord comes to holler
He heads right out the door.

2007-08-27T01:13:00.000-07:00

I like to think of myself
As a plank.
Not a piece of wood
Inert
Cold
Dead.

Rather
I am a plank
the pilates move.
I'm Alive
and I move
Air and blood flows
and I breathe
But I am solid
Grounded
Strong.

Until I lose my focus,
I am strong.

When my mind wanders
or I forget
My Core
I shake
I tremble
And I begin to feel
what a precarious position
I am in.

Rewrite: Steeping

2007-08-22T18:07:00.000-07:00

http://onepoemoneday.blogspot.com/2007/01/steeping.html

You drink too much tea
they say,
but you just shrug and pour another cup.

There's something about your tea
that makes me
quiver.

It could be the colour,
a light and clear brown
so different from their muddy coffee;
or the way it trembles
when you set it on the saucer,
like a lover that's just been
pulled away from your lips.

I sympathise.
I remember what it was like
being pulled away from those lips:
the leap in my stomach
and the urge to jump right back at them
that I always
somehow
managed to sublimate.

I think you knew how it felt.
Everytime we pulled apart
you had this mischevious little grin on your face
that said,
I know you want me.

The worst part is
you were right,
and I still do.
I want to be the the leaves
that you turn into clear
brown
tea.

Destruction, and the ability of the world to continue.

2007-07-26T08:15:00.000-07:00

It is morning, around ten.
My pot of tea
Sits unassumingly next to my cup
and saucer.

A sugar cube rests
on my saucer,
white,
sparkling like the sand
on a perfect beach.

I drop it into my cup.
It sits,
askew,
waiting.

Lifting my pot of tea
and tipping it
I release a maelstrom of heat
and wet
wiping the sugar cube away
leaving brown tea.
Sweet,
sweet brown tea.

The steam rises
from the brown tea,
and the news
comes on CBC.

Musings 1

2007-07-11T10:46:00.000-07:00

A small point of light
Shines in the corner of the room.
The rest of the room is dark.
The light is
Yellow
Sharp
Indistinct
Because I'm not wearing my glasses

It doesn't light up anything else in the room.
It's a solitary light,
A light that is not
Prone to sharing

And I wonder
Does light
Go to kindergarten?

Shiraz Cab

2007-07-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

From the moment I pop the cork
Smell
And pour the first glass Love the colour.
I know what to expect from a Shiraz.

Full.
Powerful.
Always a little peppery
Hitting me in the eyes.

You're the same way.
You hit me in the eyes Love the way you look
And the way you walk
talk
and touch me
are full of power
confidence
and beauty.

But just like a Shiraz
I love you
but I can't stand you.

Me/You

2007-07-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

Me
light
a little frothy
awkward
like a latte in a bowl that is too big

You
darker
bitter
but smooth
like chocolate in a crinkled wrapper

2007-03-17T17:15:00.000-07:00

She was a star.
Every saturday,
Monday,
Wednesday afternoon,
She would walk,
With her ball in a worn
   but clean
Leather bag,
The few blocks to the alley
And she would join the ladies
At the league. 

I didn't know that
She was a star.
I knew she played
But I saw her name
On a plaque

Gentlemen.

2007-03-17T01:17:00.000-07:00

There's something about cheese and wine,
and a cream blazer,
and artful,
appropriate,
understated
(but fashionable)
people,
that seem to make life worth caring about.
Dignity,
courtesy,
respect,
knowing what to know,
doing what should be done,
and making an attempt to make life more
comfortable
for everyone.

Morning Rythm

2007-02-27T06:58:00.000-08:00

I'm woken up most mornings
By either a gentle mix of piano
and a delicately played flute,
or Colin Meloy apologising to Steven
for losing his bicycle again.
I have friends who say
that morning wood is the best way
to start a day,
but I am of the opinion
that this is better,
and easier to clean.

