human paradox

exhaust

2012-02-07T20:35:00.000-08:00

exhaust belches from midnight rigs,
as I sail through the greens,
I feel the past turn to plastic,
as I catch up to the traffic,

I try to pull more moments,
from our small moments,
but our small moments don't hold much more,
than a long, empty hallway,
or cold, deserted highway,

I try to stall time,
with a joke,
or a line,
but nothing comes to mind,

so I watch you from the window,
after you slip out the door.

in the parking lot

2012-01-31T19:29:00.000-08:00

in my mind I'm reaching,
one last beer way back in my fridge,
and I'm not even home,
and then it occurs to me,

on this restless, twisting ball,

under exquisite light,

from fractured stars,

in airless black space,

hurled into oneself,
the-thrown-back-into-oneself,

this majestic but wounded mystery,

lost in the snowy mists are,

my vain efforts,

my empty hopes,

the physically impossible,

which limits my dreams,
rendering a desperate soul,

lonely, broken, helpless,

sleeplessly turning,

through the night's steady pain,

but in the still dark air,

there is growing,

there is life still,

can I get a drop of,

can I get a taste of,

can I get a swallow of,

freedom,

measured against,

the weight of destiny,

I kick the ice,
and watch it shatter,
I feel my thoughts,
recoil and scatter,
a singer on the radio says "courage didn't come,"

and that it doesn't matter.

the line and the circle

2012-01-28T10:51:00.000-08:00

the mind is a straight line,
the heart is a circle,
to pursue the true,
we must go through,
the Samsāra up and down,
as we do.

olympian at the gym

2012-01-22T19:17:00.000-08:00

you came alone,
a beautiful face,
your upper body toned,
strong with lean muscle,
like an Olympian,
your legs looked like they had been broken,
malformed or maybe paralyzed at one time,
you walked with two canes,
your self-respect commanded my respect,
I was impressed by you,
and I wanted to kiss your lips,
I thought about what making love to you might be like,

you moved with efficiency and purpose,
by the tyranny of your will,
against the natural god-given resistance,
and entropy,
in this cold dungeon gym,
your bravery made mine seem invisible,
your adversity made mine seem irrelevant,

one side determines the other,

like highway lights,
our life flies by,

I try to switch the mind,
and crack on.

parlour games (les jeux de salon)

2012-01-10T19:46:00.000-08:00

whether park or parlour,
I'll sit,
amongst the carved and serious faces,
who have seen seasons change,
lovers come and go,
traditions become strange,
friends become strangers,
I'll have a couple for my shot nerves,
a few more to placate that fickle collective conscience,
a couple more in praise of self-amusement,
for in this Night,
no, life, of the Long Knives,
I intend to get loose,
get gone,
don't mind if I do,
and if I may,
I'll play,
along the way,
a few jeux de salon.

we used to be old

2012-01-07T19:28:00.000-08:00

king of hearts,
on a thrift shop highball glass,
we were,
shelled,
bound,
unreachable,
but we cut ourselves free,
now we live out in the Difference,
opening,
changing,
being,
summoning imperfect courage,
you said not to worry 'bout nothin,'
and now I barely remember,
when I used to be old.

hands that feed

2012-01-04T20:10:00.000-08:00

I couldn't sleep so I went out under a dark sky in search of a darker bar. I went in. I ordered two fingers straight up. A poet was on a corner stage, silhouetted through smoky shadows reciting, ranting and shouting in the darkness at the darkness. I had read her before, maybe heard her. She had a way of wrapping my empty feelings with exquisite words. I sat deep and listened deeper. When the glass was done I slipped out and shuffled home, where on the couch I fell into a deep sleep.

I dreamt of tall ships on a black, twisting ocean, untouched shores under a white moon, a small house hidden in fog with golden light in the windows. I was walking towards it. I could hear laughter and music. I could hear songs sung by people whom I once loved and whom once loved me.

I awoke in the morning to radiant light. I gathered my thoughts and prepared myself to confront the setbacks and usual apocalypses of the day.

But in my mind was laughter and music. Songs sung by people I love and that love me still.

flags

2012-01-01T20:05:00.001-08:00

boatloads of pretentious, self-proclaimed poets with dog-eared notebooks from lint-filled pockets sink down smugly into comfy bookstore chairs slurping expensive tea, awkwardly wording their way past the thesis then the anti-thesis seeking a synthesis only to find another thesis waiting like a religious relic silhouetted in the window light of a new year's day sun,

but the best poets line the beds of over-capacity homeless shelters and push stamps over the glass counters of food banks, holding out for another day, another month, another year of inspiration borne of rotted teeth and tear drenched cheeks enduring the new days which sting like busted hearts of lonely misfit kids in an over-capacity world, while quietly humble and grace-full thoughts and deeds are drowned out by the bloated chanting of pop-culture, reckless investors, war makers and chest-beating Christians raising their proud flags in the public square,

but the there is no flag for truth,

it works tirelessly, often alone, in the darkness, feeding on a hopeful honesty, slowly breaking down ramparts and embracing paradox and, like us, it never "ends" because it never "began," it was always regenerating and regenerating again, like the universe does, so when we are gone we are replaced by others,

apocalypses only happen in the soul because we raise flags that block the new year's day sun,

God has no country.

Love has no church.

Truth has no religion.

Let the new year be happy.

Happy Holidays

2011-12-24T06:54:00.001-08:00

to the universe of races, religions, traditions and faiths,
to the atheists,
to those who believe in God but not that Jesus of Nazareth was the only true God,
to those that do,
to those who are not really interested either way and are cool with that,
to those who believe God exists but who have no faith in God,
to those who have been hurt by those who say they believe in God,
to those who are not sure what to believe but are cool with that,
to those who are still seeking something but not sure what,
to those who have had their land stolen and cultures pissed on by those who say they come in the name of God,
to those who did the raping, stealing and forced assimilation in the name of God,
to those who are completely private about their beliefs and go about their good work quietly without seeking applause,
to those who won't shut up about the good work they do and are always seeking applause,
to those who see the glass as half-empty,
to those who see the glass as half-full,
to those who point out that both views are correct,
to those who are forces of unity and understanding,
to those people who would divide,
to those who understand sometimes both behaviours are correct,
to those who follow the "law of non-contradiction,"
to those that understand "paradox,"
to those who understand that both views are correct,
to those that believe in the separation of church and state,
to those that don't,
to those just walking around looking for beauty,
for faith and hope,
who are sick of everybody's bullshit,
and the constant and insipid verbal vomit of political and religious "language,"
toughing it out in this world of hurt,
and, maybe some days, still believe in love...

...happy holidays (if you are taking any),

and if you find joy, spread some around.

black leather gloves

2011-12-19T21:07:00.000-08:00

thick and tight,
tense and tough,
jeans over work boots,
any night is enough,
dim bulbs in rusty sockets,
black leather gloves in back pockets,
beers go down,
hockey on the screen,
it gets rough,
then it gets mean,
spinning minds and cold stares,
girlfriends start to fuss and pout,
takes only a second to get the gloves out,
nowhere to go,
amidst the trucks and cars,
red blood on white snow,
under a black sky and white stars.

