I forgot.

I vow today
to make every day
contain memorable moments
that won't fade away.

The phrase I mastered
The house we disastered
The dogs who kept challenging
who is pet and who is master.

And especially,
the terrible poetry.

Songs I want to learn to sing

Ain't no sunshine. (Bill Withers favourite version)
Hallelujah I love her so.
Signed sealed delivered.
Superstition.
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Rehab
In the Still of the Night
Amazing Grace
Mercedes Benz
Satisfaction
Papa was a rolling stone
Hallelujah.
Cry me a river
Round midnight
It don't mean a thing.
Miss Otis regrets.
Funny face.
Black coffee
I belong to you (Lenny Kravitz)

Ain't nobody ever gonna ask those questions
That you just waitin' and waitin' to say
That your answer just came to you now
And you just wanna get it out the way.

All those reasons you didn't do somethin'
Cuz you just couldn't find energy
Cuz you had no one to try it out with
Cuz you really had few opportunities.

Ain't nobody ever gonna pry into your feelings
When you stop making songs in the car
When you stop writing poetry
When you stop.

Just remember this before you look back and wish you'd had a better life.
It's on you.

Love my bubba.
Even when we're disappointed.

I just can't imagine it another way.

I'm so lucky.

Hung

The womb is made of television waves.
Of characters that I did not make.
Of crimes in which I did not partake.

The hi-fi wi-fi stereo sounds envelope.
They cancel all the outside noises.
They silence all the inside choices.

In all this papering blooms a story.
And I don't have to participate.
And I can jump straight in, complete.

But the paper and waves rip shockingly open.
As pretend life commercials thunderclap.
And as real life stuff pours suddenly back.

Poetic Justice

I once had a boyfriend, a dick,
Who offered to show me a trick.
A pencil, a breast,
A saggy breast test!
That pencil wound straight up his prick.

Hockey

I've lost my man. I've lost my man!
But I know where to find him.

He's close, in fact, but oh, so far.
Holding his tears inside him.

Alas, my babe is burning up.
No comfort close to hide him.

My darling dear is Calgary born.
He should put hope behind him.

Power Surge

A terrible, wonderful thing, the woman,
Which inevitably, I am.

Joy and disgrace frame hot, labile rages,
Instinct has not yet evolved through the ages.

Laughing and snarling for unfathomed reasons.
But freedom's born from expressionist seasons.

A messy, luxurious time, the summons,
My intellect out on the lam.

Today's/Infinity's Musings

Hmmm. I'm getting fat again,
but my boobs look fantastic.
I just need to figure out a way
to keep them but have a waist.

I am truly a pig. Just when I
have the apartment to myself and
can do anything I want, all I do is
walk naked and eat cheese.

How important is tomorrow's exam?
If I fail it, does that mean I will
never get a job and I will have to
Go back to teaching piano? (SHUDDER!!)

I think a routine is the way to go.
All the great people have routines.
Normal eating/pooping/working/sleeping
cleaning/playing/drinking schedules.

My most stable routine consists of bad habits.
I eat whatever I want when I'm hungry.
I only clean when company's coming.
I self-sabatoge before everything important.

Speaking of which, I have an exam tomorrow.
And a boyfriend which I'm terrified
Might be the one. So I've got to
Eat right, study, and quit being a douche.

Hard work, after all this slacking off
Is a very tall order. But because it is
Summery and warm out, and I am slightly wined,
And I've never failed a test yet, and I like my options
And my friends and family are people I actually like,
Maybe this is another turn I can handle.

;)

Effervescence

The heady intoxication of
The fullness of Life
is manifested in music transcendent
of words, yet enhanced by them.

The heady intoxication of
The dryness of Wine
is embodied in thoughtfulness apart from
drunkness, yet spurred on by it.

The heady intoxication of
The ripeness of Dreams
is transmitted in concepts projected
by screens, yet bettered by them.

The heady intoxication of
The flavour of Sex
is intensified in love excited
by touching, yet free from it.

The heady intoxication of
The glamour of Words
is potentiated in prose poured out
by poets, yet safe from them.

A Study

Ankles, knees, elbows, and skulls.
The closer you scoot,
The pointier they get.
And suddenly, you have corners everywhere
But it works, somehow.

Comfort lasts only for a moment,
But you endure beyond that
So you can maintain the coziness
Just a little while,
Pretending to sleep like it doesn't matter.

Cherishing the times when
A hand unconsciously reaches for your hip,
A foot lazily brushes yours in companionship,
A thoughtless kiss is planted
On the way to the kitchen.