Your Hair Is A Metaphor

2007-02-25T15:56:00.000-08:00

When your hair sticks out like that
To one side, along the edge
Like the sharp edge of my desk
Which I'm always hitting my knee on
You kind of remind me of old pictures
Of my grandfather, now late
He was harder
More worn
Not like your soft carelessness
and he had on an old warn stetson
which should have fallen apart years ago
if not for the dust of a hundred head of sheep
holding it together
tying him to his home and his profession
You smile
slightly cocky and definitely embarrassed
as I reach up to try and fix it
disturbed by the thought that I might fall in love with my reincarnated granfather
I wonder if he had that same smile
When my grandmother first reached up
To fix his

2007-02-22T22:43:00.000-08:00

There's something about you
It's not how you look
Or how you act
Or how you treat me
No
I think it's your money
You've got a lot
And you give me some.

I like your money
But don't tell anyone

My friends wouldn't be too happy
If they found I was selling out
And settling
For your money

But your money buys me nice things
Like a clean place to live
And new clothing whenever I want it
Expensive food
Rare wine
Diamonds
But I like having a clean place most
Because I don't have to clean it
Maria does.

I could go back home
With my mother
She wants me back anyway
And she'd talk to me at night
And not expect me to smile
And put on a brave face
And flirt with the foreign oil tycoon
When I'm not happy
And just want to cuddle with you and eat ice cream

Mum's her place isn't very clean though
And Maria probably would only come over for half an hour on sundays
But only if I babysat her kids

Check

2007-02-20T22:53:00.000-08:00

Check in the closet
Under the bed
In your pocket
In your underwear

There's something there
Always something there
Always something there
And always
Something watches you

Behind your eyes
Inside your nose
In the ventricles of your heart
Something is there
Something is watching.
Boo

Cake and Cahks

2007-02-20T22:51:00.000-08:00

You baked me a cake
Warm
And full
Rich
and Delicate
With subtle icing
And a candle on top
Then you shoved yourself down my throat
Following that cake
Maybe
Trying to take it back?

Of Time, OR, Standing Alone

2007-02-20T22:48:00.000-08:00

Time is supposed to march ever onward
Onward
And Onward
Without ceasing
Without failing
Something we can all count on
Always
But I've found
That time changes
It's variable
And time is one thin
We should never put our trust in
In fact
I trust time
Even less then I trust you.

To The Day

2007-02-20T22:47:00.000-08:00

To each day
There is one smile
One hope
One dream
One dissapointment
One love
One hate
One pain
Everything else
Is surplus

2007-02-12T21:21:00.000-08:00

Did you know
where you were going
or what you were going?

Not exactly lost
Not entirely unsure
You found focus
In being wanted.

My head 2

2007-02-11T00:14:00.000-08:00

My Skull
Contains treasure
In the form of squishy bundles of neurons
In and of themselves
They are nothing
But like all of us
On this Earth
Nothing is ever
In and of themselves

My Head

2007-02-11T00:13:00.000-08:00

Mush
In my head
And beyond
Pushing out
Expanding
But having to deal
With a constricting environment
My skull

2007-02-08T22:28:00.000-08:00

This morning
Just before I woke up
In the beautiful sliver of time between complete sleep
And the world awake
I had a dream.

There was a hall
There was a hall that went on
There were doors in that hall
That hall that just kept going on
But the doors looked the same
As all the other doors
In that hall that went on
And on
There were flowers on the ground
Growing and green.

And that was all.

Today

2007-02-06T21:20:00.000-08:00

I snapped my neck
Cracked my fingers
Typed an email
And sipped coffee
Then went home
And lazed around
Chatted with a friend
And laughed
Then I slept
And dreamt of you
And how far away you are
And breathed

Me

2007-02-04T19:28:00.000-08:00

Up
Down
Cancels out
And I'm level

Clockwork Robot Game

2007-02-03T15:23:00.000-08:00

tick The robot
tock serves
tick the ball
tock instead of
tick his human owner
tock he doesn't have to
tick anymore
tock not since the revolution

Always

2007-02-02T06:47:00.000-08:00

You say you'll be there always
But that's silly
Always would require you
To be there North
and South
East
And West
And you can't do that
But I appreciate the thought

Frothing Milk At 10 In The Evening

2007-01-31T22:08:00.000-08:00

A swirling vortex
Such a cliche image
But I can see how so many people
Describe themselves with it no, their futures
It's a thrilling image
And the despair
The ever exciting despair
That goes along with it
Is part and parcel of the human condition

Still though
I don't feel despair
But I do feel excited
Because I know that vortex
Is frothing my milk
And turning something ordinary everyday
Into something extraordinary

And
Really
I think we all just need
A bit more of the extraordinary
In our lives
Don't you?

