Dirty Cigar Martini Kisses (Part 1)
How can you capture one day of
dancing moments
the heart interpreting queues
from a scribbled playwright
with feelings too real to be real
the scene not imagined
felt with the warmth of a touch
with emotions that cannot be separated
from the attraction of a pounding chest.
2007
Early Morning (Drive Me To Work)
Frost bitten nose and rosy cheeks
are all I have after an early morning snow.
Crusty eyes, family ties, I know . . . .
I despise the way I feel, you know.
Teasing doesn’t help and neither do you
but then you smile, crack a joke and pause for awhile.
Soon tempers subside and I find your eyes
that’s a good thing - I didn’t want to make you sad after-all -
when you ask me to drive you to work,
I want to be glad
you
asked
me.
2007
Much Like A Cigarette
Ink, pen and paper,
a cigarette a moment later.
A slim cute cloud of smoke
drifts through the room,
much like a beggar.
A romantic notion I admit,
much like the cigarette,
that hits your mouth a moment later.
2007
Our Place
A wicked wind blows wildly at our front
windowsill facing the street.
Closing my eyes, I desperately try to catch
a glimpse of a time past
and all that last, for nothing seems to feel like it used too.
Remembering the galleries of Montreal and
our restaurants in Winnipeg where we can always find a table.
How sweet the days had,
the full sleeps - deep and endless rests -
when bedtime was 10 pm, not a minute more or past.
Now our room is cold and this house
not feeling quite like ours,
never warms or tastes familiar.
The streets of downtown are closer
than this North End homestead
we now try to take solace in.
Building a life in these icy walls is tricky,
taking foreseeable strength to make our own, our own.
Can there be any other way?
Commitment and time stride
hand-in-hand, skipping hop-scotch
together - not a number missed -
cradling our hearts and childhood memories,
while rowing a melody of ripples
with ores of life.
Are we not like a dingy left behind
at sea, in dark waters with crushing waves,
emotions crashing and rising,
with good and bad times.
How could I have ever misplaced our place,
the one that lies in-between the spaces
of our tumultuous relationship,
our place.
2007
I Think You Are (For Heath)
I think you are sleepy
I think you are
I think you are sleepy
Yes you are
I think you want to go to sleep
I think you want to count sheep
I think you want to go to sleep
I think you are sleepy
yes you are
2008
Community Effort
They crawl on the ground
carry all they need on their backs,
all their food and membrane stacks
Busy building together
a mound - a family
unit, a forever bound
In a flood the workers form a circular raft
and put the young and the larva safe on-top with the queen,
sacrificing themselves on the bottom
so the colony
can live on
If only we could emulate the ant
together creating a system of
co-operation - less manipulation -
families with formidable foundations built on sacrifice
and commitment
2008
(added middle paragraph 2014)
It Whistles Through
It whistles through the willows of a borough,
and floats on the water of a pond,
and roarers down the falls of a river,
inverted in a glassy refection of a sea,
foaming on the shores of a beach,
and crackling in the clouds of a storm,
the likes of which we haven’t seen before.
It soars on the strings of a past,
and flutters through memories too far too grasp,
catching a tide of a sorrow retreating,
and flutters the feathers of a bird fleeting,
falling from a kingdom of a king,
to mere mortals made of a clay,
crafted by the Father, in a race made of colourful hues.
It speaks through the voice of a mute,
and brings justice from the heart of a widow,
and wells up strength in the quite and meek,
bubbling up the blood in the veins of a martyr,
crashing on the rocks of a stoney shore,
illuminating the ocean with a crystal lining,
stretching over a never-ending horizon,
resides a sacred space,
idling in the hearts of everyone.
2007