Most of all, it's a secret.
An ashamed guilt
For caring a bit more than you should yet.
Crossing the border into creepiness
By gazing just a little long.

If found out,
There would be laughter at your silliness,
Some slight unease and gradual withdrawal
From the intensity
That is not yet reciprocated.

And so, you keep still
Unwilling to let the moments go,
Weapon for a slow affilial dissolution aiming
Calculated naturalness and
Half-hearted shots of cruelty at belly laughs.

Yet hope remains,
Fueled by brilliant smiles
And casual confidence.
Perhaps one day you too will sleep easily,
Flinging limbs and breaths in stead of thoughts.

Sarcastic Dreams

Get to know some kids.
Say what you want.
Don't do too many drugs.
Work harder.
Eat veggies and drink water.
Turn off the TV.
Show up.
Stop worrying.
Play outside.
Think happy thoughts all day long.
Spar, don't cry.

The Bitch Tires

She crawls through the field,
crushing daisies as she goes.
Blocking out the sun
with her dried and moldy flesh.

Cursing, she snarls at squirrels
and squishes beetles.
Watching their insides
ooze from their cracked cases.

She staggers to her feet
wrenching a green branch from the bough.
Savagely twisting it
away from its mother.

Glaring, she scours the forest
for unwary onlookers.
Daring just one to
get close enough to swat.

She peels a rosehip
Crunching the sourness into her teeth.
Spitting the seeds
Inexpertly onto her feet.

Slavering, she swipes at her mouth,
Grabs at another bush.
Plops suddenly to her knees
exhausted by hate.

Mary Mary

A sculpted mind
Molding a generous intellect

A diamond wit
Emerging in serene expression

A gracious carriage
Ferrying an iron determination

A gorgeous laugh
Flowing from a crystal countenance

A flexible diplomacy
Enveloping an even governance

A delicate warmth
Escaping a molten beauty

Svetlanic

Blahnik marianik smoking the chronic
With nobody caring the swearing is wearing
People crashing lashing wracking and smacking
Colonic moronic and sonic pirahnic

Connection

Desperation is not a serious thing.
It is merely a drive.
Not something anyone needs to think about.
Desperation comes from want, not need.

Desperation surfaces very inopportunely.
When you want to be best,
Desperation takes first place.
Nobody benefits from its influence.

Fohgeddabaddidh.
Everybody’s got it.
Nobody wants it.
It’s all in how you ignore it.

January 30, 2010

Fridays

The thing they never tell you is that you will drink alone.
For sure they never tell you that you’ll desire it again,
Or that the pretend misery of it will exalt you,
That it will inspire exhortations.
Licentious libation.


Friday, January 29, 2010
Post imbibation x 1 cup vino

Salita

Wrapped warmly in her Superman blanket, Salita faces the night.
The ghosts may come too close and haunt, but Sally’s born to fight.
Animated, she tells her spectral tales, convincing even me.
Then, drowsy as the TV drones, Salita goes to sleep.

A half hour later, she starts awake, climbs wearily to her feet.
“I’m going to where I’m comfortable, my bed where dreams are sweet.”
I linger, lazy on the couch, my mind’s eye blinking away thought.
At last I rouse to climb the stairs, settle into my borrowed cot.

A book of tales, fantastically devilish, soothes my conscious to rest.
I wander through cities lusty and crass, engage in nefariousness.
In the midst of the rabble, I try to wake up, tell myself I can choose right from wrong.
There’s a child in my arms who I start to instruct, but her mother cuts short my hymn-song.

Downstairs, there is singing, Salita and God. The clatter of cooking drifts heavenward.
The beds are being made, the paper being read. BBC is updating the world.
With a plate in her hand and a warm mug of tea, Sally banishes dread from the table.
She negotiates ghosts, dreams, and God with real life. I’ve never known someone more able.

January 17, 2010

Birthday Limerick

Our grandpa, a doctor, Lorne B
Has lived long and preposterously.
He’s fathered some four
Who’ve sired even more
Who’re grateful just simply to BE.

Whenever the grandchildren think
(a common occurrence… wink, wink)
we try to come up with
some birthday-ish plot which
will come off with nary a kink.

However, our grandpa is wise.
We’ll have to distract him with pies.
Ice cream with Saskatoon
While we blow up balloons
Then go to fetch him with sighs.

“Oh, Grandpa” we’ll say without smiles
“We traveled for miles and miles.
We wanted to stay but
we’d be in the way.”
Secret grins at our dastardly wiles.

“Goodbye G and G, off we go!”
And we’ll slug all the way through the snow
To the front of the house
Ring the bell and then douse
him in hugs (it’s his birthday, you know).