(the tip of my hat to my buddies from small towns)

the gods are gone

2011-12-03T07:32:00.000-08:00

woman leans against the bus stop,
headphone hiss from a skater's trip hop,

I gasp,
like a child,
thrown to the waves,

I crumple,
like an old man punched,
too tired to defend himself,

I reach,
like an addict,
for the joy of what's killing me,

I pray,
to gods that are long gone,

we've been left to:
produce,
innovate,
humanize,
and re-value our "values,"

like beaten blacksmiths of a rusted and weathered guild,
to tear down and re-build,

so if the gods are gone,
is it wrong...
to feel a rescue coming on?

the horseman

2011-11-16T18:55:00.000-08:00

slowly hypnotized by the yellow lines,
and with so long to ride,
I can close my eyes,
to see birds pulling at the skin of road kill,
to see a twisted tree,
aflame in a burnt out field,
I can see an old man coughing,
a haggard, macabre cough,
trying to breathe through his tears,
trying to make sense now,
trying to find meaning,
to their preaching,
that life is beautiful,
a bonus,
when all he feels is alone in this,
in his thrownness,
through his tears he can see,
the credits rolling up,
for him, you and me,
I close my eyes to see,
...the rider.

two in the pink

2011-11-08T20:09:00.000-08:00

shocking painful beauty

futile reaching for the untouchable

I cry quietly

back to the lab

2011-11-03T19:55:00.000-07:00

in a moment,
the cracks appear,
in a moment,
hearts jump with the markets,
in a moment,
fear spreads,
in a moment,
the appearance of certainty ends,

pride melts down to the sin,

payback begins,

a blind man feels the wall as he walks,

like a writer looking for the words,

in a moment,

come to the darkness,

sit amidst the fractured thoughts,

in a moment,

come to emptiness,

coming-into-being, passing-away,

in a moment,
you could be me,
I could be you,
take a moment,
to be free,
so we can see,
that what we believe,
is see-through.

the shit people move at night

2011-10-26T15:03:00.000-07:00

a few quarters for the newspaper on the bus floor no one picks up,
and the lactose and sugared caffeine in the cup,
a few dollars for the suffering,
a few ideas for the road,
a few things I meant to tell you,
a few bombs ready to explode,
a few smiles while you placate the nagging bloodsuckers,
a few nods while I move aside for the wives and their big diamond rings,
while I roll out the red carpet,
drop rose petals,
and shower gratuities,
on Ottawa wives with their big diamond rings,
a few moments for a homeless man's rant,
a few moments before and few moments after,
a few sounds,
that sound like love trying not to cry,
which kind of sounds like laughter,
a few thoughts because I don't have much,
but don't want much more,
a few steps through a darkened door,
a few bottles of beer under a dingy light,
another for the bumping and scraping,
and then a few more,
to celebrate the shit people move at night.

600 litres

2011-10-03T18:47:00.001-07:00

600 litres of rain,
falling down,
through a black wind,
crippling a routine city night,
with rusted railings,
and thinned out metal floors,
shadows light shaky cigarettes,
and spit smoke,
into the misty street light haze,
fatigued glances at hurried coffee shop patrons,
running to dodge the wet bullets from the cold sky,
lines of hollow eyes sit on cheap chairs,
sit, in the quiet rain,
wishing the summer back,
but it's gone,
her name was "Summer,"
but she's gone,
so pull something new,
from your dreams on a cold night,
think of something new,
to write on fresh pages,
play a Neil Young song,
get out a snifter,
some B&B,
and put the kettle on.

Gratitude (by the legendary Beasties)

2011-09-08T20:00:00.000-07:00

"good times gone, but you missed them
what's gone wrong in your system?
things they bounce just like a Spalding,
what'd you think, you miss your calling?
it's so free this kind of feeling,
it's like life, it's so appealing
when you got so much to say

it's called gratitude,

good times gone, but you feed it
hate's grown strong, you feel you need it,
just one thing do you know,
what you think that the world owes you?
what's gonna set you free,
look inside and you'll see,

when you got so much to say,

it's called gratitude."

no. 3

2011-09-08T19:17:00.001-07:00

on the no. 3,
there's a guy with no teeth,
reading "The Executioner" close to his nose,
an older man with a lunch bag,
having a feast,
a rather large beauty,
with a rip in her hose,
some people stare intently into their phones,
some people sit quietly alone,
old Asian ladies with grocery boxes,
IPod wearing college foxes,

the no. 3,
rides like the hard truths,
so hard to see,
like this time of changing kingdoms,
and an Arab Spring,
like the doctor telling me,
to switch from coffee to tea,
like when the girls I like,
don't like me,

rock n' roll is my life boat,
in a pop culture sea,

C'est la vie,

on the no.3.

midnight Kinhin

2011-08-25T19:57:00.000-07:00

rivers of the mind,
float me out to Wolfe lake,
on the moon stained waves,
where I can sink to the bottom,
and count the ragged bones of dead men,
bind them up in fishing line,
and throw them on the fire light,
made of crackling flames,
like a heart pounding in a dark city night...

...down the hall now,
of Derbyshire Lodge,
following the abbot,
he looks like Old Olie,
but walks too fast to tell,
but I know where we are going,
hard through the thicket,
of the hammering hospital headaches,
I know where we are going,
past an open grave,
past an old empty stage,
up the mountain,
to see the sage,
who will ask you,
to ask yourself,
the unanswerable question...

pulling for a rapture

2011-08-24T19:22:00.000-07:00

a dubious eschatology,
taught by mum's and dad's,
tales of a king's watchful eye,
to keep the children,
from eating cookies before supper,
from having dirty thoughts,
from playing hooky,

injections of fear and self-loathing,
cultist fables of a sudden disappearance,
loved ones gone forever in a moment,
others left to die,
should you choose to not believe,

in a tyrant in the sky,

created by weak men,
angry at their fathers,
who yet longed for their love,
no favour from the one on earth,
so they'll make a new one above,

complexes stacked on top of complexes,
landfills of guilt and resentment,
chicken wire of hateful judgement,
bounded and rusty,
years of seclusion and fractured friendships,
have built an impenetrable immunity to truth,
intelligence, education, creativity and authenticity,

a longing,
a hope,
a way out,
from a cruel world,
the same one created...
for you?
by Him?

