August 27, 2012
back from alaska
after a long graveled ribbon of road
led me home,
and already i miss
the need to cover my head from the midnight sun
the frosted rains edging away at the glaciers
that in its icy blue obstinance and that peculiar rebellion
of geological time
beat me in a staring contest.
back from the mapled nation
of unforseen beauty and wonderment -
where i did not have the imagination
to know the world that i was missing,
the foam of whitehorse swirling
in the summer chill.
back from the artic
after the mud of tundraed barrenness
remains in the treads of my tires
and now leaves a trail in my driveway
every time i pull up from my daily chores,
perhaps just to remind me
where i am not.
yesterday we climbed in silence
teetering on the edge of the alpine trail
calves of our legs dusted over,
our stomaches anticipating the summit chalet
where we could open our packs
and nibble in a welcomed exhaustion
that says we made it
we survived
and despite the fact that the descent is approaching
we are comforted in the knowlege that the days
are twenty plus hours still-
not admitting that this pleasure
would not,
cannot,
perhaps even, should not,
last beyond the fleeting of our cold and rainy summer.
after a long graveled ribbon of road
led me home,
and already i miss
the need to cover my head from the midnight sun
the frosted rains edging away at the glaciers
that in its icy blue obstinance and that peculiar rebellion
of geological time
beat me in a staring contest.
back from the mapled nation
of unforseen beauty and wonderment -
where i did not have the imagination
to know the world that i was missing,
the foam of whitehorse swirling
in the summer chill.
back from the artic
after the mud of tundraed barrenness
remains in the treads of my tires
and now leaves a trail in my driveway
every time i pull up from my daily chores,
perhaps just to remind me
where i am not.
yesterday we climbed in silence
teetering on the edge of the alpine trail
calves of our legs dusted over,
our stomaches anticipating the summit chalet
where we could open our packs
and nibble in a welcomed exhaustion
that says we made it
we survived
and despite the fact that the descent is approaching
we are comforted in the knowlege that the days
are twenty plus hours still-
not admitting that this pleasure
would not,
cannot,
perhaps even, should not,
last beyond the fleeting of our cold and rainy summer.
August 28, 2012
She hides behind the podium;
just as the wordsmith hides behind meaningless semantics;
just as the actors hides behind the pompous strut upon the stage to end only in second childishness
and that other mere mentioned thing that must not be mentioned to those
who wish to ignore the seven Shakespearean stages;
just as the principals hide behind their prescribed lines, dictated motives and motions to live only within the brackets of italicized words;
just as the understudies hide behind the hope of sweating under the spotlights;
just as the audience hides in the lives of the characters,
chastisizing their children to the existence of a shush and a mindful slap,
so that they will not disturb
the suspension of disbelief,
or worst yet,
interupt that all anticipated cathartic moment
when the music builds and the opera soars to new heights...
that is her.
the forever carpenter reminiscing over a floor full of shavings,
where the podium once towered over the crowd,
hiding her liver,
her intestinal tubes,
her kidneys,
and her spleen -
all damaged in over exposure to a love
that has proven itself true in its hurtful and destructive path.
that is her.
and her promise to her walled off world
is to love...
love...
love...
just as she had been loved.
just as the wordsmith hides behind meaningless semantics;
just as the actors hides behind the pompous strut upon the stage to end only in second childishness
and that other mere mentioned thing that must not be mentioned to those
who wish to ignore the seven Shakespearean stages;
just as the principals hide behind their prescribed lines, dictated motives and motions to live only within the brackets of italicized words;
just as the understudies hide behind the hope of sweating under the spotlights;
just as the audience hides in the lives of the characters,
chastisizing their children to the existence of a shush and a mindful slap,
so that they will not disturb
the suspension of disbelief,
or worst yet,
interupt that all anticipated cathartic moment
when the music builds and the opera soars to new heights...
that is her.
the forever carpenter reminiscing over a floor full of shavings,
where the podium once towered over the crowd,
hiding her liver,
her intestinal tubes,
her kidneys,
and her spleen -
all damaged in over exposure to a love
that has proven itself true in its hurtful and destructive path.
that is her.
and her promise to her walled off world
is to love...
love...
love...
just as she had been loved.
