Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Perspective


Found wandering the back alley like doorstep vagabond
this man's thoughts are familiar
Why are you here? (why are you here)
(humming)
''How many times have I seen
the rise and fall of the skyline,
a broken ecg of this city.''
Can’t say I ever expected this,
the hiss of street vents,
my memory’s gone foggy,
bending sleep by daylight.
i know the cold of a new yorkers face
at midnight.
I’ve been waiting for things to change
for longer than my hands
have held the promise of asking.
(humming)
We're back to this woman,
she keeps saying
Hush hush its warm here,
emptiness sounds peaceful when its broken
This house has heard the fire place
die every night for ages
Sweltering fingertips,
I can’t bring myself to leave it.
Alone
I know someone who needs a home
more than I do
Feel selfish for not being grateful,
the snow outside is teasing me
i thinks its time i go for a walk
let the sharp air shake me up
i need to wake up,
oooh, its cold out here.
(humming)
now back to this man's thoughts
the street signs wont lead me to where i want to be
torn map, moist gloves,
the park has seen smiles
warmer than mine has been in ages.
i need to warm up
i need to warm up.
There they are.
There they are...
back to this woman she keeps saying
ooh, its cold,
its strange, how its beautiful
these children keep playing,
this bench, is inhabited.
i wonder, were i to live here
this man, smells of perspiration,
attempt, and beer.
i wonder if he sees the children.
oooh, its cold out here,
and back to this man's thoughts
There they are, thinking that snow balls are magic
that their mothers are perfect
there they are and this woman next to me
she looks like desire and heartache
wouldnt want to be,
this woman next to me
looks like desire and heartache
these children are beautiful
the woman keeps saying
these children are beautiful
this man keeps thinking
these children are beautiful
it is so cold in the winter,
she keeps saying
these children, are beautiful.

Those children look
like they don’t know how cold the snow is.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Lace


The city started
to taste like sleepless nights,
My eyes wandered over
expecting a hip to distract me,
But it didn’t.
I wondered if you ever get vertigo,
If you ever almost wake up screaming,
but decide that would be inappropriate.
Life has handed me
some funny things lately
But none of them
are as pleasant as the way she tastes
The way she aches from too much work
that’s too easy to put off
Ive been off sorting some things out
And I decided, its not gray.
Its just black and white at the same time.
I spend too much time watching.
I need to stop assuming people know of my meories.
Lover,
Fuck you are gorgeous
Lover, let me ksis your spine
let it lead me to the lace I didn’t expect to find,
Lover, tis true that this, in a way, is new to me,
But its been a long time coming
Lover,
Your fingers rival your determination
Im afraid of how much you could do
And maybe im in over my head far too soon
But I feel like ive been waiting
for a woman like you.
Like life threw me a bone
because I had figured out what I needed
Just not the shape it would come in.
I haven’t experienced vertigo lately
Sleep sound as a baby,
Granted never for too long…
Clench my sheets the few nights you aren’t there and
Actually feel like they’re good enough.
Ive come to love the way this city tastes.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

pins & needles



There’s something beautiful
in knowing we all dream -
Knowing there is no
unreasonable expectation
that isn’t shared by someone;
By millions upon millions of people, in fact.
I know I haven’t always been easy
but I can tell you I’ve never stopped myself from loving.
And if that’s the only thing I’ve done right, I can live with that.
How often do you think about everything we’ve been through?
How often do you need to remind yourself
of the lessons along the way
until you feel like you’ve truly learnt them?
Because ive watched too many people torture themselves ,
telling themselves
they’ve made the same mistake again
when it’s not true
Its not true at all
Forgive me for a moment,
and allow me to use an extraordinary cliché,
‘’a mistake is only a mistake
if it is miss taken’’
and even at that each mistake is a new one,
and is really no mistake at all –
its just another chance to grow,
to feel,
to experience a little piece of yourself
that until that moment
had been hidden from daylight,
filling the corners of your being with cobwebs
and the dust you eventually allow other fingers to draw in-
write their names on-
leave you messages and drawing that look like childhood doodles-
(just know they are much more intentional than that.
And that it is time to do a spring cleaning.)

Dusting the attic won’t mean disturbing its peace,
it means making room
for the new beautiful things to run through it-
it means turning it into a living room
that you aren’t afraid to touch and walk through
and invite your guest to sip tea and sometimes gin,
and always leave crumbs behind –
you’ll remember the fun it was to make them
when you are tidying up again.
Its amazing – when that attic is clear of its current clutter
How much more room you will have-
I feel like we are all too full right now,
Like we wont allow ourselves to take more in because of it-
Tell me about those you have loved,
tell me about the places you have seen
and the things that have made you feel alive.
I want to watch pins and needles
carry tides of recognition through your body-
bringing you back to life
and bursting with the promises of new feeling(s)-
I want to watch the tingling sensation rise through your heart
and turn into those stars I see in your eyes
on the morning s that follow deep sleeps and heartache –
simply because you woke up again,
and today is a new day.

Changing

It feels like rain today
Like heavy handed, soft spoken
Like- please wash over me-
It feel like the clouds caught last night’s candles and blew then out-
Hot wax covering us all in attempt to keep these moments intact
-When summer hits, I want to sit in a fruit tree all day
-Read novels and pretend I am both writing and in them at the same time,
let this world fall away.
-I want to be able to say- I was here once, but I don’t really need to remember it
-This trunk will do that for me….
-This old wood isn’t nearly easy enough to find, easy enough to hide in anymore
I am still a summer child,
and when the sun disappears and water graces us with its presence,
I am relieved. Relieved that I don’t have to keep pretending I live in another world
The death of changing colours and these shadows are very real to me….

lighter shades of you

I’ve been painting my bedroom red
since the age of 12,
And given that I move a lot
that sums up to about two dozen times.
Now there are plenty of speculations
about why that may be
or how its affected me,
And the only thing I cant tell you
is that its true.
Its intense, its rich,
living in luxurious tones of bold
has always suited me.

But something changed recently
I got a glimpse of the life I wanted,
and discovered I wasn’t yet the person
that would fit in it

So I changed it
The red
I had clung to for so long,
Now its blue
Im talking about my bedroom
because it’s the room I spend the most time in
Those walls hold the shades I live in,
And have
since even before my heavy crimson trend

But I didn’t paint it blue
to remind me of you,
Im not quite that much of a masochist
I was just hoping
that living in lighter shades
Would someday lead me
to being light enough myself
for the things you showed me I want
I could give you a thousand reasons
why blue was never the right colour .
I didn’t want open sky,
that’s too exposed
I wanted the closed comfort
of a colour that is inside me
That knows me -
But that’s the old me
(hopefully)
Well, at least if this whole colour thing works.