I'm sorry I'm confused by your fervent proselytizing,

while you bemoan my casual dress and duress

you shout words of sin and redemption,

but I only hear form and emptiness.

scatter

2011-08-21T19:29:00.000-07:00

wind torn,
and unkempt,

slip your cast,
of hardened resignation,

dive into the form,

this rigidity,
this anomaly,
this flow,

hold tight,
for the approaching storm,
tides of unknown pain,
squalls of poisonous rain,

scatter the binding dread,
and drink silver rivers,
pulled by the exploding sun,

you should know by now,
there is no tomorrow.

brokenheartist

2011-08-10T15:41:00.000-07:00

it's good to keep it tight with brokenheartists,
fifty bucks a month,
open early to late,
jump ropes,
heavy bags,
worn canvas,
kettle bells,

it's good to break a sweat with brokenheartists,
in a rusty gym,
where ghosts wait between shafts of sunlight,
dust flies and flickers off broken mirrors,

I used to love a brokenheartist,
but she hated her daddy,

sparring hard to the foot-work rhythm,
when the bell rang,
she would catch her breath,
we'd sit together in the dark,
sometimes she'd be crying,
there was no consolation,
packing up,
I would leave and shut the lights,
and she would fly away,
to sleep quietly,
with the pigeons,
in the rafters,

see you in the morning brokenheartist.

please

2011-07-31T15:54:00.000-07:00

please furious sun

burn out our lying hearts

set us free

new blood through old veins

2011-07-21T19:11:00.000-07:00

to sit in the dark,
to swallow the humid wind,
to face the unknown,
or recall where you have been,
to build a set of beliefs,
or to see through them,
beautiful souls tangled in a twist of sin,

to go deeper,
is to go beyond
to be without,
is to go within,
to loosen,
to listen,
to open,
to overcome yourself,
is to begin.

wherever

2011-07-16T18:31:00.000-07:00

"I'm so sad," she said,
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked,
"I just need to escape...leave myself, y,'know?" she replied,
"Why are we so alone?" he asked himself under his breath,
"There's others here but I feel like I'm behind glass...and I want to break through..." she stated,
"Maybe you need to move out of yourself, touch the pain...your strong enough to do that," he replied,
"I don't know..." she said quietly,
"Look," he said pointing at the night sky,"the stars...contingent, apparitions of what was...like the spirit they eventually leave no trace."
"Where should I start?" she asked,
"You can start where we are...between the grit and the grace," he replied,
"so wherever?" she asked,
"Wherever," he replied.

hang back

2011-07-06T19:00:00.000-07:00

didn't stay long for Ben Harper,
The Roots were enough for me tonight,
they gave me what I was missing,
what I needed,
rawest of funk, soul and blues,
amongst the weed clouds,
white stars,
city scape,
sandals,
dreadlocks,
and titty bouncing tank tops,

together but different we are,

the illusion of unity,

the reality of interdependence,

changing chords,
changing thoughts,
Questlove breaks the chain,
with heavenly hits on the piccolo snare,
I hang back and let the bass vibrate my supper,
and watch drunken boys try for drunken kisses,
from their distracted texting girls.

low souls

2011-07-01T07:35:00.000-07:00

the void always itches,
a nagging lack,
the trembling voice of cold streets and colder people,

a failed economy,

a failed environment,

a failed church,

a failed community of empty minds,
wasting breath on useless conversation,
and silly superstitions,
trying to ward off their narcissistic fear of unrealized entitlement,
drilled into their modern western minds since childhood,
by "parental units,"

seems like everyone gets married,
and moves into a bubble,
everyone gets divorced from their friends,
to be with their spouses,
but,
there is still a community...

of low souls,

they live where the nights are lonely,
and the days are worse,
wading through leftover lives,
broken hearts and insane lovers,
they continue to breathe,
create and build with what's been discarded,
and continue to fellowship and grow,
with those whom the Almighty, Vengeful and Jealous God has withheld his blessing.

transcender

2011-06-27T19:10:00.000-07:00

wind worn and rain chipped,

a body covered in a million cuts,

aching and burning with unrelenting swelling,

buckling hard against the midnight sun,

the mind becomes twisted, torn and begins to bleed,

the soul is an empty room,

at the end of an endless hallway,

echoing with lonely screams,

stop.

listen.

watch.

- break it open -

feel the body start to move,

the mind start to clear,

the soul begin to laugh,

now drive harder to where you can give without receiving,
you don't notice the heavier burden,

and the heart explodes in the four directions.

between the documents

2011-06-23T16:46:00.000-07:00

clustered paper mountains,
swallowed boredom counts the hours,
hundred miles up,
suspended earth turns in galactic magic,
infinite miles out,
time was an idea

lines on the brow

2011-06-20T18:13:00.000-07:00

oh youth,
I've grown older,
lines on my brow,
a prisoner of time,
I've lost the Now,
structured by externals,
a figure in the window,
a shadow on the wall,
an empty face at the shopping mall,

oh youth,
don't destroy,
but, rather, create
don't break down,
but, rather, rebuild
don't resign,
but, rather, engage

inject me...
infuse me...
energize me...
animate me...

help me remember...

the way that transcends all ways,
where what dies does not end,
for someday you too will be old,
but we will meet then,
and we will all be young again.

through

2011-06-13T18:50:00.001-07:00

hollow grey births a whipping wind,
cigarette butts and grocery bags,

I'm just trying to make it through the day,

overzealous case wants to fall in love again,
with empowered sluts and bearded hags,

I'm just trying to make it through the day,

Apple phone ring tone app finds implants for a clone's ass,
dropped coins in rusty ruts make the hands on the clock sag,

when you ask, I'll say 'I'm doing OK,"

but I barely made it through the day.

by-product

2011-06-08T16:58:00.001-07:00

by-product

tend your investments,

straighten your tie,

make loud guffaws of fake laughter,

get to know that guy,

by-product

get yourself on the board,

win the award,

win the resentful approval,

reach, grab, hold, hoard

by-product

you never did anything,

the puzzle pieces were already laid out for you,

you just put them in the right hole,

you never chose you,

by-product

you'll never fit in

there's nowhere to fit,

you've been everywhere,

but you've never really been

by-product

you don't appreciate

the food that touches your lips,

the emptiness, the wandering, the darkest moment,

the damp valleys and icy tips,

life's quiet, unrecognized, underestimated finds,

like the sun shooting through the blinds.

some pain

2011-05-31T19:30:00.000-07:00

some pain never goes away,

intrinsic,

contingent,

immediate,

felt with the nerves,

and heart,

it aches through the night,

and walks miles in the cold,

to ease the pain of another,

the roller coaster climbs,

then lets loose,

some feel joy,

while others watch,

some pain is wisdom,

is self-knowledge,

is noble,

some pain,

helps us swallow vanity,

to help us live,

it is righteousness,

it is our own,

it lets us know the other,

and it will be our salvation,

and someday, will give us peace.

gusher

2011-05-17T19:54:00.001-07:00

I hate when the bass is weak,
I hate when there's only wine and no beer,
Who has only wine and no beer?
Who does that?
I hate pretentious hipsters,
I hate when Christians gush over Jesus,
I hate broken glass on the rug,
I hate "smartphones,"
I hate when the drums are weak,
I hate "dating,"
I hate last second exit signs,
I hate formula TV,
I hate "leaders,"
I hate weddings,
I hate when the moon is hidden by clouds,
I hate that Christians think that Jesus would have liked gushers,

I hate the endless nights...

