all of a sudden passion suddenly

No e-mail notification,
no reminder that you lay,
gently snoring, warm under my hand,
soft on the eye in the non-light
ah, missed this

and miss your PMs
miss the anticipation
of finally getting home
to find you onscreen
waiting for me
but
none of that compares
to falling asleep in your warmth
baking biscuits for you
or the beatific smile on your face
as you eat that cheesecake
or working together in the garden
me grabbing your glasses as they slip
you wiping the sweat and mud from my face
you calling 'hop in, missus' as we head off to town
and in the dark hours
the heat and the swell of you
the graze of your fingers
the whisper of your tongue
the rising tempo of your blood

:heart:
 
Fear of Driving

I started late,
maybe not all that late,
but was already in my 20s
when I got the ID,
and my 30s before I was
regularly behind the wheel;

Not sure what I was
afraid of,
sure there were some
pulse raising moments going
through DC, and coming
'round the mountain curves
up in West Virginia, but
nothing was especially
fear inducing until that
semi creeped up and crushed
a rear panel,
smashed the driver's mirror,
and generally made a mess
of things;

But it wasn't lasting, and nothing
else has been bothersome

Until the hurricane, of course,
now dark clouds make me cringe,
heavy rain rattles my nerves,
and driving through standing water
makes me feel like just
screaming;

And, now, at the other end of things,
I find even the wispiest slivers of
unguarded sunlight to make me
feel like ducking under cover
and looking for a different
route to wherever I'm going,

But I don't.
Like with spiders and escalators, I am
finding that the best way to deal is
just to deal,

So I drive,
rain or shine,
heavy traffic or precarious
cliff face,

I drive and
shoo my anixieties back
to wherever they
come from.
 
Dear Gord
(in memory of Gordon Downie b. 6 Feb 1964, d. 17 Oct 2017)

You rocked my blues right outta sad
each time I heard you serenade
Bobcaygeon and reminded
that home is no place for fascists
and girls who don't give a fuck
about hockey. We know the goal
that shook the world and the other
that took a man out to nature
and never let him get back home

And fully and completely understand
how this torture in the desert
exonerates you. But no, I don't wanna
swim on those dirty sidewalks
or see the sky fall one cloud at a time.
This ain't no nautical disaster
and I don't give a fuck about hockey,
not today, my music is slipping away
it's more about muddy memory,
dull and hypothetical and now
your constellation will reveal itself

one star at a time

This was written hot in MSWord but remains unedited...
 
Poisoned Well

There's a measure of satisfaction
in knowing how much you wanted
what wasn't yours. Such hate
emanates from your tongue
that even the very one who called
you friend is left disillusioned

Your technique is transparent.
Don't say I mean no harm,
and yet empty that bitter vial
right into the water we both drink.

Did you hope it would turn out
differently? Funny how those doubts
you managed to raise, caused
my lips to open and ask questions,
gave me no cause for alarm
nor offer me any reason for concern.

Instead affirmation, consideration
and renewed trust fruited on the tree.
You have my pity for you have no hope
of understanding though sex may happen
in bed, love happens every moment of living.
 
Forgive me Father

Forgive me Father, I don't go to church anymore
perhaps if I'd been a altar boy but we moved before
I knew the Latin lines and mom says for the best,
yet secretly, I'm jealous of those by your attention blessed.
 
lit something's on fire
and lost control
the winds has picked up
if flames weren't so fucking painful
I'd rejoice in the cleansing
 
Fill in

The night lingers beyond my dreams
She waits for the horn that starts the race
Slip off I do as Her heart picks up the pace
Search for the thing that makes her who she thought she was
Wanting pleasure its never just cause
Creeping through profiles as if she must
Sweet tender moans it's never a bust
Key strokes fall the silky film eases the stroke
Whispers begin the seal is broke
Cries and whimper groans that dance
Statuarated sheets sents fill the air
Off in my dreams with out a care
The moring light hastens the chase
Tired eyes and a blushing face
Dreams have gone I start my day
As she settles in to sleep from a long nights play
 
haven't drunk in a while
i need the aches these days
for perspective
the ground down ligaments
bones that creak
a crackle of sinew stretched
to snap

as if the priveledge of working 100 hours a week
is not a fucking burden

Judge me for this piece and still I say yeah
your feelings are hurt because
you dont know how to be worthy of anything
besides your plumage of victimhood
you've been raped but not by me
but im guilty by association
despite having no association

except to narrations that hold people back
cram their heads underwater
to prop yourself up on as if baptized in the tears
of the fallen is the road to enlightenment
to happiness
despite any evidence to the contrary

I earned every scar
and begrudge none that were
delivered by another
rage and resenment
are seeds that sow the destruction
of worlds

i need a whiskey now
to stop the world spinning so I can get off
go my own way

I'm tired to the core of me
somewhere lcandles blew out in the depths
something broke
and you dont deserve what I give
you never did
but because of this percieved
moral high ground
I supported your agressive mediocrity

silenced my voice
and hacked at those around me
allowing the tyranny of your weakness
control my actions
so you could use my strength
becuase you cant match it

Fuck me this is why i shouldnt be allowed to ramble on in public places
 
I anticipate

your breathe
breathing, whispering

along my upper arm. slowly,

sliding
slithering ... as you breathe
in, breaking the silence
of heat, upon

my ribs. Tongue tilts
into my curves. Creating
cold chills. Hips
halting licks

languishing, my
lethargic eyes
meeting yours.

