July 2013 Part 1
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Monday, July 30, 2018
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Hit and Run
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"I can hear her coming. A powerful roar from a great distance. , Her
craggy pot-marked face smoking, the long tail of fog trailing behind.
She will come tumbling toward us like a snowball of fire hurled by a
spiteful Santa Claus. Her voice. Not soft and comforting, but a voice
dripping with rage. Justice will be served. The planet will sizzle like
sirloin. And I shall sit on a park bench at ground zero waiting for St.
Nick’s smile to fall across my five o’clock stubble. I will wait happily
like a blond waits for her tan, like cold tea in a Styrofoam cup, like
an accountant queuing up his thoughts. I will taste her sweet justice.
And her wrath will fill my lungs with song. Judgment day is coming.
Judgment day for the maniacs crowded into the subway system, for the
bullies choking the churches, for the meek on Bay Street, for all the
malcontents, for the armies of Christ, for every creature that lifts its
curious face to the sky."
Hit and Run
"I can hear her coming. A powerful roar from a great distance. , Her
craggy pot-marked face smoking, the long tail of fog trailing behind.
She will come tumbling toward us like a snowball of fire hurled by a
spiteful Santa Claus. Her voice. Not soft and comforting, but a voice
dripping with rage. Justice will be served. The planet will sizzle like
sirloin. And I shall sit on a park bench at ground zero waiting for St.
Nick’s smile to fall across my five o’clock stubble. I will wait happily
like a blond waits for her tan, like cold tea in a Styrofoam cup, like
an accountant queuing up his thoughts. I will taste her sweet justice.
And her wrath will fill my lungs with song. Judgment day is coming.
Judgment day for the maniacs crowded into the subway system, for the
bullies choking the churches, for the meek on Bay Street, for all the
malcontents, for the armies of Christ, for every creature that lifts its
curious face to the sky."
A mad man is loose and Detective Sam Kelly is on the case.
Saturday, July 28, 2018
WOMEN GONE MAD Part One
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WOMEN GONE MAD Part One
I have grown up as if you were always
beside me. When darkness falls over me, I feel like I am in a boat
drifting into a fog. I want to step off the boat and sink and sink
forever. Without you, I felt so confused. Father would sit in
the garden for hours, in silence. He said you were so much like our
mother. All I had was your letters. You talked about the size of the
school, the classes you took, the trips you made to Detroit, the
friends made, the books read. It all sounded so exciting. There was a
lovely urgency in your quest for order and truth. The world and you
were so desperately in love. You were like one of the great explorers
reporting back to me, your queen, your benefactor. Finally the only
thing to do is to remake yourself. That is what you told me. The old
has to be buried in the new. You must wear a suit that charms and
excites. That’s what an adult is. That’s what you told me. The
world of the child is chaos. The child must be buried alive. Michael,
I don’t want to grow up. I want to stay here with you.
Remember grandpa’s farm. I loved
those days. How our teeth would ache from the cold spring water. And
the fun we would have in the hayloft when you pretended to be a
werewolf. And the buckboard with grandpa riding over to the Leaming’s
farm to buy a Crispy Crunch for each of us. I used to sit on the
fence for hours watching the cows graze. A soft breeze would stroke
my cheek, rustle my hair then hide in the blossoms of the nearby
apple orchard, Standing in the long grass, looking down the sloping
fields of grain to the river in the glen where the mill stood, you
could hear the grinding sound of the saws, and the slapping of lumber
against lumber and the men in the mill yelling and laughing. There
were other sounds: the screen door of the house swinging open and
slapping shut, the bawling of the cattle, a truck kicking up stones
on the road, crows in the back lot crying. Turning toward the
silhouetted house, shielding my eyes against, the setting sun, I
could see mother’s long shadow crawling up the long hill toward me.
Friday, July 27, 2018
A DOG HOWLING (a song)
A dog howling
across the river
in the pines
birds rustling
through the trees.
If there is a god
then this is what he sees.
Soggy cornflakes
a room weeping by the window
a napkin around a woman's wrist
a stain on the refrigerator door.
A cat cries out in panic.
Scrambled eggs sliding off a table onto
the laminated floor.
The evening welcomes the coming
darkness
like the morning welcomes the sun.
A woman is standing at the back door
the kitchen light silhouetting her
patience.
Someone is walking up the gravel
pathway
with a letter and a broken heart.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
TRASH
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..............