I really hate those fucking endless nights.

the holy

2011-05-09T20:11:00.001-07:00

on a Monday,
I try to remember,
to forget everything,
to accept here and now,
that the breath is the anchor,

to know,
the self beyond the body,
before the heart is clothed,
before I hide my soul,
that there's no inner,
that there's no outer,
to move beyond the darkness,
to stop having this violence,
this tossing and turning,
this fretting and fighting,

this static coming through...
this hectic static coming through...
this panic coming through...

to understand,

that what is concealed,

is truly naked,

that what is meaningless,

is truly sacred.

damp

2011-05-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

I'm sort of stock,
like a pick up line,
in a night club,
like a hipster sipping Pabst Blue,
like a cliche with a condom in it's pocket,
but you're like rain,
always falling,
in May,
grinding on my nerves,
keeping everything damp.

tundra

2011-04-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

to return,
to pry open,
to pierce stone,
to recover the days of the orange sun,
of hope that would swell,
bursting energy,
excitement slicing through,
the lush green fields,
through rushing rivers,
the lost tundra,
the fresh wind,
to hold that,
again,
to have it,
box it,
bronze it,
keep it,
lock it down,
forever,

I could use it these days,

of cyber hugs,

digital kisses,

plastic skin,

rotten land,

and oceans of sewage.

black turning

2011-04-15T15:27:00.001-07:00

black turning inside,

holding when you wanna fly,

knock it out.

we will return

2011-04-11T18:27:00.001-07:00

it was repeated in my dream,

"is there beauty in the horror?"

she said:
open up the windows,
open up the doors,
open up the gates,
open the dams,
flood the rivers,
let the rains pour down,

relinquish us from us

rise
up
out
of
the
water

onto the earth

notice the sun shining down,
notice your shadow on the ground,
notice the faces all around,
notice the plane in the sky,
notice the sound.

in five years

2011-03-28T18:19:00.001-07:00

you're right.
it is a shame.
it's a shame that I need these drinks,
that we sit face to face,
in this restaurant and I need these drinks,
to keep myself amused,
to dull your voice,
to take the edge off your opinions,
about "sex" and "men" and "love,"
because you really are talking about nothing,
and I am bored,
it's a shame that I need these drinks,
because you just don't get it,
all you care about is bullshit,
bullshit that really isn't there but you have dramatized,
and created in your own mind,
because deep inside you are unfulfilled like me,
it's a shame that I need to keep pounding these drinks,
because I can't listen to any more of your proselytizing,
about what you think you understand,
how smart you think you are,
and where you see yourself in five years,
it's shame that I need these drinks,
because I'm looking right at you,
but I couldn't be any farther away,
you don't listen,
you have it all planned out,
but you'll learn,
like I did,
life will awaken you,
and then,
like me,
you will need these drinks.

storms

2011-03-17T19:21:00.000-07:00

on grey rainy days,
I'm washed back,
swept down into,
my younger years,
standing in my Grandmother's house,
in her living room,
in the quiet shadows,
of an evening,
looking at a painting on her wall,
a clipper ship,
cutting dark blue waves of the sea,
gulls above the masts,
and perched on the deck,
navigating the black skies,
pushed and pulled,
there was a loneliness,
but a strength of aloneness,
plunging through the churning waters,
to the shore,
a courage to be,
amidst the fear,
amidst the risk,
and merciless storms,

her house is gone now,
the painting too,
I kept it in my mind,
so when my storms come,
I close my eyes to see it.

driftwood

2011-03-14T20:39:00.001-07:00

there's not much time,
there's not much time,
the rivers are aflame,
we've blown out our mind,
we can't seem to fix it,
it's all gone to hell,
the ass has fallen out,
the devil's ringing bells,
there's no more cheques to cash,
no more oil to steal,
the new world nightmare,
has turned peace on it's heel,

so don't close the door,
when I wash up onto the shore,
like some broken driftwood from the sea,

salvage me.

the problem with artists

2011-03-03T18:48:00.000-08:00

art is built from the inside out,
it's creativity-in-itself,
not a hat,
scarf,
or cool pair of shoes,
that's expression, not art
not glorious reflections,
on memories ad nauseum,
or pages of effervescent ramblings,
back road nostalgia,
old cars or black and white photos,
city scapes in moonglow,
or folksy tunes about the rustling fields of youth strummed through G, A-minor to C,
it's not a jailhouse tattoo or dyed hair,
it's not comedy or tragedy,
or a uniformed dance or poetic pause,

these are forms...

it's creativity-in-itself,
a "trans-valuation,"
art exists beyond opposites,
and you have to be empty to get to it,
art transcends itself,
but the artist is lost in form,
trying to show the world...
trying to show the world just how special they are goddamn it,
I'm above this! I can't possibly lower myself to do that!
but art is built from the inside out,
it's creativity-in-itself,
it happens everywhere,
all the time,
but the artist forgets everyone's an artist,
and the artist's freedom is earned just like every one else,
and we transcend ourselves,
and we're all special goddamn it,
and we should be empty,
because you have to be empty to get to it,
and it's creativity-in-itself,
not just something by "artists."

doze

2011-02-25T19:03:00.001-08:00

out there,
I don't always hear lyrics,
I sometimes just hear beats and sounds,
out there,
where it's cold,
and rough,
and feels like a fucking merry-go-round,
streets of fire,
streets of ice,
lines and arrows,
stops and go's
liars and ex-lovers,
snot drips from my nose,
I never really sleep,
just sort of lightly doze,

the heart is a coin,
one side anger,
flip-side care,
and if I could,
I probably should,
there's so much work to do out there.

"I wear ties. The ties that bind me to this crazy world."
-The Square Corner (2011) responding to the question: Do you wear ties?

HP's Rock Feature 2: Black Dub

2011-02-17T17:15:00.000-08:00

I have been listening to a few tracks by these guys over and over lately. Man, they sound damn sweet. Before you visit the Black Dub site, can you recognize the older fella on guitar? Hint: He's one of the coolest producers ever! Trixie Whitley (vocals), Brian Blade (drums), Daryl Johnson (Bass) and...