“Happy Birthday! Hey, were you surprised?”
“You probably guessed or surmised…”
“Now, here’s a new watch.”
“Would you like a scotch?”
Our merriment now undisguised.

But since we are too far away
To put this great plan into play
For occasions propitious
We send our best wishes
And hope for a marvelous day!

Out

On the morning I can wake up feeling good to face the day,
It’s the morning I can say that I have finally broken free.
When I want another lover who can heat my body up,
I will know that I can tell my story better than it was.
If I have a little chuckle that’s at someone else’s pain,
I will know that I’m not circling round and round inside my brain.

If I share a little coffee with a friend I barely know,
I can tell my mom I left you and I have someplace to go.
When the sun is coming up and I have yet to go to bed,
It’s because I was out dancing. Now my feet are made of lead.
If you think you can control me ‘cause I loved you for so long,
You can tell that to my backside walking out because you’re wrong.

I’m drying off all the wet behind my ears.
I’m out on the prowl. Fuck the fear.

March 28th, 2007

The Life Sublime

I thought that I could do the work to grow love into being.
I played the sweet and understanding woman of your dreams.
I thought if I could love you back how you said you loved me,
We’d be alright, just you and I, live somewhat happily.

My likes were yours, my self destroyed, my independence out on loan.
The life you had that wasn’t mine, I claimed because I lost my own.

You never asked me for my life. I don’t know why I gave it.
I put the pressure all on you to worship me and save it.
But now I know it isn’t mine. My life is not to give.
I can’t give mine or ask for yours ‘cause life is just to live.

I leave you now to take a chance. I’m taking my remaining time.
The freedom now to just be me is more than love. It’s life sublime.

March 28th, 2007

Crevasse

If no one could hear me, what would I say?
Would I even open my mouth?

Is there something in me fighting for life?
Is there someone trying to get out?

The hunger I feel is eating me up. The void is unending.
The blackness of love, the vacuum of hate, the power of nothing.

Would there be an answer if I just yelled?
If I let it out in a scream?

Would it make a difference? Is there a line
I can cross from nightmare to dream?

I can’t find the light. I’m wandering blind. I’m crashing and burning.
The dark and the damp are freezing my soul. I’m tired of pretending.

What is there that matters? Can it be found?
Would I use it well if I knew?

Time is marching onwards. So is the truth.
Will I watch it fade out of view?

I’m desperate now. I have to keep going, whatever is coming.
I know I’m alone. The hurt that I feel is all my own doing.

I’m desperate now. I have to keep going, whatever is coming.
The hunger I feel is eating me up. The void is unending.
I can’t find the light. I’m wandering blind. I’m crashing and burning.
I know I’m alone. The hurt that I feel is all my own doing.

The dark
And the damp
Are freezing
My soul.
I’m tired of pretending.

The blackness of love, the vacuum of hate.

The power of nothing…


Friday, April 13th, 2007

Hope

Dawning confusion
Slowly transforms into resignation
As realities intrude on dreams.

A fresh brew
Momentarily lifts corporeal cares
While portentous puzzles form.

Warm gushes
Restore the world’s omnipotence
As inertia overcomes somnolence.

Grandfathers

They stand tall.
They have always been there, towering.
Their secrets are released only when you expend your energy.

They are powerful, dangerous.
They hold more intrigue than anyone has seen.
Beautiful expressions flower on their surface, bearing sustenance.

They father all life.
They move in a rhythm all their own.
Life below flourishes according to their changing seasons.

They are hard, crumbling.
They have always been there, supported by the earth.
Music flows ceaselessly across their crags, amazing tourists.

Eternity

The winter is dark.
I live in the north.
I have always lived in the dark.

The dark has always ruled the light here.

The spring is wet.
I live in the rain.
I have always lived in the rain.

The rain has always brought the flowers.

The summer is light.
I live for the sun.
I have always lived for the sun.

The sun has always pierced the earth.

The fall is colour.
I live for the scent.
I have always lived in colour.

The colour has always changed the view.

Did you know?

I like how you listen. It shows through the aether.

When I look out my window, I can almost see your city. But you are swallowed up in it, so I can't see you. But I see you here.

The slowness with which I think is perfect for this medium. If I saw you in person it would be too fast.

The Sacred Moon

A white square is perfect.

Anything might fill it,
But it is nicer to see it empty.

Not possible to keep it white though.
Eventually it gets dirty, or fills up.
Then you have to cross out the clutter,
Give it some more potential.

Eventually there gets to be just the right amount of white square.
As long as you keep emptying it.