Monday, August 16, 2010

notes on life

I had never seen a face that fell into a smile

i was confused because i knew the things you told me
from the begining - and was aware of them all along
i just didnt think they mattered

i wonder if you will ever find out
that you left a part of yourself with me


i am the center of a family
that has yet to form around me.
i believe that i will be loved
as i know to love
-wholly- and unconditionally-

im listening

Im trying hard not to write another love story
there are just too many
everyone wants to talk about love
i want to write about rapture
about how your heart was a beautiful woman
and you dont miss her.
when you feel empty
and organized
you forget if you have black or blue eyes
because sidewalks and concrete
are more familiar than mountain tops and sea walks.

I often write about the weight of other things
but i rarely get around
to telling you about just feeling heavy
of your heart reaching two tons
more than your ribs can take.
this monotonous, droning step carries so many
I know we all hurt
dont tell me you arent angry
i am angry
and i am lonely
but i am not love sick

lets stick to the facts
like what time my alarm rings
and what sings me awake in the morning
- i usually have that song stuck in my head all day-
these are the simple things
because it still stings to talk about anything else
and the way someones arms felt
doesnt concern any of you...
you have your own lovers to miss
and this chapter in my life can be called short and sweet

lets address all the thingswe want to say to strangers on the street
because we are all equally as clueless there
that way what im talking about is clear
and the people that linger near my corner these days
all look like they need to be told to wake up
so wake up
and keep your chin up

we all have love stories
i dont want to know what you think of at night
i want to know what you hear in the morning
when your alarm rings
because i want to know you
i want to tell you
that there are so many people to learn from
and if you cant find five thousand
in seven billion
then youll never know what love is
because you just werent listening.

Friday, August 13, 2010

I loved a man who was a ghost

I loved a man who wasnt mine,
spent days jumping between obligation and habit
-spent nights jumping between obligation and desire.
I loved a man who spoke differently than i did,
a man who never hid
behind the way the line comes out
when you mean it less...
but because of this
i never told him the things that sounded too easy
that sounded too smooth,
-i tried to give you imperfection, hoping you would hold it-
and i wonder if he knew it
but if i said what i had meant to
when you were still looking at me
-and i managed something about a change of scenery-
it would have sounded more like an offer:
to be someone living in the life of another
as though they were familiar,
regardless-
to pretend this friend was someone who's space couldn't be taken up
quite as easily as i'm sure it could be..
replace the lovers you hold in your court
replace the whispers exchanged in public places
and the sensation of falling -
but dont replace the phone call
of excitement, or of sorrow
dont replace the friendship,
dont replace the offer to see you tomorrow
or the next day
or the next day
because i will stay in the role of go to
for as long as you will let me
because i will still go to you....
and if i could, i would tell you:
Don’t cut me out.
Sometimes logic rules us in a way it shouldn’t,
Sometimes we don’t recognize this…
Don’t cut me out
Believe me when I tell you
The best gift I could ever give you,
Is to love you.
Don’t cut me out until the voices you hear through the walls
sound nothing like your own,
and you know you are at peace with your thoughts.
Don’t cut out the part of your life that is foreign
That is lonely
That wants to be home.
Don’t cut me out,
Using shoe string as a telephone wire,
I didn’t quite hear you through all that clarity.
Don’t cut me out,
because the secrets you hid within me
Are still there,
and they may not be allowed to see sunlight,
but they still need to be nurtured.
Don’t cut me out-
There are traces of you everywhere
and without your presence they are like empty ghosts,
their hearts beat but not strong enough to keep them alive-
they haunt my bedroom, my sheets, my radio waves and laundry-
They haunt my bookshelf, my heart and my poetry.
Don’t cut me out
I’ve set my back against a train before,
and even it was easier to keep still-
Even as it pushed me south...
I know what it’s like to fight against the direction you’re from.
Don’t cut me out,
Ill trace your midnight with constellations, just to show you,
Even stars want to be close.
Don’t cut me out,
You’re more familiar with boundaries, borders, and stop signs-
I know I gave you a construction zone with merge signals and green lights…
but don’t cut me out-
I hope you need to know me,
the best thing you’ve ever told me,
is that you grew with these moments spent together.
Don’t cut me out.
I don’t need you to take anything back,
Just let me in…
I don’t need you to be mine,
But I need to be yours…

Monday, July 12, 2010

night turns to day

Her dreams haunt her lately
And like the portrait of a woman that sits still in her mother’s hallway
She waits
And watches them drift by –
hoping her lover wont notice the way her muscles tense
and her eyes fight to squeeze shut and open to safety at the same time
She’s beautiful, but she’s not sure he knows this
not sure he holds more than a fraction of her wholeness
The nightmares
Have stripped awareness
and the differentiation of memory and story
Blackberry cinnamon buns drip down her fingers as she sings him sweet and sticky songs-
Too much sugar he says-
I take my tea clear
And my coffee black
But she knows he cant imagine what hes bargaining for,
Or what she was like before she was sweetened…
These streets hold more than history
They hold the scars that lay hidden between thighs
And the regret carried around like a torn wallet
- All of your worth just seems to keep falling out….

Have you ever seen a dog that’s been beaten so badly
they cower at even the slightest of attention
Affection never comes with promises of comfort
When you’ve been kicked in the stomach
Left bare to the world ---

They spent the days talking about direction
And the nights about sex
‘it seems fitting, doesn’t it?’
The way he could fuck her like a woman who’s morning face would never be seen
But that’s not right
And he only ever had the best of intentions
One day they would look back and say
‘what a shame, that she sent him away before the day could break on their kind of love’
But I’ll tell you one thing
I don’t want to be the woman from the story above
- you’ve given me your arms to fall asleep in
And for right now that’s close enough to love.

Monday, June 28, 2010

shame like this

There is such thing as beautiful shame
I cant stop thinking of her telling me
‘this is an honest shame’
As though in that moment
her truth had felt every callus
on every lover we had had before then.
There are stories here
Laying, unwritten,
on skin that has seen love come and go
Skin that knows the value of what it holds –
I am but a shield, it says
Wrap yourself in me, and i will protect you.
Wrap yourself in me, and i will become you.

There are children waiting by the sea's edge
Their sanbox spans deep and glorious
they are like us,
waiting for blue tides to carry memories further away,
But always back in
Always back in
Always back in.
I have been swimming,
Submerged in honesty
As though to redeem myself
‘Look here, see my weakness before you, and make love to it’
I know its not easy to cherish
But it is here regardless
Your mouth rests gently along my apologies
Swallowing them whole
Telling me in return, that you are not foreign
Telling me in return, not to be ashamed
I have named the breaks and bruises that line me
Their meaning vanishing before you like their sincerity
You can point them all out now,
You know how to touch them so that it doesn’t hurt.
You are beautiful
But the worst part
Is that you are also lovely
Tell me,
Have you felt, shame like this?
I want to make it feel better
Make it feel natural
I want you to be well acquainted,
So that when it reaches you again,
There is no fear there.
Beware only of those who don’t deserve to know of it.
I want to hold your cheeks in my hands
Kiss your open palm
And tell you
I can hold yours,
Because thanks to you - I
don’t feel mine anymore.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

A Question

(Know that I will rarely post other poets work)

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.