"Black Dub" in the studio - "Nomad Knows" from Daniel Lanois on Vimeo.

flashing blue

2011-02-16T19:03:00.001-08:00

another day bled,
another night,
you slept soundly,
in blankets tight,
muttering quietly,
as your dreams took flight,
I watched shadows dance,
in nocturnal delight,
to the rhythm,
of the salt truck's,
flashing blue light.

stabilizer

2011-02-13T16:35:00.000-08:00

elevator to the top,
elevator to the bottom,
elevator to the side,
a complex, absurd ride,
so much buried underneath the snow,
anger,
sadness,
anxiety,
together they grow,

you said we were in this together,
how come it doesn't ever feel like it?

ah, this terrible honesty

2011-02-09T19:22:00.000-08:00

the emptiness of your glory,
the sad ending to your story,
the wear in your rosary,
the tear in your hosiery,
the tremble in your security,
the fan to the flame of your misery,
the cramp in your agility,
the limit of your ability,
the intensity of your repentance,
the lack of divine acceptance,
the lost rhythm in your rhyme,
the clouds in your sunshine,
the undone on your to-do list,
the swing,
the miss,
the chapped lips in your kiss.

southpaw

2011-02-07T20:00:00.001-08:00

old faces,
low places,
salt stained jeans,
snowy shoe laces,
slushy night,
street light,
a few pitchers in,
feeling alright,

life's an angry bully,
begging you to fight,
going for the choke,
ripping your coat,
so check your stance,
and throw a quick jab to the throat.

grey

2011-02-05T09:23:00.000-08:00

from time to time,
we'll die,
die right down there,
in a shirt and tie,
die so dead,
we'll be too dead to cry,

then we'll slip into the Bardo

we will fight devils,
wrestle with angels,
meet the Great Faker,
brother of the son of the Maker,

in a blink of an eye,
we will be here again,
we will have come alive,
back to breathe the air,
and watch birds fly,
into the grey sky.

mind racer

2011-02-02T20:46:00.001-08:00

been down,
dirt down,
low to the ground,
holy ground,

earth,

air,

water,

fire,

I see you out there,
on the water,
mind racer,
hanging there on the edge,
getting twisted,
getting thrown,

brother get on out of that bothered mind,
sister get on out of that bothered mind,

come to shore,
stop talking,
and sit awhile,

the soul is an ocean,

hold nothing.

HP's Rock Feature 1

2011-02-01T18:44:00.000-08:00

Cherished readers, I haven't written anything half-decent lately so I'm introducing a new element here at the Human Paradox. From time to time, I will feature a band of my choice, a song by them perhaps, maybe a video clip, maybe just the audio. Tonight's feature is Motörhead. Lemmy is the lead singer and is an icon. Lyrics below the vid.

Get Back In Line

"We live on borrowed time, hope turned to dust,
Nothing is forgiven we fight for every crust.
The way we are is not the way we used to be my friend,
All things come to he who waits, the waiting never ends.

We are the chosen few; we are the frozen crew,
We don’t know what to do, just wasting time.
We don’t know when to quit, we don’t have room to spit,
But we’ll get over it, get back in line.

Stuck here ten thousand years, don’t know how to act,
Everything forgotten, specially the facts.
The way we live is running scared; I don’t like it much,
All things come to he who waits but these days most things suck.

We are the chosen ones, we don’t know right from wrong,
We don’t know what’s going on, don’t know enough to care.
We are the dogs of war; don’t even know what for,
But we obey the law, get back in line.

We are trapped in luxury, starving on parole,
No one told us who to love, we have sold our souls.
Why do we vote for faceless dogs? We always take the bait.
All things come to he who waits, but all things come too late.

We are the sacrifice, and we don’t like advice,
We always pay the price, pearls before swine.
Now we are only slaves, already in our graves,
And if you think that Jesus saves, get back in line.
If you think that Jesus saves, get back in line."

24 minus 8

2011-01-27T18:09:00.000-08:00

everything seemed fine,
car was serviced,
eye doctor gave me the thumbs up,
picked up a few things at the grocery,
including the right ingredients for chicken pizza,
traffic wasn't bad,
Oscar Peterson on the car stereo,
one more stop,
the finest of retailers,
the retailer of brewers,

"24 Sleeman Original Draught please."

The trunk was loaded and shut,
I headed home.

When things go smoothly,
I find myself waiting for things to go wrong,

pulling out the groceries,
I tugged a little too hard on the box of beer,
it tore and fell over the edge onto the pavement,
an explosion of froth and glass,
a puddle of gold,
I felt the pity filled eyes of the passers-bys,

"Oh look at that poor drunken man...he broke all his booze,"
they would mutter,

"Hey I'm sober! I dropped the case!
Why don't you mind your own business!" I would yell.

With bloodied hands I gathered up the glass,
bagged the unshattered remaining,
and went in,

I put the remaining in the fridge,
soon they were chilled,
I popped the cap,
with bandaged fingers I threw it back.

It was good.

It was cold.

It was what I thought it would be.

24 minus 8 leaves 16,

no hole is as big as it seems.

the truth is not out there

2011-01-22T18:36:00.000-08:00

if I could collect all the things I love,
put them on a shelf high above,
they would be touched by no one else,
I would have them there all to myself,

if I could push all these rocks from my way,
I would slip on easier through the day,
but I'd have nothing left to write,
nothing much to say come the night,

there is something hard to realize,
love is letting go of what we'd keep at our side,
trying to hold what wants to fly,
is as pointless as tears of regret from an old man's eyes,

truth is not a childhood dream,

truth is not an eschatological surprise,

truth is what's left when you subtract the lies,

this could be the moment when you rise.

up in the Falls

2011-01-17T19:16:00.001-08:00

day off from duty,
sleeping bags,
change of clothes,
shit kickers,
box of Slee,'
pack a' smokes,
slam some strings,
whistle dogs cook,
phone call,
some directions,
Olie's old man's concerned look,
house party,
country style,

case of 50 for dinner,
case of 50 for breakfast,
Leppard, Ozzy, Merle Haggard,
rooms and faces cloaked in smoke,
spin slow then fast,
rifle rack unlocked,
buckshot everywhere,
shot gun blasts,
into the night,
cowboy boots and underwear,
out cold in the basement,
Woodstock on the TV,
somewhere in the darkness,
a girl from Port Elmsley took a run at me,
morning burns,
empty bottles on the grass,
wave to the cuz through the backseat glass,
rough ride back,
pull over for a vomit splash,
tell the boss to hold your calls,
next time you're up in the Falls.

photo D. Neutel

repentance

2011-01-15T16:07:00.000-08:00

If I have spent all my hard earned money,
on my friends,
on late nights,
on strong drink,
on passing fads,
and frivolous toys,
on rich foods,
on nature's herb,
for a feeling of peace,
or the perfumed hand of a stripper,
on her soft dark curves,
in a darkened room,
on these temporary moments,
held together by laughter and argument,
the energy,
the healing,
the religion of music,
chatter and silence,
business,
then play,
contemplation,
then rest,
if, but,
to loosen the grip,
of the constant sorrow,

then what shall I repent of?

when I'm god-damned glad I did it.

the grass below

2011-01-12T18:48:00.000-08:00

on the cusp of the year,
whiskey, beer, wine,
cars humping cars,
in a long traffic line,

salt stains boots,
the economy slows,
work thins out,
free time grows,

free time, me time,
re-evaluate and put it in perspective,
why does every choice have to be so selective?

is there a perfect route to take?
a perfect plan to make?
image of success,
appearance of achievement,
do I want another piece of this plastic cake?