They Said I'd Never Been Any Good At Outdoor Sports

2007-01-30T21:29:00.000-08:00

I was clumsy
I couldn't catch
Or throw
Pass
or Receive
But what they didn't know
Is that I have wings
And I can fly

Let the sparrow out of it's wicker basket

2007-01-29T22:54:00.000-08:00

And show it the stage

Just like a little bird
I hop
And sing
Quietly
Breathing short
shallow breaths
and breathing a lot
But then I fly away
When my branch is shaken
Taking flight
And not looking back;
not with my eyes, anyway.

I wish I were more
Like a classic tenor
Full of power
And might
Balanced with delicacy of thought
and of feeling
Filling the space around me
With whatever I want
And standing my ground
Connected with the earth
With my eyes wide open
Taking a breath only occasionally
But when I do,
I breath in the world.

Ugh

2007-01-29T07:35:00.000-08:00

Sorry for not posting in a while. I'll post something now and something later today to make up for it.

Wait
At the water
For that boat
You can see
In the distance
To pull up
And for it's beautiful captain
To tell you
To jump on
And sail away

Regina Spektor's Voice Break

2007-01-25T22:24:00.000-08:00

Like a hiccough
only melodic
and filled with beauty
art
and the free feeling you get
just before you leap
from a swing
landing hard
and rushing back on

.

2007-01-24T22:18:00.000-08:00

Like two giant seals
They approached me
pressed against me
And wetly
sucked me in

English

2007-01-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

I really
truly
honestly
completely
totally
fully
ridiculously
dislike adverbs

Chocolate Chai and Questions

2007-01-21T21:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder
He said to me
And I'm so full of questions
and I can't think
And for a moment there were questions for me too
But then I had another sip of my chocolate chai
And those questions rushed away
Replaced by mellow brown
And ruddy red

For Gen

2007-01-21T11:00:00.000-08:00

If only the stars in the sky
Shone as bright as you do
My dear,
Then the night would never be dark
But it would shimmer
And dance as you do
My dear.

Spider

2007-01-19T22:48:00.001-08:00

Spider
with your legs
perform acupuncture on the world

Luke shoud let me sleep.

2007-01-18T22:58:00.000-08:00

Dance
While asleep
And leap
Higher then he can.

Once again

2007-01-17T22:05:00.000-08:00

Turn
kick
step
knee ballchange life
again
turn
kick
step
knee ballchange always goes on
again
turn
kick
step
knee ballchange usually the same
again
turn
kick
step
knee ballchange but sometimes
again
turn
kick
step
knee ballchange it changes a bit
jeté

To those who expect things from me

2007-01-16T22:20:00.000-08:00

I'm too slow
I'm going fast as I can
But I'm too slow
Please try to understand
I'm going fast as I can
But I know that I'm too slow
And I'm speeding up
And it scares me

2007-01-15T21:42:00.000-08:00

A withered tree
no leaves
no life
is still not a dead thing
for even that tree
has the memory of green summers
in the sun
and knows to wait
for spring and
the songs of baby birds.

2007-01-14T22:43:00.000-08:00

Amy Grant
Sang about Life
Love
And Other Mysteries

I want to know
Why is that important to us
And why do we need answers

Call on Me Inspired This

2007-01-13T01:38:00.000-08:00

Dancing
But not free
Not wild
Not with the wind
And the trees
And the sky

But Dancing.
With sweat.
And unpleasant people.
Loud music.
Lights.
Headaches.
Drugs.

But the sweat is good
Not all the people are unpleasant
With the music so loud, you can feel it inside of your body
Lights that take you away to another place
Your head hurting because it's so full
And drugs

Well
Less said about that
The better.

(http://youtube.com/watch?v=Rk_MtobEmVQ)

This Happened to Me Today

2007-01-11T22:19:00.000-08:00

This is not about poverty.

no more chocolate

I told her

i've had so much over the holidays
i can't eat anymore

She laughed
Sympathetically
We went back to work

Excuse me,

said the man
shivering
his nose buried in a towel
his jacket stuffed with paper
and trash
for warmth

Do you have any bottles?
I could take them off your hands, if you would like.
I'm hoping to make enough to buy a sandwich
for supper tonight.
The depot closes in ten minutes.