-Robert Frost-

East of Eden

You argued that the map pointed east
That we had been here before
And it was certainly no treat…
I know, I said.
I know.
I know how rainy Sundays aren’t always soothing
-How your laugh lines can look forced
But the west coast has given us freedom
And I may be the first one to leave
When this city can’t hold you anymore,
But I will always come back.
I will always argue that no smell like the ocean
Can make me feel at ease,
And the people on the streets here
Don’t all look like they are alone/
Our daybreak tilted an hour glass
-I feel the grinding as our time slides out-
-You can feel the friction
As I subtly escape your arms… -
I know,
I know it wasn’t easy when I went east.
So now, I am home
And I am one of those people on the streets,
It’s funny how without you I don’t look as alone
The phone has started ringing on a regular basis again
And I wake up when the sun shines through my window
I feel like the widow to a city that died for me some time ago
Don’t believe all the hype about new York
I’ve been trying to write this piece for months now
Trying to decide
How I could find the words to say
I don’t miss it anymore
That the shore line took me back
Graciously
And for this I will be grateful
There is a man here
whos smile is more honest than any i had ever seen
he is more than part of the scenery...
I am grateful.
Vancouver
you are beautiful….

Saturday, June 12, 2010

sail boat stories (ten hours of my life)

I kissed her,
And I cant say I didn’t mean to
I did.
I knew exactly what I was getting into.
I kissed her and suddenly 1 am turned 11 am,
and she was still there.
When i found her lips, I wasn’t thinking of you.
I am always thinking of you.
Maybe that’s why
It worries me,
the time you spend running circles in my mind
leaving me with empty ovals
in the shape of question marks, and arms
It worries me
How well you go through the motions
It worries me
That you don’t understand
the way I live emotions
But I wouldn’t expect you to.
Just forgive me
Please
For the lips that parted post-coffee
For the night that started with sangria,
And the knowledge that you were far away.
Forgive me, for being selfish, imperfect
Imperfect enough to hurt you.
thought maybe not as much as i thought i could.
maybe you dont feel, quite as i do
Forgive me,
Because I panicked,
when I told you I loved you
you know I have love for you
But these things are not the same.
I have so much love.
And I know,
I wasn’t meant to share it with her.
But I did.
Forgive me.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

bread crumbs

You’ve always known me best
Rest your head to my chest
And breathe.

It’s a shame
That no one else can know you
No one else can hold you
The way we hold each other

Like the last threads of fidelity
A sort of twisted virginity
That we insist on clinging to
Like pigeons to the bread crumbs
They have come to depend on.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

the sound of sleepless beginings

i hear pins drop and think of you
their tip seems to be hitting some perfect apex of sound
some kind of crystal clear 'just enough'
this is the stuff that keeps me awake at night
imaginary sounds and narrations provided by myself

clearly things arent as sharp at the moment
clearly the answers aren't letting me lull into certainty
but i seem to be ok with that
because on the nights i cant sleep
you stay up with me
and you can guarantee at some point
ill make forts out of these bed sheets
and tell you i need to hide,
or maybe i need a story

regardless
at least im not afraid
to ask for these things

im listening to something
...

subtle sounds of dropping,
of falling ...
or the answers between the lines
of which tale you chose to tell;
i fell into one of them
on a night that i needed escape more than ever
and dreams just wouldnt come to me

but im not sure you knew that
not sure you knew the heavy reasons
i can no longer say i sleep ten hours a night
( yes, i really did used to )

but i am sure you dont need to.
maybe its enough to tuck myself in
or on lucky nights, let him.
maybe its enough,
that she will be here
on my second night in a new home
and my first, will be alone.
the way you enter a place
and the way you leave it
are never the same,
save that.

all in all i come full circle
when i wake in the morning
i am more hopefull
than ever.
and its summer
so the sun is bright these days,
there to reasure me,
that im right.
and this stays with me all day
until late, late at night

- these questions can wait
another 20 odd hours
before revisiting me
before i try once more
to sleep

Thursday, May 27, 2010

One more run

Hello,
Health
How ya been?
I heard she saw you
Crossing the street
Waving goodbye’s
As the train went by.
You are that one celebrity,
You know you will always be loved.

Hey there
Health,
Where ever did you go?
Is the grass really greener on the other side?
And how is the neighbor’s lawn treating you?
How are you treating him?
I hear he’s getting old
And he’s told his wife
Just how he feels about you
You know its about time you pack up and move on
The song youre signing
Hasn’t known radio waves in ages
I think its time to upgrade
You're too bulky, for our generation
Our generation of small and sleek
Of fast and free.

Hi again,
Health.
So glad to have you back,
I always did love retro
And figured I didn’t belong in this era
You are my vintage friend
I’ve opened my door again
And set my pride down
Long enough to tell you I’ve missed you.
To tell you my lungs didn’t hold breath the same way without you here
My tongue hasn’t tasted ‘sweet’ in years
And these tears
Have looked more like acid rain,
When my body isn’t too dry to produce them
I was used to then,
Until you hopped on that train.
But don’t worry I understand,
I know we all need to travel
All need to leave sometime.

Goodbye again health,
It was nice to have you back.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

drifting



Spent the night with soft slumber again
Waved hello
as quickly as I waved goodbye;
We used to be so close-

I miss the sweet taste sleep came with,
Back then.
Back when nothing could keep us from the time we spent together,
REM and I,
But why bother fight
What years filled with life
brought me to
Why bother fight
That these sunsets
and sunrises are both occupied
By thoughts and songs
And when we are lucky, arms.

The last twelve hours
Are littered with unkempt promises to myself
With the best of intentions,
I could simply never make it to.

Agreeing to let go, for now.
To rest
To recover
To prepare myself
for yet another sunrise
For yet another day
filled until that follow of sunset
I don’t regret
The few hours a day
where I belong to another world.
A softer, less critical one
Where nothing is hanging
on the hinges of distrust
Or voyeurs.
These voyages
Are my own.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep again,
You will learn
that those around you
Will forgive your current state,
Will be there when you wake.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

doorstep vagabond


Found wandering the back alley
Like door step vagabond
All residential neighbourhood
Misunderstood
Saying
‘I belong here’
I belong here.
The years
Of stepping on the sidewalk cracks
Have amounted to some seriously bad luck
But that doesn’t mean hes given up
On finding a space large enough
To hold hat rack
from where he can rock comfort
As he looks back
on when life
was a little rougher,
When his skin was a little tougher
and bits of broken glass
were mere pebbles beneath his feet
when he knew the luxury
of tasting sunlight on a grassy knoll
when everyone else did as well
so that he could pretend
he was just one of them.
he had once,
been just one of them

............