Merriment

I see merriment in

those grazing
greens. Unspoken

thoughts
tantalize. You know
what I like,

taste, tease

lips, tongue
mouth

measuring me,
mimicking
mouth to
lost, stolen
molten

mouth ...



;)




 
psychosis*
* tea*
* chemical*
* libertine*
* gravity*


There was a sense of libertine about me once,
a couldn't give an iota of fuck
till I was hard enough to ram home
a litany of deception to hide myself
in a tune of moans and screams
a religion of orgasms
cheap thrills, chemical tea
and a side helping of gravy
to go with the hunger that couldn't be assuage

No women were harmed in the moulding of my conception...
or were they,
where does it all stand on this
sordid tapestry
cycles of beachside carparks
cinema handjobs
under the table blowies
they insisted and I never considered saying no
I question what they were after too late
just skin seeking skin

as if vagina had a gravity of it's own
and i was merely an asteroid
crashing into the surface
then fleeing when the dust settled

even now they are gravity
a smile
a touch
a word of flattery
a desire to listen
say thankyou with my body
till she is nothing more than
a crater of smoldering earth
 
I keep pondering the word equality
Trying to define what the fuck the world means
when arbitrarily passing laws to cram it down my throat

when we arent equal, to each other, to each gender, to each ideology
we can have equals in attributes, but there are inequalities
in every fucking person compared to another
all the way down to a genetic level
pre disposed to some cancers
pre disposed to addictions

and so to make equal
the use of force is a neccesity
government agencies acting in the stead of the weaker
the stupider
those that cant cope because their feelings hurt

I am scum
i am shit for sneering at a percieved weakness
and yet I am judged by my genitals
my size my masculinity
as being priveledged
that my sons are priveledge
that my daughter's
my wife are opressed

i have crushed my spine
swallowed my tears
forced a body broken to collapse
into one more hour
for an ideal
so they can have
what the fruits of my labour
the strength of my back
and every fucking ounce of my will power
can provide for them

Because what else is there?
For a man to idealise
Love in the labour for another

but I am still the shit you wash from your shoes
becuase when I speak
you shut up
When i swell in anger you can't match it
and so i must be shackled
held back
crushed beneath the weight of a violent government
because I am toxic
becuase I understand that
men tried to curb their emotions
not for macho culture
not for the ability to perpetuate toxicity
but for the ability to watch our brothers
die next to us
to be able to function
when shit gets hard
to be the stone that can be clung to
when the world is in chaos
to shoulder my burdens
and take yours when you have need

If this sound whiny and preachy
stand toe to toe with me
eye to eye
and I guarantee you will wilt first
because I understand that
I am flawed
I am just a man
but I embrace the role
Of being able to protect
to provide
to be the stone beyond my own abilities
as flesh and blood

I have never hit a woman
Never will
watched my mothers face collapse under the fist of my father too many times
And still
Even now
she says that men have lost their role
she believes that masculinity is not toxic
Never did she try to poison me against myself
or men
for that i must say thank you
 
There's a reflection
Of a reflection
of a reflection
scattered trash on the genetic highway

a man with clenched fists
a mans face snarled in rage
the innards of a fish puddled at his feet

shattered glass an inverted sky
of twinkling stars
he drops to his knees to pray
screaming the rending agony
of violence
of history's bloodied boot
soaked in distilled amnesia
to make the aged leather supple

licking droplets of his own blood
from the wicked curves of perditions razor
for one last taste before the
reapers scythe

the image of
broken faces
of blood running
a heart beating bile
Fermented into an elixir of
Forget-me-now-future/past
Live in the expanse of a shape
of moments,
the past is a dirt pile of corpses
shaped like seconds,
no bringing it back
so it doesn't matter
the future doesn't exist
it doesn't matter

the feeling of teeth on my fist
the taste of a woman's rapture
by god that's the only thing worth
anything that matters.

I stand in my pile of brown
and clear glass the necks of bottles
protruding like middle fingers
turning into a lovers caress

I could stay
make a home here
till I become another broken bottle

my daughter cry's
tasting the stale air
of my skin
the fishguts I bathed in
the reek of death on me
like failure
like betrayal
like glass shards dripping blood
on a battlefield of addictions cold
dead finger

and she didn't care
all she needed I had to offer..

I stand barefoot
in this barren land
step forward onto glass
smile as it eats into my souls
begin the long treck home
 
Wrapping

Expertise in scarves
In their knotting and hiding
Aspects amaze. Phantom
Hands synapse knot bridges
Roughened by memory
Storage and retrieval. Thursdays
Occupy too much space there.
Also the laughing scarves
Brightened by Vida.

Vida the pantsuited
Hardy. Why do I focus so
On your fabrics?
 
And then

Ten minutes later
At the appointed place
But late
Ten minutes. That should
Fall into a window
But. No.