August 29, 2012
(written 2008, revised 2012)
Here is my shopping list crumpled in the corner of my mind.
Your smile.
Your caress of your thumb on mine when we walk
The fall of your hair as the sunlight dances on our windowsill
Your laugh bubbling forth.
Your gait which has a spring inside.
The way you pause at the warm wind in your face.
The tilt of your head as you rest it on your palm.
Your glazed over look when you are tired,
the way you reach for me in the bed
when thunder strikes.
And how you let me love you.
These are little things,
grown big with remembrance,
grown fatigued with absence,
as I attempt and attempt and attempt
with worn out palms
to smooth out the crumbled list in the corner of my mind.
Here is my shopping list crumpled in the corner of my mind.
Your smile.
Your caress of your thumb on mine when we walk
The fall of your hair as the sunlight dances on our windowsill
Your laugh bubbling forth.
Your gait which has a spring inside.
The way you pause at the warm wind in your face.
The tilt of your head as you rest it on your palm.
Your glazed over look when you are tired,
the way you reach for me in the bed
when thunder strikes.
And how you let me love you.
These are little things,
grown big with remembrance,
grown fatigued with absence,
as I attempt and attempt and attempt
with worn out palms
to smooth out the crumbled list in the corner of my mind.
August 30, 2012
At Oswiecim,
with the rows of black
and white photos
glaring back at me,
behind the double
gate of
Arbeit Macht
Frei,
I stood
and
thought
of the ghosts that were captured
in life,
understanding
at once in
a thought
so remote that it almost disappeared upon existence,
that
the pinstripes
themselves were a
reminder
of how we wear our
prisons
for the world to see.
with the rows of black
and white photos
glaring back at me,
behind the double
gate of
Arbeit Macht
Frei,
I stood
and
thought
of the ghosts that were captured
in life,
understanding
at once in
a thought
so remote that it almost disappeared upon existence,
that
the pinstripes
themselves were a
reminder
of how we wear our
prisons
for the world to see.
August 31
Last days
make us remember the first,
make us contemplate the middle,
and make us regret the folly of too much time.
make us remember the first,
make us contemplate the middle,
and make us regret the folly of too much time.
November 28
My Love!
You are my comma,
my dot ... dot ... dot ...
"my open quote that lingers
my dash -
and my underline
and i can but turn the page in
fear and trepidation
to read the wisdom you write
that will interupt all my punctuation
until then -
as I await ...
"I am stuck in that pause that is dramatically you
and before my hand turns the leaf,
I already know that the desire that is born from you
is satiation enough
to ignore the rules of full stops and parenthesis
You are my comma,
my dot ... dot ... dot ...
"my open quote that lingers
my dash -
and my underline
and i can but turn the page in
fear and trepidation
to read the wisdom you write
that will interupt all my punctuation
until then -
as I await ...
"I am stuck in that pause that is dramatically you
and before my hand turns the leaf,
I already know that the desire that is born from you
is satiation enough
to ignore the rules of full stops and parenthesis
December 7th
Grammar Tenses
What is the past tense of dreams?
with you it is memories
What is the present tense of Commitment?
with you it is i do, i do, i do....
And what are the future tense of us?
their names have been writ
on birth certificates, and first birthday cakes, and lunch boxes, and soccer balls, and driver licences, and acceptance letters, and mailboxes they build with their own hands, and paint with colours of their own choosing, and the scribbled signatures on their own hopefilled ultrasounds, and birth certifications, and so on and so on...
And when i think of the flexes and fluxes of time and space,
i think of all these things.
the us
the dreams
the commitment
the memories
and the daily i do i do i do
What is the past tense of dreams?
with you it is memories
What is the present tense of Commitment?
with you it is i do, i do, i do....
And what are the future tense of us?
their names have been writ
on birth certificates, and first birthday cakes, and lunch boxes, and soccer balls, and driver licences, and acceptance letters, and mailboxes they build with their own hands, and paint with colours of their own choosing, and the scribbled signatures on their own hopefilled ultrasounds, and birth certifications, and so on and so on...