On an evening for red roses
we all eventualy revisit
these lives we have chosen
(bare in mind - we do
the best we can)

Do not be fooled
into believing
they had forgotten eachother.
when we believe we are watching out
for the others
we have held.
the others we have come
to recognize
as family.
red roses
were no longer home

ive only heard this story
from a distance
but the colour of these flower petals
sound like the history
of knowing who we love
to me

i am certain
we do the best we can
with how we know to love

Monday, May 17, 2010

Familiarity

I want you in that-
this is really scary’
kind of way

in that
‘I want you so so so bad,
I could hardly even begin
to tell you about it’
way

I’ve come to want you so much
that even a dream without your face
seems lonely
Because you’re home to me,
Or at least you should be…

You’re front door
straight into living room
Leading to the kitchen
with counters we sat on,
spent our lives talking around...
I want the sound
of floor boards creaking,
and old staircases
that whisper like guests come night time…
Of windows that don’t open well,
But that you've learnt to crack
With fingers tricks
that make things smoother
than WD40 could.

I want the cradle that is my arm
to know warm skin again,
To know the way children pretend
life is exactly what they want from it
I want you-
Because I’ve needed
to alter my definition of mother
Because I’m learning
to live with little more
than memory of father,
Because you were certainly
never a brother
I shudder,
at that thought.
Because I miss my sister.

I want you back,
Image the home movie of when I was too young to remember
told me I once had
The way I once knew to live with you
To love you
To live by you…

I want to see the comfort in blood ties
and slightly bruised finger,
from years of having the same one on.

There are too many things
missing from the picture
And the mantle
has been collecting dust,
Abandoned, empty
Of base
Of bonds
Of giant boulders of strength
I want it all,
The image of family

Thursday, April 29, 2010

bottom of my suitcase


I found you hiding there
Like that teddy bear
you though had long since vanished
But was buried amongst the boxes
this whole time…
It was a nice reminder
That those moments may have passed
But you are still mine
Still my faithful confidant
Looming back
Hidden away
from what I think I deserve
You serve the sole purpose,
of reminding me
It seems simple
Perhaps too simple to see
And point out
to hold
Too simple to explain
And even to know
But you are my comfort
And I have rediscovered
That I can
This way…
So far from the last
I can…
And I will

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

attempt












Typewriter
Filing cabinet
Carbon paper
Hole puncher
Page
Screen
Page
Paper
Words
Writing
Words
Letters
Be humble
Write
Be humble
Write
Be humble….
Letters
Describe
Explain
You
Are
Letters
Answers
Question mark littered
Essay
Their stories
Are shaky
Are foggy
Misguided
By pen
By ink
On page
On paper
On page
On screen
Resort
Back
Keyboard
Backspace
I’m writing you
Erase
Backspace
Erase
Backspace
Erase…
Not today.

Pencil


You are pencil
Simple as wood covering
Cradling
The bark has be lead
To hollow
Led filled center
You enter page,
as though you were dancing on it
As though you know the stains you make
Will one day shape letters
And we will know to read you
Sharpened and chiseled edges
Left softer from time
Softer from poems
That have escaped
The fine point
You call front and center.
We do not live in subtext.
The back end of you
Holds no eraser
No need…
But is full, Intact,
Bursting with memories.
Hesitance makes up your vocabulary
Yet you are not the gummy pink of perhaps
- You are not about to erase the mistakes you made
Because you know, to us,
they are full of holy words
Made all the more sacred
by the density of the honest
Of the absurd in too perfect
Of the backwards
to heavy and break cord
we fail to recognize
In our own lives.
You are ready to tell us,
“this is where I’ve been”
...
I grow shorter and more delicate with time
Time does not sharpen me
Does not permit these edges
to turn back towards rough
Chiseled
Is the beginning
Chiseled is the weight
of not knowing
Of exploring
The options of pain
And tragedy
Those things have left led to page
And have been replaced.
I keep making my way
Up
To lighter
To smaller
to softer

My marks upon your pages,
Now resemble postcards
Of where I have been
Rather than novels
Telling the stories
I know you could never have seen.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Time

If I had the secret
Cupped, craddled, in the palm of my hand
- The shape of a key
Pressing gently on the lock of time
I’m not sure I could bring myself
to erase these memories
The boisterous, the honest, the ugly
They are mine…
I may bring it to you though,
and tell you to use it wisely
(I know there are moments
You would rather forget)
But perhaps then,
You wouldn’t have met me
And my fidelity to personal experience
Would at once become irrelevant
Such is life
Such is the game of variables
Of interchangeable realities
If I had the key to time
My ear pressed against its lock,
Like childhood curiosity
I’m not sure I could ever
so much as shift these memories

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Elephants (fact #1)


Elephants are the only mamals
that can't jump.
And maybe they dont need to
Maybe they already feel the sky
dancing across their broad surface
And are happy,
rooted to the ground
Maybe they know the sound of clouds
better
From the way it carries itself through the soil
The word that comes to mind,
is majestic
Éléphants have always been a favourite of mine
The way they walk the earth
as though they arent aware
they could hurt anything-
They are serene,
and profound-
...
When you look up close,
some people claim to be revolted
Maybe thats why i love them so much
Maybe their tusks and trumps
Are trying to tell us
They know the way we see them
And to look past…
This calused skin is so insignificant
and if you march long enough
i will shed it for you,
as we all eventually do.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Sky

Open letter to the sky
Lets grow fields together,
Make honey
Mold candles from the honesty we’ve shared
What I’m saying is-
let’s be each other’s bees wax
I want to get to know you
even though
You will tower over me
-I can accept that
and will with as much grace
as my unpolished edges can muster.
Because you
Will never know the tethers I hold-
The way the earth you watch over
Feels under mud covered soles
These fields
Will be the broadest realities we know
We can be community
The way old folk circle music
Brought life to interaction
because though you may clap along, sky,
The laughter of a summer festival
Will never ensue
the way they do in these circles.

