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
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 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
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
Sunday, January 17, 2010
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
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
Saturday, January 16, 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!
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
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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