And when i think of the flexes and fluxes of time and space,
i think of all these things.
the us
the dreams
the commitment
the memories
and the daily i do i do i do
Ode to J
At first,
my tongue tripped over your foreign name...
it is odd to think how quick it now comes, like a breath,
how it comes out of me from the deep
without me needing a thought...
making you my instinct.
it is odd to think how quick it now comes,
evertime I see a sunset,
a snowcap mountain,
a firmament black and starry
it is odd to think how, when i see life and lovely,
it your name that i breath out....
and you define all that surrounds me ...
and you define all that I have become.
my tongue tripped over your foreign name...
it is odd to think how quick it now comes, like a breath,
how it comes out of me from the deep
without me needing a thought...
making you my instinct.
it is odd to think how quick it now comes,
evertime I see a sunset,
a snowcap mountain,
a firmament black and starry
it is odd to think how, when i see life and lovely,
it your name that i breath out....
and you define all that surrounds me ...
and you define all that I have become.
Extended Metaphor
Like the silken taste of chocolate melting becoming one as it glides down -
Like the gentle caress of a summer wind, warm, refreshing, calm and vibrant -
Like the scent of lilacs wafting down the alleyway, decorating the cobblestone with its ambiance -
Like the glow of fireworks, echoing on the faces of the children whose necks crank upward to the heavens -
Like the sound of the sleeping, resonating from the chests of the tired, that proves that life and love have another chance -
These feelings are my metaphor,
extended by reality,
blessed by dreams and tender touch,
and realized in the five senses that are you.
Like the gentle caress of a summer wind, warm, refreshing, calm and vibrant -
Like the scent of lilacs wafting down the alleyway, decorating the cobblestone with its ambiance -
Like the glow of fireworks, echoing on the faces of the children whose necks crank upward to the heavens -
Like the sound of the sleeping, resonating from the chests of the tired, that proves that life and love have another chance -
These feelings are my metaphor,
extended by reality,
blessed by dreams and tender touch,
and realized in the five senses that are you.
Laughed
And we laughed at the noose
as it intertwined with the Spanish moss,
and the guillitine
as it gleamed silver in the sun,
and the scaffolding
as it creaked in new, untrodden plank,
and the irony of the wind that
seemingly cleansed all blood
and guilt and shame...
and they laughed at the risk the heroes took
and the arrow that was shot to mark the gravesite
and the monuments that were built to remember the dead
and the ocean that lapped against once bloodied shores
that seemingly cleansed all memory of grey overcast and stained seashell
and he laughed at the silence
and the irony of loneliness
and he crawl into his cave
so that he could be neighborly with his own echo
as it intertwined with the Spanish moss,
and the guillitine
as it gleamed silver in the sun,
and the scaffolding
as it creaked in new, untrodden plank,
and the irony of the wind that
seemingly cleansed all blood
and guilt and shame...
and they laughed at the risk the heroes took
and the arrow that was shot to mark the gravesite
and the monuments that were built to remember the dead
and the ocean that lapped against once bloodied shores
that seemingly cleansed all memory of grey overcast and stained seashell
and he laughed at the silence
and the irony of loneliness
and he crawl into his cave
so that he could be neighborly with his own echo
Literacy
you taught me,
who had chubby kindergarten hands,
and worries about crossing the street within the lines,
and happiness that was contagious,
and my colors that fit into a rainbow,
and a zipper that refused to up,
the concept of word....
and it lived in the womb,
warm with the liquids of life,
and umbilical cord reality -
which is safe and innocent,
and naive enough not to know
that "word" can be broken down
into letters and sounds,
and when it is not whole,
the bursting of life
bustles forth and interupts
the secure and loyal feelings that
dwell in your body's embrace.
who had chubby kindergarten hands,
and worries about crossing the street within the lines,
and happiness that was contagious,
and my colors that fit into a rainbow,
and a zipper that refused to up,
the concept of word....
and it lived in the womb,
warm with the liquids of life,
and umbilical cord reality -
which is safe and innocent,
and naive enough not to know
that "word" can be broken down
into letters and sounds,
and when it is not whole,
the bursting of life
bustles forth and interupts
the secure and loyal feelings that
dwell in your body's embrace.