You are not gathered around,
But rather, are stuck
Towering above
those you love
Where as I,
I am learning to be small again
To be humble
To stumble into the tiny shoes
I forgot to wear
When I was… say… ten
Back then those shoes were just like you,
they moved too much and they held lightning
Remember the ones with the little flashy lights on the side?
(i know you had a pair)
Mine would thunder through the hallways
Of opportunities I didn’t need to take
I will take them now..
Make no mistake
The hourglass lies
And so do all those who say
You can only grow old-
I am growing young
My life has formed beaches
Built of sand
That runs backwards through my toes
You’ll noticed
My bare feet are now always exposed
They will trudge through our fields
as to better know the world I walk on
better know-that is where I am rooted
at that moment
but during that moment
you ,sky,
you will continue drifting by
and staying still at the same time

I thought I moved too much
Let them pass too fast
But I am glad
You have reminded me otherwise …
You always have and always will tower above me
My backwards grounding point
Upside down as my hourglass
You are my consistency
You make the freedom
Of movement
Home to me

P.S: Though my arms
are now outstretched towards you,
I wrote you this letter
in the hopes that,
much like thunder,
you might her me,
before you see me.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Uniform

Madam
I wish you were naked
Which is to say,
Quite simply,
Your uniform is startling
I wanted to let you know
It is ringing through my
Expectations
Like a bad taste that lingers
Just south
of where the toothbrush can reach
It reminds me
That we are not all who we say we are
And ever those who are
Aren’t really dressed for the occasion
Of honesty
Who are you?
Whoever you are to me
Is hiding behind cardigan
And knee high socks
Madam
Your uniform is startling
Please show me
The mask hiding underneath
Because at least it,
is molded to your skin
Can show me the shape
Of what is cradled within it
Your uniform is a swamp
You have been swimming
In waters
Murky enough to hide your skin
But not your face
Your naked expression
It has done you no good
That much is true,
Dear madam
Your uniform is startling
And if only for that reason,
I wish you were nude…

Honesty


preface: scent and taste bring us back
but touch sight and sound move us forward.

We were supposed to see tulips yesterday
but found that wasnt the way
we were meant
to spend the hours of certainty
we were about to craddle
so instead
we awaited inspiration
sipping honey samples
and orange blossoms
I got the chance to wonder
if sensation
would always equate honesty to me
if touch sight and sound dont lie
then i know what to live by
i can leave homestead
and street-map aside
for the sake of feeling,
whatever today was meant to hold
today told me, yesterday,
that its ok to live my life
in the anticipation
of touch
sight
and sound

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

That time again...



The air
is blooming daffodils
And the sunshine
smells like grass
Our days are spent outside
Filling time
with the shapes
that clouds make
Do you remember
when we found speed cars,
Racing through the sky?
Every year I am reminded
Of a time
when it didn’t get any more pure
I was so sure,
That we would always gaze at the clouds
Come spring time.
Since then
The white puffy drivers
have disappeared
But every now and again
Ill look up
and be just as sure
That I see you drifting by
Higher than you had ever been
Higher than we ever would have spotted
as children.
Every year,
I look forward to the spring.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Avalanche

Buried.
Stone shovel, snow covered
Drip ice cold …
Moisture runs along your spine
to remind you,
You are alive.
You are alive,
You are alive…
Never before has the weight Of life
pressed so hard on your chest
has the weight of life,
kept you from rest
In white banks
Of exploration
Of glory turned desperation
We all wander away
Some day
The unlucky among us
Stay
where the kingdom
wraps them in chills.
The hills
seemed to stretch out for miles
And the echoes of empty searchers
were only beginning
That morning
when the sun promised
to guide their way
To where the unlucky among us
stay.

Bare Necessities



Survival comes on strong
As the instinct you thought belonged tucked in your back pocket
You are a city marcher, street parader
You believed you would never need to use this tool
That has you in life’s sparse good graces
Imagine what East Hastings St. feels like
when 4 am comes as quickly as the mid day nap
you’ve missed for the past 10 years
your tears, have long since dried up
and you keep flying up
up higher than a frat boys Saturday night
but his has become a lifelong nightmare
your arms rest bare to ashy
trash filled streetlight
tonight, you have scratched away the skin
that held addiction
in the shape of a bubble,
in the crook of your arm
the harm you have done to yourself far surpasses
that of the others you have affected
for right now, stay with me,
hide away, be safe with me,
There are bandages under my kitchen sink
For right now
you won’t have to see this damage
Don’t worry
Your mother will forgive you
Your father will forgive
Your brother will forgive you
Tonight, we know
that you have not been yourself
We know that you have not felt
the sunlight of mid day
The way we have.
We know that our anticipation of summer
Is not shared
You are still scared
Of what 4 am brings.
These things
Are much more important,
The warmth that may follow
Is the only part you look forward to
You… you my dear,
You are no longer you.
And when we see each other
on the street
Next week,
I will ask how you’ve been
You’ll tell me today is a good day,
you have your bare necessities
you have brought my pillow
back to your street corner
you have a sheet, your life and a coffee
today is a good day
you have your bare necessities

Monday, March 22, 2010

Stream of counsciousness

Im resting comfortably with the vaguely acknowledged presence of a pebble..
some large pebble that sits inside me , just bellow the surface,
bellow skin and bone and blood ties.
The comfort is one ive lulled into
after acknowledging the recurring pattern ive led myself to.
You see for a while there I felt torn apart,
like the pieces of me I needed couldn’t bring themselves to touch together
with the half that was lost, and in pain.
There was this gap that couldn’t be crossed with word bridges
or the sentence trails my friends were leaving me ….
But I had seen that feeling before.
Just never gotten a front row seat to one that was quite as far out of my control you see
its starts as a gaping fissure,
coming into itself until it is but a mere crack...
and then that crack pushes in in an attempt to make itself smaller
and ends up resting in our ribcage as a hole the size of a rock,
that you know, with time, will turn back into the large hole it was
before you got yourself into the arms
that cause the expanding fissures in the first place.
I guess this is the best stage to be in.
the furthest from heartache,
the furthest form accumulating regret and making mistakes.
I can live with a pebble in my chest

Friday, March 19, 2010

Notice:

clarification
i decided it would be good to just get myself writing. period
doesnt matter what or how well or how long or anything at all, really,
just as long as i write. So i have asked friends for prompts,
stating that said word or sentence could be something they find inspiring or just the first thing that comes to mind. and promised one poem per prompt.
so the most recent train of poems, all with prompt labels, are a result of that.
and if you care to leave a prompt, DO IT!
:)

build this skeleton with rainbows

The round shape your rib-cage takes
sends spades of laughter
around a lung filled with collapse.

you have let worlds form off shoulder blades
Written novels on the blank page
Of white bone turned paragraphs
Turned darkened rage
It was all right there, plain as day
As the sight refised to fade away
And i traced my life along the colours of your back