Frankie and Johnny
a cruel summer………………………………………………….. johnny, i was afraid of the light
a snake slithers out of a bed…………………………………frankie is screaming
of leaves……………………………………………………………from on top of a chair
a god………………………………………………………………….widower
falls……………………………………………………………………the shadows in the meadows
asleep…………………………………………………………………cows bawling
out of curiosity……………………………………………………the smell of the sun
………………………………………………………………………….as it bakes
………………………………………………………………………….the roses and corn
news………………………………………………………………….in the brook dancing
troops are coming home……………………………………… wildly
…………………………………………………………………………in the tall grass
dead cocks………………………………………………………… frankie running naked
in the barnyard……………………………………………………through the clover
………………………………………………………………………….in the upper meadow
………………………………………………………………………….her lover close behind
johnny stands…………………………………….in his uniform
arms hanging
from his side………………………………………what have you done?
a full moon rising in the early afternoon
..............
Frankie and Johnny
a cruel summer………………………………………………….. johnny, i was afraid of the light
a snake slithers out of a bed…………………………………frankie is screaming
of leaves……………………………………………………………from on top of a chair
johnny
staring out
……………………………………………………….a bedroom…………….the thief of his sighta god………………………………………………………………….widower
falls……………………………………………………………………the shadows in the meadows
asleep…………………………………………………………………cows bawling
out of curiosity……………………………………………………the smell of the sun
………………………………………………………………………….as it bakes
………………………………………………………………………….the roses and corn
why frankie?
radio bleeds………………………………………………………..waternews………………………………………………………………….in the brook dancing
troops are coming home……………………………………… wildly
…………………………………………………………………………in the tall grass
dead cocks………………………………………………………… frankie running naked
in the barnyard……………………………………………………through the clover
………………………………………………………………………….in the upper meadow
………………………………………………………………………….her lover close behind
johnny stands…………………………………….in his uniform
arms hanging
from his side………………………………………what have you done?
a full moon rising in the early afternoon
frankie
twisting slowly
……………………….
Living on the streets of
Toronto, making friends with the druggies, hookers, pizza makers, bus
drivers, CBC employees, winos, and people of God, all of them with
stories to tell. Sometimes they talk your head off, other times they
can’t be bothered, so in a hurry to get on with life. It was exciting. I
set up shop on the first floor of a house on Church Street, cleaned up
and planted bushes (later stolen) in my back yard, made tea and sat on
the front steps watching the world go by.
Short listed in the C.B.C. national poetry contest. These poems are dedicated to the dime novels and pulp fiction, the disposable culture of its day.
Short listed in the C.B.C. national poetry contest. These poems are dedicated to the dime novels and pulp fiction, the disposable culture of its day.
Monday, July 23, 2018
Sunday, July 22, 2018
Saturday, July 21, 2018
WOMEN GONE MAD Part 2
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WOMEN GONE MAD Part 2
It looked like a
bomb had been dropped on it. Papers were scattered helter-skelter
like flotsam over the top. Styrofoam coffee cups lay on their sides,
coffee spilling out in small brown lakes. An ashtray was brimming
over with butts. Folders lay sideways hanging precariously over the
edge of his desk. Some had fallen onto the floor. Some had perhaps
jumped.
As soon as he fell
into his chair, he lit up a cigarette. I could smell death sloshing
around in his lungs and then seeping out of his nostrils like some
nauseous fumes from a sewer grate.
“Mrs. Wallace?”
Detective Brown muttered, smoke scaling the yellow walls of his teeth
and falling over his smile. He had mustard stains on his tie. The
buttons on his shirt were misplaced and his gut hung loosely over his
belt. There were yellow cigarette stains on fingers whose nails had
never been properly manicured. He was nothing like my Harold.
“Isn’t that
against the law, detective?” I asked gesturing to the stiff like
slug that dangled in his lips.
I continued:
“I will not
jeopardize my health, detective,” I said, crossed my arms and
clamped my jaw shut. I will not put up with a man who does not
listen.
Detective Brown
paused for a moment. Then he chuckled, pointing his cigarette at me.
“You are a funny
lady,” he said shaking under a deluge of machine gun like coughs.
I did not smile.
There was nothing amusing about death.
Friday, July 20, 2018
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Hard Brush Soft Paint
Hard Brush Soft Paint
A Woman In The Middle Of A CrowdA woman in her mid 40s waits in the middle of a crowd, surrounded by the backs of men’s dreams. She waits near a clock that drips. Run out of cuteness. Suffering the lack of temptation. Wallpaper peels off the button down suits of old lovers that hang in her closet. And she mixes up their laughs and their wallets. And remembers only the swollen knuckles and their politeness as they dissolve in her photo albums. She pats the couch. What happened to Fuzzy? Where did she go? Her loneliness is filled with goodness. And her emptiness echoes like a cathedral. Curling a string of pearls around her finger she bites down on her lip. If only I had been prettier.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
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