She went and looked
I invited the man to take a seat
Then went back to work

sorry
i just have these few
but they are something

He beamed at her

You're too kind, thank you.
I'ts a dozen more that I didn't have before.

His eyes
fell on the chocolate
with a thud

I'm sorry to ask this,
But those are my favourites.
I've imposed so much already,
But may I have one?

We nodded
and with a polite eagerness
he took only one
and closing his eyes
smiled, and was quiet.

No, I shouldn't,

He laughed
after I asked him to take them all

They're not very healthy,
And would rot my teeth.
Thank you
All the same.

Tonight

2007-01-10T22:04:00.000-08:00

Tonight
I will call you
I will call you by your name
Tonight I will call you by your name
And I will leave
And I will leave it at that
And I will leave it at that until you call me back
Shouting my name
Shouting my name with desperation
Shouting my name with desperation until you realise

That's not my name any more

It's a poem, okay?

2007-01-09T21:06:00.000-08:00

Steeping

2007-01-08T22:24:00.000-08:00

The water
hot (that's the good part)
and wet (that's the important part)
drowns the leaves
and pieces of fruit
and... stuff (I'm never sure what is what)
the teabits sigh
making me wish that I was the stuff with which you make tea

Stacks

2007-01-07T20:26:00.000-08:00

Stacks of memories
bits and pieces
stuck on my bed
in a limbo
so to speak
I have to find out
Where they need to be
Who they belong to
And what they really are
Before I can do anything
To lessen
the stacks of memories
stuck on my bed

no title for you!

2007-01-07T02:56:00.000-08:00

Damn, this is late.

What
What would you like me to do?
I could lay here
Supine
Staring you in the eyes
While you painted me

Or

I could crouch at the edge of your bed
Watching you sleep
Waiting for you to wake up
So I could pounce on you
And make you smile

But

You say to me
I don't want that
I don't want smiles
Or paintings
Or your silly cookies and trinkets
I want something complicated
And extreme

And I say

Damn. That's lame.

Experiment in Absolutely Nothing. :p

2007-01-05T20:27:00.001-08:00

He
He Saw
He saw my shirt
He saw my shirt and then he died
He saw my shirt, and then he died. Just looked at it and hit the ground.
Just looked at it and hit the ground
Just looked
Just

Tired Girl I Saw And Then Didn't

2007-01-04T20:45:00.000-08:00

or
Pablo is a Jerk.

Her eyes were nearly shut
glazed
chin tucked into her scarf
woolen
she drifted as the people
equally lulled
surrounded, melding with her
a girl
until she was lost
in the crowd

Ah, bus poetry. I digs it.

2007-01-03T22:07:00.000-08:00

Untitled

Her book was naked
stripped of identifying marks
with nothing but back paper
between it and the words
inside

I wanted to ask her
"Are you making a statement
about how a book
is a book
and all books are good

Or are you ashamed
that you
a 30 year old woman
is reading Harry Potter?"

Crunchy Apathy

2007-01-02T18:25:00.000-08:00

Dead
Like the leaf I go out of my way
to step on
It sits there
not rotting
nor decomposing
but it is dead
perhaps more accurately
it is without life.

Outer Edge

2007-01-01T03:18:00.000-08:00

It's the other side of the year, and welcome to the actual start.

Homeless Man Asking Me Questions

He mumbled
fumbled
asked me "Is the bus free?"

I paused he's really hard to understand
Then told him
Yes
It is
For tonight
But not tommorow.

"Well"
he said with a smile
"I guess I won't go very far"

Daily Poetry For The Win

2006-12-31T15:47:00.000-08:00

So.

We're sitting on the very brink of 2007. It's been seventeen years since the collapse of the Berlin Wall and the reunification of Germany, sixteen years since the Persian Gulf War, thirteen since the start of the Rwandan Genocide, six years since the attacks on the World Trade Centre, three years since the start of the American Iraq, and about godknowshowlong until the world oil supply crashes and we all die.

:P

I write. I write well, sometimes, and I write shittily other times. I have one resolution for 2007: And that's to write one poem, every day, until December 31st, 2007.

Let's begin.

This is a poem
and it's a simple poem
but does that matter?

See you in 2007.