Dance

In this dark hooded sky,
The stars are dancing with opaque
With the mistakes our eyes make
When light tricks our shades
Of day
The way movement accumulates
through the distance of space
is beautiful,
to say the least
often wondering about the way our limbs can follow hymns or glory
our bodies tell the stories
our lips dare not
fluid movement hasn’t always been
the first thing I think of
when I wonder about the warmth of love
but after seeing these stars
dance
I know there are answers
Above
The illusions of grandeur we have

Bone Bruises



It's strangely still
It doesnt feel like it happened in this room
like these walls are doomed
to repeat history,
but they must be.
if you pushed your way [back] BACK
into the role you played when i was a child
tonight
i feel numb
strangely distant, detached
from the images of two hours ago
and ten years ago
replaying in my mind.
I guess its a good sign
because back then
i couldnt have taken my pen
in hand
this man,
has left bruises down to my bones
helped me discover the meaning of colour
as i traced this skeleton with rainbows
...
it's easier for me
to think about how it happened
than who i was afterwards
i dont know that woman
i just know that i dont want to be her
but this time,
you seem to have gotten us confused
whatever you were using me for back then,
you've used it all up.
leaning hard against my door I told you stop,
and it wasnt just a request.
this time,
these bones are mine,
and these memories will be too.
I want them to have nothing to do with you...
not the taste of your kitchen knives,
clenched fists or empty eyes
...
I tasted steel tonight
for the first time in a long time.
The setting had back tracked
and slipped through the cracks
of all the yesterdays between now
and when this was my life,
when the soft edge of a knife
was the only thing i found myself in bed with
were i to stay here,
i would have to kiss
the back of my womanhoods head
and send it on its way
to be degraded
youve underestimated
my power..
my pride is no longer something
i can part with.
if you push on this door again
be prepared for the shade of my own fist.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

There are flowers on the bridge today



You asked what my favorite petal
felt like
I came close to telling you
it feels like the reason
they are here this morning
It feels like decaying love
Lingering on the steps of ‘forget’
Sitting patiently
on the lips of those
who don’t care to name their mourning.
This is a step
In the direction of next
Of say goodbye to antidotes
And wake up to clarity

To foggy, windswept, heart breaking clarity

You may need to fix yourself a stiff drink
But be wary of what lurks in the bottom of that glass
That too full glass
is no more than a hallucination
Do you really want to believe that it is still alive?

There are flowers on the bridge today
I left them there to commemorate
the absence of myself
At least parts that I had loved dearly
Pieces of honesty
that I am re-accumulating all too slowly

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Sunday Fogsight

I found it in the fog...
found water weight
gone
heavy turn gentle to comfort,
rock on the brim of surreal
if youve ever been carried by a sail on a still day
you know it feels
like harmonizing with wake-tip
drag your fingers
longside boat movement
dip
into salt
i had been on a boat before
paddled away from heartache
and motored away from mistake
to find myself on redemption shore
but not even that had felt like this
...
like kiss rockign core
and split into another universe
more and more
i was overcome
i coudl have done
anything that day
...
i could have dissapeared,
drifted away particle by particle
by moisture drop in teh air surrounding us
i found it in the fog
before red sails turned to dust.
if you ever get the opportunity
to feel life dissintegrate
and be re-absorbed
pore by pore
like dense messages to be lifted
by pearling dusk,
some things, we must make time for.
...
I though i woudl find it scatering.
no landmarks, no path
but as steady sea spanned around me
i felt at ease
...
leave anchor to guilt and map-line to shame
when you float the way we do
distance is your only aim
the game we all played as children...
find smooth surface,
skip rock,
rickshay,
and watch the reality of your reflection
ripple away.
I was a sunday
when everything went out of sight
we huddled around charts
as though navigation were usefull
but with no trace bringing us back
we were suspended in time...
who's to say we shoudl have come back that day?
i still cant be sure how we foudn our way
back
to deck and harbour
back
to life in another universe...
it was a sunday

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Beware


Beware when you meet the devil
His eyes are deep brown,
his hair is as well
His colours are rich
He is heavy with laughter
he can two step faster than any of you
And will tango you right out of the room
Beware, when you meet the devil
He is lurking around the bend of your neighborhood bar
waiting…
He is patient
Beware when you meet the devil,
you don’t need me to tell you he’s trouble
but he’s just so
god
damn
seductive..
you’ll know him
Devils breath on Sunday afternoons
Women swoon over gin,
but only
when they are with him…
He leaves dusty fingerprints
on your fine china
To remind you,
your womanhood
has been tainted
Has been painted
a new shade of red
You said,
you would never give up crimson

Sight Seeing


There is a deaf man,
who says he hears the children playing underwater
And the flames licking his home
suddenly feel hotter
than he remembers
He would rather go back and play with them.
Rather be submerged.
Drown my home with me, he says.
Let my memories float away
like ships decay
That someone is bound to use
as a life raft someday

The young woman at daybreak
Is still yearning for nighttime
When she is safe from daily obligation
The sensation
of forward movement
frightens her
Tightens her chest
until her breath pounds
strong enough to pull her on
when her feet can no longer

Little girl with the pearl teeth
And the golden locks
Has sold herself to misery
Have you read her story?
The pages are salty, stained
And now he needs to know why
Her story has made him cry
Made him shed tears of understanding
He was stranded somewhere between hatred and fury
Waiting for the safe haven
of sympathy


Have you ever tried flying along a birds wings?
The view from up there is scary enough to want to fall
Want to crawl on the ground
like an infant
And know you are among us all,
Down here in this world.
We follow the same streets
Paved of history beneath concrete

Id like to take you on a sight seeing tour
So you can see what all this life is for
We’ll peak through the windows of widows
And aftermath stampedes
My treat….

Maybe then you’ll understand why
some stand further away from the parade than others
Some people are trying to catch your eye
as you try to catch candy flying by
being thrown at you
by men in disguise
pulled by over-decorated rides and
silent
cardboard hand
goodbyes.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

please promise..

that When you reach these parts of me
you will know to take your shoes off at the door
In fact, leave it all outside.
Your clothing and skin,
Any traces of the places you’ve been before
Leave this kingdom as clean as you found it.
Even if you find it in a dreadful state
because the taste of you will linger here
The taste of you will linger near the window frames
Your finger prints on its panes
Trying to send a message to the outside world
where I am this person you see right now.