I'll try to get by,
I'll try to push through,
after all I'm getting pretty good at getting by without you,

hard road behind,
rough road to go,
what turns the snow yellow,
waters the grass below.

flatulizer

2011-01-10T19:28:00.000-08:00

the old man sits relaxed,
deep into a wooden bench,
the bus is nowhere,
he lazily rocks to one side,
and postures a serious grimace,
unselfconsciously unleashing,
a hard, violent fart,
the sharp growl cuts through the morning quiet,
shattering the peace,
as it echoes into infinity off surfaces of nearby buildings,
women gasp,
children explode into frightened tears,
birds take flight,
men scramble,
choking,
greedily hunting and gulping new air.

the usual

2011-01-05T17:49:00.001-08:00

sounds like you're turning over a new leaf,
well, it sounds like you're making a new plan anyway,
sounds like you're looking to the future with ambition and resolve,
sounds like you've grown a pair,
sounds like you've got some big expectations,
sounds like you're realizing that,
sounds like you're concerned with feasibility,
sounds like it may be a bigger challenge than first thought,
sounds like you may not actually go ahead with it,
sounds like you're dreaming up excuses,
sounds like nothing's gonna change here...

sounds like the usual.

behind us

2010-12-30T17:00:00.000-08:00

padlock on a rusty gate,
table with candles,
candy and cake,
disappear behind abstract talk,
concealed,
laughter loud and fake,

where do we go?
into the crowds or behind the curtain?
into the sound or behind the mind?
wanderer,
no-mad,
drifter,
deserts,
tundras,
streets,
highways,
hallways,
doorways,
to rooms,
to beds,
to dreams,
portholes,
tunnels,
ever seeking...

I am,
so many other places,
so many other parts.

death by shopping cart

2010-12-20T20:03:00.001-08:00

shoppers salivate,
grab their angst,
and grind their teeth,
open the cattle gate,
tear in,
like a snowplow over a sewer grate,
meet the demand,
get the deal,
grab the boxes,
an old lady squeals,
"It's not like it was in the old days,
people were courteous and had respect for their elders!"

The place went silent,
you could hear an angel fart,
the old lady was dead,
run over by a shopping cart.

this place

2010-12-12T20:03:00.000-08:00

can I go away with you?
this place is cold and lonely,
my friends have gone,
they have been replaced by things,

can I come away with you?
this place is dark and I always feel sick here,
it's empty and there's no one to talk to,

can I tag along with you?
I hate coming home to this place,
to the deafening silence,
to these thoughts,
to these memories,

is there something I can do for you?
that might give me a reason,
a way,
to help me carry myself,
away from here?

...because I don't like this place.

enemy

2010-12-09T13:56:00.000-08:00

people on TV shout it,
politicians proclaim it,
teachers teach it,
preachers preach it,
coffee shop folk conspire it,
families pray it,
people at work avoid it,
people on the bus pontificate on it,
students argue about it,
some soldiers are convinced of it,
others aren't,

...but how can you be my enemy?

I don't even know you.

butter chicken

2010-12-09T13:34:00.000-08:00

false teeth,
greasy comb,
leather pants,
dollar store cologne,
cheap motel,
cheaper bed,
bad whiskey leads to,
bad dreams,
about a bullet to the head,
cold days,
colder nights,
ever walk the streets alone?

ever check the coin slot on a parking lot pay phone?

pick up the flu,
from dirty dishes,
dirty hands,
ever feel like no one understands?

feeling sick,
but the clock keeps tickin'
stuck somewhere between,
a bleeding tattoo,
and a plate of butter chicken.

tossing and turning

2010-12-05T20:15:00.000-08:00

oldman,
tosses and turns,
watches the clock,
tries to take stock,
but loses the memories in the clouds of thought,
one day blurs into the next,
moments strung together,
like a frayed rope,
hard to cope,
burning, craving, yearning,
known in youth,
but lost with age,
disappointment and despair,
disappearing into thin air,
calcified bones and a steady pain,
he dreams of being young again,
but he wakes into the early dawn,
a reluctant yawn,
outside the window,
a gentle snow falling,
a gentle voice calling,
from somewhere inside,
through so many years,
through so many miles,
"Time is now,"
...he smiles.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

now a word from The Boss, dedicated to all you wanderers out there.
I was 11 when this song came out. Can you identify the actor that gets pulled onto the stage at the end of the video?

black city

2010-12-01T19:24:00.001-08:00

black city,
breathes steam,
over greasy streets,
a dishwasher smokes a cigarette,
and watches cops drink coffee,
in an idling cruiser,
whores, junkies, bums,
united in their collective despair,
high rise lights,
throw yellow beams into the foggy air,
bus brakes hiss and pop,
street corner preacher starts from the top,
baby dreams to a Thelonious Monk tune,
a brokenhearted drunk,
mutters softly,
to a brokenhearted moon.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Get lots of pics for this blog from www.daylife.com. The caption with this photo read: "Father River Sims, a Catholic priest, right, speaks with a homeless man in San Francisco on Sunday, Nov. 21, 2010. Sims, a former sex worker who spends most nights handing out food, condoms, socks and needles, says, "I don't pay attention to what the pope says. Never Have. I've done needle exchange and condoms for years. I go by what people need."

dragon

2010-11-29T20:05:00.000-08:00

dragon in the street,
dragon in my room,
dragon on the ocean,
dragon on the moon,

dragon in the woods,
dragon on the town,
every time I see that dragon,
I get to feeling down,

black eyed stare,
chewing on a bone,
mommy never loved him,
heart cold like stone,

rough skinned dragon,
always spoiling for a fight,
watching me bleed,
the only thing that makes you feel alright,

dragon drank my whiskey,
then passed out on my bed,
I see that dragon everywhere,
he lives in my head.

night guard

2010-11-23T19:23:00.000-08:00

I used to be a night guard,
like the night guards that sign me out,
a coffee stained journal,
and an old radio,
a chair worn down from long shifts behind flickering console monitors,
a lunchbox and a Maclean's magazine,
pencils scattered amongst
sports sections
and completed crosswords,
a ball of keys,
a late patrol,
a black sky,
a cigarette under a full moon,
I used to be a night guard,
you dream with your eyes open,
when you're alone until noon.

ticket on the dash

2010-11-17T19:50:00.001-08:00

windy punch,
the ache of morning,
tired traffic,
and inconsistent coffee,
stern faces chew cash crunch sandwiches,
and hustle through mazes of parking lines,
ticket and receipt,
receipt and ticket,
"is there joy somewhere throughout this thicket?"
attendant looks at me over his glasses while handing me back cash,
"I don't know about that but I do know that it's five bucks more if you don't leave your ticket on the dash."

between periods

2010-11-13T18:48:00.001-08:00

fierce force,
open the boards,
mark the ice,
fierce fear,
warm above,
cold down here,
remember the plays,
under enemy gaze,
it don't feel nice,
the strategy ok'd,
but a choice was made,
didn't have a choice,
but to make a choice,
to play the game,
and give the anger a voice,

look to me,
I'll look to you,
to play through the pain,
through inclement weather,
ready for whatever,
we'll put it together,
between periods.