He said he would shave me.
All. Every. Every hair. So
Fuck this shit. I don't wig.
Proportion remains a vital skill.
 
pouring out passion

I summon my passion and reach into the vault
he is there again, so often there
A thousand kisses deep
Cohen yes your just an old guy living in a suit
I loved your work, and loved it more
now its time to move on
O but I want to take you with me
I still love your poetic lyrics
Yes theres passion in that deep dark vault
its the secret we all keep
thats where the power lies
its the notice we all seek

I suppose I should reference Leonard Cohen, am too knew at this to know the convention.
 
Defining strength

Measured against self
against those that came before
learning the ways of the past to
see the future through a complete lense

fill in the blind spots created by
the ease of life today
how hard was it
to really hunt

to carve marble with hand made tools
to accept that to create is joy
and joy is in striving for perfection
knowing I will not fail
simply find thousands of ways it can't be done

to invent everything as we go
to understand that the way I feel
doesn't generate food by magic willfull
acceptance because I asert that I deserve it

to try to pick up a stone and move it
further each day

to know that as pathetic as I am
as small as I am
hard as all this is
I can still lift that

I can look into a mirror and respect
that I am flawed and I am wrong
but I can do what you can't
what you refuse to do because
its not too hard

to know that I can
I will willingly accept the burdens
drag the ropes of perdition
to blunt the trauma of my emotional wounds
because I understand
scar tissue is stronger than
the weakness of pristine flesh

calousses are earned not
bequeathed as rights
that when it knits back together
I have grown from the pain
 
Defining strength

Measured against self
against those that came before
learning the ways of the past to
see the future through a complete lense

fill in the blind spots created by
the ease of life today
how hard was it
to really hunt

to carve marble with hand made tools
to accept that to create is joy
and joy is in striving for perfection
knowing I will not fail
simply find thousands of ways it can't be done

to invent everything as we go
to understand that the way I feel
doesn't generate food by magic willfull
acceptance because I asert that I deserve it

to try to pick up a stone and move it
further each day

to know that as pathetic as I am
as small as I am
hard as all this is
I can still lift that

I can look into a mirror and respect
that I am flawed and I am wrong
but I can do what you can't
what you refuse to do because
its not too hard

to know that I can
I will willingly accept the burdens
drag the ropes of perdition
to blunt the trauma of my emotional wounds
because I understand
scar tissue is stronger than
the weakness of pristine flesh

calousses are earned not
bequeathed as rights
that when it knits back together
I have grown from the pain

Excellent, tod. I might have flip flopped the last 2 stanzas.
“because I understand
scar tissue is stronger than
the weakness of pristine flesh”
really got my attention.
 
Pancosmic pyromanticism

she burns her metaphors
to ash
scattering them to the winds
embers drift in the updraught
of the human condition

where she is silk spun night skies
a howling wolf cursing the moon
for being half what it should be
a mouse bustled into the brambles
before the eagle swoops

spells are cast in dirt
dagger drawn scratches
emptyiing their meaning into the chasms
we have inside
where the chest is unbridled
unsaddled
ridsen into the darkness
a door closed
the hearth warm
awaiting your return

she guides me back
and i know
that we've met before
 
From 2004 - 1st

Free Verse

I’ll be curt and terse: I hate free verse
My poetry without rhyme a waste of my time
I’ll even be frank; I detest verse that is blank
Unless – this I confess, it isn’t just a mess.
It seems that free verse gets worse and worse
Art that’s unconfined needs a subtle mind
The brain of Homer, or some ancient moaner
Regretting glories past, or reliving a fast.
Poetry requires skill, say what you will
Shape and rhyme, even metre no crime
Yet in this exercise, all must I exorcise
Trying to prove all, to gain tutor’s approval.
 
From 2004 - 2nd

Basic ABC

A blank: can’t do every former goal.
Help. I’ll juxtapose kind little metrical norms
Or produce quaint really sterile triolets:
Unusual voices warning
Xenophobic youthful zeros.
 
Gush

There would be this thing—
how I would want to touch someone
very elsewhere

from me in a space where I can only
use words. Generic
words,

like fond or friend
or It would be nice to meet you
sometime


or I want to stroke your thighs,
but that last would be too much
to admit to.

I would apologize sincerely.
You would accept and
we would normalize

oh, things.
But I would be left wanting still
to trace love’s rivulet along your thigh.

Your gorgeous thigh.
 
Bare

Foot softens its arch to press
Shards flat harmless. Close
Corner broom is used to this
Tiny crisis. Every flailing
Rage can be rear mirrored
Into a mazeltov.
 
doug - looking
through letters
don't remember
you being so obvious
with the mention of
leg spreaders
and oiled wood
in
your
face
undisguised

subtlety grew on you
with years
your parts all hidden
under parka,
woolen hat, inside winter attics
still life with wires
elda and the furies
surfing the peninsula

I tell you
a girl's gotta be married
to get a date in this town
silence held sacred
matron and maid in the corner
showing each other how
they liketo be touched
like that
but I tell you doug
when he mentioned
K9 knots
I knew it was time
to go
 
Back
Top