I know you don’t understand
how I come about
How she disappears
if you aren’t near internal holy grounds
but
They have found
that honesty is not always the best policy
Believe me.
I do my best.
And the rest of my intentions
stay cradled warmly.
Waiting for another index.
Your palm is my safety blanket
You read my past on the texture of my skin
and now Ive been
looking for a way to tell you
Its not true
Everything that happened to me
Its not true.
And I wanted to say
It hasn’t happened to you
Lets not let anything happen ‘’to’’ us
Anymore
Lets not be those people
Left broken
Those people left sore
We are beyond that
We hold more
Than what our bodies once felt
I will make it feel differently
I promise

I will be your nursery rhyme
Telling you we have all the time in the world
To jump over the moon.
Ill hold you and sing hush little baby don’t you cry
I will sing you every lullaby
i know
But For now
You have hidden parts of yourself away...
I know where to find them
"hill and vale and slumber sleeping
I my loved ones watch am keeping"
And when I uncover them I will do so gently
Like lifting the soother from a baby
Just trust me.
My discretion quietly gloved
tonight
you will be the first woman I have ever loved

I will make you the kind of memory history is made of

I keep seeing poems as obstacles courses,
Littered with tacky intentions
You told me you have a soft spot for harlequin
...
I know a few stories

story-line


Her lips are like rose petals
That pale pink with just a hint of white at the tip
And her hips... are just strong enough for my grip
As I dip my tongue into her story line
Her life tastes like a brick of amber, the sweetness rising to the top
While the ash clings to my teeth, creating poetry in my mouth.
This poetry is how she defines herself, since she’s promised not to bind herself to anything else.
Her beauty is hardly a tool she needs to exceed expectation.
She is honest… but she is also nothing but temptation
And I almost hate him, for not letting me taste her.
Knowing he would be the last to chase her…
I don’t blame him.
Elle goute le miel, and honey is sweet but its also quite messy.
Perhaps it would be easier to resist, were he still with me.

you called me a goddess


Once upon a time
you called me a goddess
And I wanted it to be true
so bad
I tattooed it
On my hip.
The place where you rested the tip
of your fingers so gently,
It felt like they were part of me
But since then
I’ve discovered what shame is
I haven’t felt close to a god in ages
And let me tell you,
I don’t want to
Id rather own these pages
of words you’ve sent me to sort through
when you went on
about how
we all wish we could own her
The part of the earth
that doesn’t live between mall walls
Or public washrooms stalls
where women lay uncounscious
After a long night of too few responses
from a world she’d lost touch with
There are men wearing army green
like forest leaves…
But we all know these wars don’t grow naturally
It seems to me we’ve chosen escapes
That bring us closer to the place
from which we’re running away
But now there is ink in my veins
And its there to remind me
that once upon a time
When the world was mine
Before it belonged to soldiers
who fight for the right to peace
And women who want to fly
but cant help feeling too heavy
You called me a goddess
So let me write you an over-due letter
Asking you to help me find
What god is
And how he could let this
Happen so quickly,
Even if its been growing for centuries.

harmony

Harmonize with my pillow,
it knows sound too
and will teach you to make me sing
If you listen to its stories you’ll discover,
it knows better than I where ive been
my dreams have read it the novels
i have carried within

shame

Such a heavy little character
The captain of a breaking pirate ship
Wandering our hearts shore line for anything worth taking
It smokes a pipe filled with hazy memories and has greasy hair, heavy with fear and disgust
Its wooden leg the crutch of others’ judgment
It takes a seat.. unswayed by the steady less sea of pain
It invites me into the cabin
I have seen this cabin far too many times
I have observed its tacky tapestry and layn In its hard bed
Awaiting the captain
Preparing for him to enter me
Sometimes gently, he seems to creep in and sometimes with such brutal force
That I know he is stronger than these waters and consider jumping off-board
But this time I am wiser and turn down his advances.
I invite him rather, to a game of chess on deck
And this one time I am freed
The captain shame knows no witt or logic
I have outsmarted him, he knows only greed.

Naked

Stripped
exposed
Used and unconcerned
We have found our footing
A new stride based on a lack of confidence
No not stride,
Swim
In water murky enough to hide our skin
But not our faces
Our naked expressions

Classic

Theres something classic about a love of the sea
Lets have a black and white romance,
Ill love you like a multi-hearted octopus, 3 times over

Serenity

You are serene and beautiful
an angel walking on the water i bathe in.
The instant your toe touches the surface
i am soothed by the rippeling waves


you are devious and powerfull
the fire in your eyes blazes towards me
and i feel it scorching my once gentle heart .
Long ago before i fell apart

you are thoughtfull and saturating
the mind you use with ease
creates an enigma to fill my own
tearing open my intelligence
shielding my awareness

you are calm and cradling
with every moment that passes
i sink solumly into a norm of acceptance.
A form of resistance

you are my knife. My bottle. My record. My stage

you are my goal and my fear.
my smile and my tear.


you are my pen. My voice. My world

Touch me


touch me
touch every corner that my words have cast shadow upon
my knowledge, my desire
touch me with the tip of my solace that you have stolen
by letting me kiss you, and place it upon me once more
but gently… ease me into this world that is spinning away
touch the tip of my tongue the way you did moments before the highway running off of it hit an exit
that’s suction surpassed my resistance..
touch me. Because this moment has felt your caress
this moment is that where, opposing magnets FLIP and come together
pushing is painful, resistance tedious
mango tainted lips are more present at time than my mind
but they communicate well
they tell, stories of intimacy and tales of friendship…
they are trying to explain to you who I am
while yours probe and question,
your mouth lost and detached from the words I hear escape it somewhere in the distance but..
I pay them no mind, This moment is that where I try to touch you in the return
And I do so with a mouth full of lip and a hand full of hip guiding you towards me
Carelessly cautioning you NOT to follow
As I pull you closer to the me that Is buried inside myself
The me that you don’t usually get to see
But I am here
And you tell me, you can feel the goose bumps lining my spine as your hands
Wander the curves of my body, an OCEAN of strong waves, with gentle tips
But your hands, much like your lips, are just along for the ride
Leaving nowhere to hide when instinct takes over
You didn’t want me to show her
But.. it got me ready for THIS, you see.
It prepared us both for our moments of truth, wrapped in light sheets,
We leave our bodies open to dreams, and wake to sweetness even softer than that of the night
Because this morning is our
And months go by quickly, tomorrow you will be gone
This place has never been home to you, and it would be too much for your to become mine..
So we lose each other, to time.

93 cents


Lightly lift this soft pressure
Enjoy this gift of gentle weather
But the weather
Whether or not we wish it
Will continue changing
Enabling you to comprehend
The process of aging
Ever changing, ever growing
ever showing more signs of awareness
your understanding stamped on your forehead
as to show the world
just how much you’re worth
down to the last
93 cents.