Toploader

2010-11-10T18:46:00.000-08:00

your love comes in Morse code,
a tarped load,
one shoe on the side of the road,
tossing and turning,
while memories are burning,
out of the comfort zone to begin learning,
stretching,
fretting,
sometimes regretting,
a meditation on forgetting,
how do we live in these times without letting ourselves get pounded,
by the beats of an eager heart,
draped over a rusty motor,
forever pumping blood to the flesh,
on the bones of the Toploader.

plunge

2010-11-07T14:34:00.000-08:00

it gets frightening,
face in the darkness,
voices in the hallway,
it gets tough,
alone with the sickness,
voices in the head,
it gets lonely,
wind in the woods,
rain on the roof,
it gets hurtful,
forgotten words,
heckler in the crowd,
it gets complex,
twisting highways,
unfamiliar streets,
it gets panicked,
food, shelter, safety,
sirens in the night,

resolve the outside,
through the inside,
so as not to hide from The Test,
but to plunge into it.

aye, Samhain!

2010-10-31T19:43:00.000-07:00

glimpse,
sense,
presence,
ghost in the mirror,
wetness,
coldness,
odor,
skeleton dances slowly,
candle,
web,
moon,
wind in the room,
spider,
owl,
raven,
blood drips quietly,
touch,
hold,
release,
woman in the painting,
old man,
bolts awake,
from a dream,

"who's there?"

woman in the painting whispers,
"It is the dead, they pray for you."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a comment from Old Olie got me thinking...
from Wikipedia:

Samhain marked the end of the harvest, the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darker half". It was traditionally celebrated over the course of several days. Many scholars believe that it was the beginning of the Celtic year. It has some elements of a festival of the dead. The Gaels believed that the border between this world and the otherworld became thin on Samhain; because so many animals and plants were dying, it thus allowed the dead to reach back through the veil that separated them from the living. Bonfires played a large part in the festivities. People and their livestock would often walk between two bonfires as a cleansing ritual, and the bones of slaughtered livestock were cast into its flames.

The Gaelic custom of wearing costumes and masks, was an attempt to copy the spirits or placate them. In Scotland the dead were impersonated by young men with masked, veiled or blackened faces, dressed in white. Samhnag — turnips which were hollowed-out and carved with faces to make lanterns — were also used to ward off harmful spirits.

The Gaelic festival became associated with the Catholic All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day, and has hugely influenced the secular customs now connected with Halloween, a name first attested in the 16th century as a Scottish shortening of the fuller All-Hallows-Even. Samhain continues to be celebrated as a religious festival by some neopagans.

recognize

2010-10-26T20:38:00.001-07:00

the mind is a thicket,
a dark woods,
tattered by hardened soil,
torn by thorns,

the mind is a midnight street,
wet with oil and litter,
lost drunks,
and mangy dogs,

the mind is starless sky,
stretching a lonely echo,
across a darkened valley,

the mind is an unruly ox,
tamed only by a master of reality,
with a boxer's resolve,

the mind is a house,
full of sounds,
and voices,

the mind is a room,
with cracks in the ceiling,
a window to rainy gloom,

a place to return,
where tangles unfurl,

the mind is a door to the world.

lady boss

2010-10-20T18:56:00.000-07:00

I work in a box,
I watch the clock,
I measure the money,
by the tick of the tock,
I cross the "T's,"
I dot the "i's,"
I deliver the deliverable,
and don't ask why,
no one hears you scream,
no one hears you cry,
cheap shirt,
cheap pants,
cheap tie,
I'll be your monkey,
at your beck and call,
just make sure you shake your ass when you walk down the hall,
hell, I'll do the chicken dance,
if,
when you lean,
I can see the cleavage,
in the back of your pants.

element

2010-10-18T18:07:00.000-07:00

wide wind,
crackling fire,
rushing water,
turning soil,
red sun,
open sky,
gypsy reads the lines in my hands,
psychic sees I'm gonna die,
pyramid the heart and mind,
to see the soul's third eye,
old pastor's certain I'm going to hell,
angel says "it's hard to tell,"
Devil whispers "it could be worse,"
white light gonna shoot through every dark verse,
old master's whiskey heats on the hearth,
baby sleeps,
and dreams about a new, blue earth.

dumpster

2010-10-17T20:17:00.000-07:00

there's an old rusty dumpster,
in the alley below my room,
it's where my soul goes when I dream,
it stays out all night,
and sings with drunks,
feeds homeless cats,
and watches the moon.

individual

2010-10-15T22:08:00.000-07:00

got friends,
who've gone to heaven,
got friends,
who've been to hell,
some stayed,
some returned,
oh, the stories they tell,
we long for one,
but we live in the two,
individual,
indivisible,
it doesn't matter if you don't,
and it doesn't matter if you do.

industrial park

2010-10-15T16:14:00.001-07:00

smoke stacks,
mechanic shops,
the belch of diesel,
the cynical eyes of a junkyard dog,
cubed cars
beget streams of leaking gas,
pop cans,
broken signs,
discarded hubcaps,
delivery men argue,
cops speed through,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
dumpsters drip rust,
bums wander hopelessly,
in fields of overgrown weeds,

time is drunken angel,
tired,
uncertain,
indifferent,

the heart becomes an industrial park.

alien

2010-10-13T20:23:00.000-07:00

to be the alien,
alone,
a man dead to his work is,
not extraterrestrial life,
not unauthorized immigrants,
but a man divorced from his passion,
survival,
competition,
to endeavor without significance,
to labour without meaning,
a stoic resolve,
repetition,
duty,
owned by the market,
the appearance of contribution,
how long can he stay busy?
the heart is neglected,
creativity is resented,
cold,
distant,
financial projections,
neurotic over-management,
transparent relationships,
chronic fatigue,
to escape one's own longings,
to be a product of duty,
self-unknown,
to be asleep,
to the freedom of choice,
to be the alien,
this is the essence of loneliness.

used to write rock songs, still do

2010-10-11T16:33:00.000-07:00

my simple poems are affected,
by years of writing rock songs,
never wrote anything outstanding,
is that so wrong?
had nothing to say on this Sunday night,
so I thought I'd put in an update,
had some turkey with family this weekend,
it tasted pretty great,
saw a homeless man giving thanks,
I guess it's never too late,
who knows?
someday I might have nothing,
but can a psychic pinpoint a date?
I've been a little down lately,
but I'm trying to look up,
a friend once told me,
drink deep of life's cup,
I often stay up at night,
stare at the stars and moon,
or just stare at the street lights,
outside my room,
I reach for my understanding of what I perceive as true,
when I think that I find it,
I realize I never do,
but when I need a boost,
I reach for a blog by you,
did I mention I write rock songs?
...I still do.

