waxing romantical

silly girl daydreams, more cornball than porno

read an email a friend got from a woman who wants him desperately

it was filled with dense & disconnected metaphor, praise, and self depreciating blah blah blahs

I think I may be a cliche...

Pickup

A redneck in a pickup truck
with a cracked windshield
and a pit-bull hanging his head out of the passenger's side
revved his engine at me today
and I swung my hips despite myself.

Dream of You

When I dream of you now
which is with increasing frequency
we are quiet
and it feels like home.

In your last appearance
you wore an Expos cap
slick and new with a shiny vinyl emblem
trendy in town years after the team's demise
and I was content to fall asleep
with my head on your shoulder.

Scene

Exhaling smoke into the sudden rain

she leans against the door frame

at the end of a too hot day

a desperate black and white heroine

made all the more gritty by flesh and colour.

Triplicate

She wrote her songs
in triplicate always.

One she said was for her,
one was for others,
and the last she buried.

In soil
or snow
depending.

She said this one was for God,
and that she was afraid
that if she did not give thanks

did not pay proper tribute
her words would leave her,
as people tended to do.

Big Thanks

Thanks again to the Anonymous reader who suggested I check out some Buddy Wakefield, Taylor Mali, and Sage Francis. I'd never heard of these guys, which just goes to show how much quality stuff is out there that I have no idea about.

YouTube has Wakefield and Mali, and the Sage Francis tunes I've been able to get my hands on have made it to my MP3 player for daily rotation. I strongly suggest "Cafe Girl" & "Got Up This Morning". Both are worth it even if you just Google the lyrics. He does what I want rap to be, which is really tight poetry with cool beats. I know that's not for everyone, so please, no hate mail if you like your rap done MTV styles.

If anyone else in internet land has any suggestions of writers, artists, fun stuff in general that may be of interest, please leave a comment and let me know! That's how people find the treasures you know, and really, we are all in this together.

Dawn

Gone

He stopped crying when she left

because she kept leaving.

He grew to appreciate 

the art of distance

the impressionist strokes she became

beyond arms length.

He came to enjoy the way

he could love her

when she was gone. 

Noir

I hate this feeling.

This feeling that half the time it is bliss

Full of life and light 

And I

Am fully invested

In this optimistic foundation of my future

While half the time I feel stupid

I've done it again

Fallen in love with my own needs and delusions 

Again

Just another inadvertent con from another well intentioned man

Inside I am torn

Between these moments of seeing myself cast beautifully 

As bride to be

And foreseeing the ugly aftermath of empty nights thinking none of this was what it seemed

But when I try to apply some enlightened lesson of non-attachment

I find myself too loose and absent

Lost in notions of eternal oceans

Thinking:

Time 

Will tell

Time

Will work it out and remove these veils of fear and confusion

This knot in my chest

This elephant in the room

But I

Am too conscious of time

Finite precious irretrievable time

Unforgiving of my quandaries and pauses

Wrong turns trysts and tears

And at this 

Time

As I meditate on the mathematical impossibility that is 

One plus one

And all the things that it really may equal

I wonder how anyone can ever be sure of their answers

Even if they show their work

And how I will respond 

To these calls for timely resolution

  

Flowers

I pressed flowers
Between the pages of a poetry book
Filled with lust and longing.

The pollen
Dyed the pages
And broken petals clung to the words like tissue paper and white glue
Until they blotted out the words.

I never finished the book.
I kept it
Whimsical symbol of summer dreams
Along with the flowers that were pressed
And tied with a piece of red thread
That we found on the way
To somewhere we never reached.

Tribute

Last year a friend commissioned me to write a series of poems about her son Michael. He was a troubled young adult whose life kept going from bad to worse, and since the request, he has gone missing and is presumed dead. I publish these now as a tribute to Michael, and an homage to the strength of his mother, JK.

Dear Michael
You’re in another city
But your body’s still here
Somewhere under this same painted sky
You are using these clouds as a canopy
Uniformed demons with nightsticks and sneers
Chasing you away from sleep.

I press my eyes and try but can’t
Imagine the kaleidoscope flashes that set your waking dreams ablaze
Nor can I fathom the jagged shadows that crash in on you
And maybe that’s for the best.

I am sure that the summer rain
Loses its sugar glaze when it’s all you have and the concrete
Is threatening to swallow you alive
If not whole.

You said the sun has a cold side
And that people are made of that same stone
And I heard the chaos behind you
Voices laughing yelling the scuffle
Of aimless jaded youth
The crackle of a damaged payphone
And I wondered what became
Of the elephant you mentioned last time
The one you ride to get away from it all
But so many things change too quickly these days.

When you float
Through the masses
Scared and unsure where and when you are
Remember I will always take your calls
Collect distraught and late night
Sobbing or laughing’
That dark cackle that is new to you
Both turn my stomach now but I
Would rather hear you
Than wonder in the silence
If you can still speak.

My Heart
From the time
You
Were small
I
Was by your side
For your scrapes
And successes
Sweet dreams
And screaming nights
And all I ever wanted
Was to bask in you
And guard against anything
That could tarnish your glow

Then you got older
And
I saw how you were affected
The demons of your short past
And the tricks of your brilliant mind
Haunting you into scarier places
And I
Wanted only to keep you safe
And home
Healthy

And now
I pray
My every breath is a prayer
That when my eyes are not on you
Some grace may still protect you
And
That when I do see you
Briefly
Do hold your hand
(You have grown so thin now)
My prayer is that you smile
Feel my heart
Know my name
And so
I write to say
That even when you feel
That there is no one
And nothing
Outside of your darkness
Know that I am near
And watching
And doing all
That I can do
To ease your various torments
And that as long as both our hearts
Are beating
I will give my whole self over
To the cause of your salvation
And once your heart slips
Off its rhythm
And into eternity
I will pray for your wings

Spectre
A moment ago ---
A couple of ragged breaths
A few pained heartbeats
The passing of a stranger ---
Ago
My hand was on your cheek
Your eyes flickering with recognition and memories of me
You smiled
Turned
A spectre in the rush hour subway station
Overloaded with bags and troubles
Suddenly another in a sea of private storms
I watched you
For a whole slow moment
Stealthy among the strangers
And then you were gone

The Heartbreak of a Hero
Our Hero met his Heroine
In a moment dark as night
He’d always claim he wasn’t looking
What he found was lust at first sight
Her hips were loaded
Their stare was locked
She worked her charms before his eyes
Her lips were wet
Her grin was wide
Her power grew as he drank up her lies
Our Hero brought her flowers
He offered up his soul
He chased for days and hours
He needed her to feel whole
Miss H was his beloved
But she was just bemused
Still our desperate hapless Hero here
Couldn’t see he was being used
And as this Heroine had done
So many ugly times before
She abused him and ruined him and then locked the door
On his hopes, on his dreams, on his strength to wish for more
For this Miss H, you see, love is never the goal
She’ll suck you dry and leave you out in the cold
And when our Hero
Sweet sad man that he is
Had filled her needs and served her whims
She vanished into the tangled branch memories of faded dreams
And he stood
Naked cold and alone
Stripped of all that he’d ever called home
Family, friends, faith and future
He’d forsaken all he had to give
And though still breathing
So not dead yet
He lacked the spirit to live
In the overcast twilight of this in between
Our Hero saw that Miss H had not been what she ’d seemed
And though his heart ached from her absence
His loss
He took time to reflect on all he’d been taught
And the idea that tomorrow may yet be better than today
Was the simple hard earned lesson he managed to take away
And in the shifting rainbow colours
Of dawn’s first muted light
Our Hero finally believed
That his day could yet be bright