Ketchup


I think Organic tomato sauce
Is just a nice way of saying ketchup
You think using ketchup
is just a nice way to teach our kids about blood
We live in a society
that’s obsessed with smearing it on everything
And that’s what you’d wear
when we played dress up
You said
‘’you see, i’m dead you just don’t usually notice it’’
And now I
sit in a swing set made of broken branches
in a playground of caskets
Wondering how such a beautiful young girl
ends up in a place like this
Rocking myself back to comfort
I’m comfortable remembering you with a smile
But I guess we don’t want to see the truth in the corn syrup
When we watch horror movies and pretend that’s not us
We pretend we don’t know what fear means
We pretend we don’t know how shame feels
We pretend that life’s stages has age limits
and at 13 a girl only plays dress up with dresses


there are tomb stones made of dry tears here
and the wind in these parts whisper lullabies and skipping rope tunes
right now
I am sitting on a swing set made of broken branches
in a playground of caskets
wondering how we let such a lonely girl
end up in a place like this
a long nights sleepover for kids
the kind for which they don’t need
to pack a toothbrush
you wont need you pijamas
we’ll make sure you’re comfortable
in silk lining
and say we did the best we could
by surviving
we don’t want to play in this playground
but you were already at home here
by the time you were found
but I promise from now on
ill remind people,
we don’t need to use
so much god damn ketchup



Because little boys also play dress up
and it messes their head up
when you tell them that G.I joe is good
but pointing guns at people is bad
it messes them up
when you tell them to be a good father
but to be nothing like their dad
they have followed your lessons of peace
and grew up to be sent to Baghdad
and now so many end up in a place
where the breeze whispers
through the few trees
the ashes haven’t suffocated.
They’ve ended with those
who play the games they always hated
The games they were taught were out dated,
Women play housewife, men brave the fight
This fighting game is new to you
And they DARE to say they knew you,
Before you were sent to the war.
No , they didn’t.
or they wouldn’t have let you go
We’ll hide away the corn syrup and
do our best to sweep the ashes..
this playground is yours.


Then there are the little boys
who played dress up with dresses
Or the girls who thought G.I Joe meant freedom
The ones who’s gender
people only venture guesses at
They have their playgrounds too
I’ll bet you there’s one buried right next to you
You see we all end up in the same place
But It seems cemetery’s these days
are segregated
When I walk down a line and read the names
I wonder about their faces
I wonder if their father called them faggots
If their mother called them dykes
I wonder if they died happy
Knowing a lot of them hadn’t gotten their two wheelers
We’ve beaten kids
who were still riding their trikes




Tell me how do we forgive people who’s
Idea of parenting is best depicted with a fist
Tell me how we tell people
that they just cant afford to live like this

that every time they hit these children
it leaves bruises they’ll see well into their twenties
when they have walked away from their tombstones
I’m sorry for the time your parents were too stoned
To remember
they gave birth to a daughter.
And that when she shaves her head and wears leather,
I still love her.


Right now
I’m sitting on a swing set made of broken branches
In a playground of caskets
there’s silk lining somewhere down there
and I know you’re not in it.
The faggots and dykes
The depressed and the children still riding their trikes
The ones who never made it back from the war
And some of the ones who did
only to find they couldn’t live like this anymore
Those are the people
this swing set is here for.
The ones
who didn’t follow the rules when they were playing dress-up
But at least I know you,
you aren’t anywhere near it..
You’re too busy
teaching your children about ketchup

Hide & Seek


You know, i’d never really thought about hide and go seek before
Never noticed the underlying tones that made it feel like more than child’s play
Well im not a child anymore and I still hide today, waiting for you to find me
And for the first time contemplating what it is you’re looking for
And seeing what you might come upon .. me twisted and sore
From a long night’s careless grip and pulsing friction
Is this what you had envisioned when you said you wanted to discover me?
Because I am weak, weakest in most recent moments of strength because I didn’t own them.
Call it a superstition but it seems like a bad omen
to play such an innocent game so far from a play-pen
Ruffling the sheets and tearing off the damn corners again.
You have to look a little further because the things I am hiding lay deeper than anatomy
You wont find them by pushing through it, you see
We’re growing up, but that doesn’t mean we don’t play game anymore
Granted its not quite the same as it was before…
Because now losing doesn’t hurt so much,
Just playing does.

carry me


...

Emma Lake


There is a place on the mainland,
North of city noise
Where emma lake is poised
Surrounded by glacial tops.
The sight, standing on the mountains ridge
Is pressing
Pressing on eternal night
Pushing combustible life
Out of a deflated chest;
Rest with me
You’ll see its not so hard to breath up here
Where even the lake knows its own beauty
And covers itself with a soft sheet of ice

Here the sky stretches out like water warped canvas
and the trees are yawning,
tilting towards hillside paradise
This is what beautiful British Columbia feels like
It is pressing,
this heavy grey shade of luxury,
pressing on eternal night.

Cherry Cherry woman


Cherry cherry woman
Phone lines have tied a friendship of mine
along the height of tree tops
And whenever it falls out of sight I
know there is a wire I can feed off
I will pick cherries of laughter from it
That will burst into the pit of what our days have been
Burst into early morning goodnights
you make me smile
if you could see my face at the moment…
you would be able to go to sleep ,
with the promise of sweet dreams
because I’m not always close enough to see what you’ve seen
but I know these sights have held weight
and when you tell me even if you’re early
you always feel like you’re running late,
that’s what it means
your life has held my weight
You suggested we find a fireplace
to burn 3 am fruit cores
and let the flames of everything we would hide, blaze
but all this was said in a daze of anticipated sheets
and words began to drop between pillow case and breath
you will continue to uncover the colour of our conversations while you rest
right after my voice lulls you to sleep
I tried to make it melancholy sweet
Leaving you with
the comfort of a wooden ship creaking in waves that you are ever aware can hold you,
can hold you and your loved ones.
its been a while since your essence was present away from the busy city you live in
lets go on another road trip
lets allow ourselves the time to sit
and write poetry about how we have become lovesick
with my space and your boy who’s eyes blaze a few shades brighter
when your reflection catches them
you will meet him on a bridge towards ivy fields
and I will sing you both away…

all my song will know to say, is, be beautiful..
beautiful like rip-tide devastating sand running through hands less callused
beautiful like red lipstick on a black and white photograph
beautiful like friendship
beautiful like a goddess
be beautiful, like a woman

ash- wednesday

"though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings"
-T.S Elliot-

Leaning silo


Be our leaning silo
let us fill you with the memories we keep alive in our closets
heavy with others' scents
let us breath in our past lovers
let us breathe in images of dusty summers
and the warmth of a grandfathers knee
and when we reach the placid memories
the gaunt and empty
fill yourself
fill yourself with life
these lives
these lives
fill until it threatens to tip
and pull at your very foundation
because knowing a world's worth of sensations
is overwhelming
letit overflow and with it we will know
to absorb what in it was yours
we the field you stand in
we are the creaky floorboards
and cloths dampened with chloroform
lulling you to sleep
we will drain ourselves
we will drain you
and we will sleep...