Roshi Dogen, Roshi Elvis

2010-10-09T22:10:00.000-07:00

"Life and death are of supreme importance. Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost. Each of us should strive to awaken. Awaken. Take heed, do not squander your life."

Dogen Zenji (1200 - 1253)

"A little less conversation, a little more action please."

Elvis Presley (1935-1977)

march

2010-10-02T17:02:00.000-07:00

long weeks,
sleepless nights,
paycheque and hair thins,
pot bellies and double-chins,
youthful memories,
packed in tea biscuit tins,
weddings and divorces,
professional development courses,
blue-toothed mid-lifers,
driving Porsches,
office birthday, a bottle uncorks,
sugar cake and a plastic fork,
how'd I end up in this march of the dorks?
just wanna have a round with my friends,
play guitar on a porch,
hold a little bit left of the fight,
quietly watch the night,
slowly swallow the evening light.

clock on the wall

2010-09-26T15:53:00.001-07:00

the clock on the wall,
was the clock in his head,
a friend lay fading,
on a broken bed,
nurses, doctors,
needles, medications,
prognosis,diagnosis,
anatomical extrapolations,
this was the fall of a man,
a fall of nations,
a shadow, an echo,
a crumbling of the foundations,
of what had been built,
through time,
through fight,
yet quickly,
in the night,
the very sickness that would make a struggle,
to get from bed to urinal,
reduce truth to a kernel,

would in a breath,
take what was temporal,
and make it eternal.

(photo by D. Neutel)

convergence

2010-09-21T17:52:00.000-07:00

slip away from this brick and mortar world,
into checkered beats,
and black lit triads,
step down your leather shoes,
into a puddle of spit,
wipe your valves,
with a sweat dampened rag,
find the half-count,
pick-up on this B flat,
move to the F then to the E,
and hold it gently but tightly,
until your air is gone,
your lungs burn,
your veins throb,
empty all of yourself,
so there's nothing left to bury,
but a trill,
a rim-shot,
a pause...

...applause.

drive-thru haikus

2010-09-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

leaves touch pavement
starry skies of summer end
please don't go

grey skies hang
my loneliness seems more visceral
where's my smokes?

plume of smoke
burning leaves smell blows past
cold misty hands

remembering back then
kissing her in the rain
change is hard

fall then winter
seems like things die slowly
beds get cold

this old sweater
good for drinking big pints
cherry pipe tobacco

life the search
art is the universal religion
birth through knowledge

lost at sea
"great writers steer you home"
bloggers remind me

The Program

2010-09-14T17:04:00.000-07:00

frenzied voices,
shouting and laughing,
echo down the wrinkled streets of The Glebe,
university students pull couches off U-Hauls,
blaze up on paint chipped porches,
new roommates,
good-time grins,
fresh faced parties,
turn to hustled friendships,
and desperate relationships,
days fly forward,
course loads to deadlines,
grades to degrees,
blown by the cold fall wind,
ambition goes blind,
numbers are collected,
rankings are published,
competitions are run,
starry skied summer conversations fade,
faces turn strange,
hearts get torn,
trust gets lost,
like a rain-soaked mitten floating on the Canal,

before we knew it,

The Program had begun.

rise

2010-09-12T09:37:00.000-07:00

old paint fades,
old clock ticks,
old lovers separate,
old dog, old tricks,
old car sputters,
old drunk hums,
old guitar screams,
while the old drummer drums,
old lady shivers,
until the old furnace heats,
old boat sinks
while the old heart beats,
old sun shines,
dries up the old rain,
shines down on the old fighter,
fighting through the pain,

a poet is a fighter,
fighting with the mind,
sorting through the truth,
sorting through the lies,
pulling from the emptiness,
to make old words rise.

(photo by D. Neutel)

thy temple

2010-09-08T16:46:00.000-07:00

sycophants, parasites, snakes and witches,
a shivering dog's coat matted with blood,
land fills, sewage, torn flesh, defecate,
an unemployed man vomits rivers of anxious bile,
regret, self-loathing, confusion, nausea,
a prostitute fills needle holes with poison,
a knifed punch, kicking, biting, cutting,
a elderly man suffocates alone,
failure, rejection, a nightmare, a virus
urban narcissism, suburban numbness, rural ignorance
the illusion of civilization,
the essence of fear, dependency and frailty,
a broken-hearted mother sits in a church and weeps softly to a silent
statue,
as her starving baby chokes on the crust of this rotten world.

eve

2010-09-07T16:26:00.000-07:00

bloggers meet,
under dim lights,
paneled ceiling,
bended taps,
bloggers discuss
amongst preoccupied waitresses,
hustled meals,
an ocean of voices,
bloggers leave,
with unaddressed topics,
unfocused accords,
suspended arguments,
bloggers walk
amongst youthful beauty,
homeless zombies,
leering cops,
bloggers separate,
drunk and unsettled,
into the listless wind,
and languid night,
borne of fractured memories and confused dreams.

eternal return (plus recess)

2010-09-06T12:29:00.001-07:00

the sky gets grey,
shoes get put by the door,
lunch boxes get lunches,
school bus rounds the corner,
bike locks,
alarm clocks,
coffee cups for yawn-filled talks,
hit the weights,
get the grades,
welcome Sally, James and little Jack Horner,
waxed floors,
squeaky classroom doors,
hey, I've never seen her before,
bully the bully,
salute the principal,
the force of an idea,
makes the inevitable, invincible

fear meets courage,
resistance meets will,
traditional meets eclectic,
potential energy meets kinetic,

what's beginning,
is ending,
and beginning again.

gonna have me some fun

2010-09-04T13:17:00.000-07:00

They call me The Snake.
I'm a slithery snake man,
I eat bad food and wash it down with whiskey,
I ride the trains with Curtis Mayfield in my headphones,
I wear leather shoes,
and sleep in a rusty bed,
I got one glass eye,
and one that works,
keeps a lookout for witches, liars and jerks,
my father was a lion,
my mother was a dove,
they taught me stories about a devil above,
I buy cheap suits and keep a harmonica in my pocket,
a pusher tried to push me once,
I pulled his shoulder from the socket,
I step from the platform and into the street,
a bum and his mangey dog,
are the first I meet,
he shouts, "Hey buddy, gimme some change,
I gotta get a train to my baby, she's been acting strange."
I say, "I saw your baby and she's got a new man,
she don't need you no more you understand?"
He screamed, "Go fuck yourself!" as I walked on by,

The rays of a skyscraper sun were cutting through the city sky,

it was good to be home.