Category Archives: poems

MONSTER LOST . . . It seems there is no logic to these things.

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MONSTER LOST

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Godzilla years
Vagabond phase
Rampage days
Punch & Judy Show
Nights. Wild west
Pastiche. Bang
Locals. Streamline fate.

No coastline suits
No dwelling
Can contain him.
Latent crush
She did not choose.
He fell into her
Living room

Woozy from flight
Parsimonious talker
Familiar, fragile, giant
Pocked with luck.
Collisions. Pain.
She did choose to look.
To see. To harbour.

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SEEKER . . . “Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable.” ― Albert Camus

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SEEKER

She found him
Verbose, wondered
Why he was gargling,
Carving salt with his uvula.

Too much tongue?
She was the type
To fondle q tips
Groom his climax.

Swish. Swallow. Marvel.
The questioning type
Blessed or cursed
With a savant prone womb.

She found slums
More frightening than marsh,
Collarless dogs
And red grapes

Dozing, frozen in the sun.
Then she found me
Long after she’d quit
Seeking answers. Clarity. Peace.

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MIRAGE . . . Verse alluding more to the optical phenomenon than the Vegas hotel

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When I write and think I feel like EveryWo-Man, that I am nothing more than bits of all and other people talking to myself. Them. Us. And today please bear in mind that which we desire can kill us before we reach the oasis.



MIRAGE

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Strive to wake slowly

To answers, to morning

When I hear best

When I am best heard.

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So, what’s my weather?

Clammy Kurt Cobain,

Decapitation dreams

Verdant commotion

Microchip dread.

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Don’t shy away she said

Pretend you can’t see

What you see.

Here comes your tall order

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Last Coke in the desert,

What you thought out loud

Sacrifice bunted,

Bent light rays for,

Made manifest, integral

Part of the landscape.

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In dubious collusion

With your dawdling beau

Inspirational quotes

Make you puke,

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The unsaid, uneasy.

There is no rain.

No water.

No lake.

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SCIENCE OF LIFE . . .

. . . even when you’re not looking; especially when you’re not looking.

SCIENCE OF LIFE

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Take umbrage.

Sour all I have.

I used to allow it.

Did not rock kismet

Delight in peals of spring.

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I mired. Flickered,

Got the dirt on

A waif, wily, perverting

High school rituals

Claw hammering rivals

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Blind to the nests

Cocoons, hives, shells

Snoozing in biology class

Oblivious to living organisms

Living in, on, through us.

All escaped our attention.

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Now I name stars

Species, ripen salmon

Salvage withered pines

Old friends, repair things

Beyond repair

Sail toward a ship.

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DOROTHY UNDRESSED

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Despite the fairy tale, and a good trick in a cyclone.

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DOROTHY UNDRESSED

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When I, as in a dream

Am not me

I am free.

A sudden jerk

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May stoke the cold

Chimney but when I

As in a dream

Am not me

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I am free to divest

Of gingham pinafores

Flying sock monkeys.

When you, always you

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Find me at last

It might be too late.

Posture all you want

My rangy munchkin

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It’s too late

To smooth cotton things out.

The house is abandoned

Hot iron inside, remember?

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BOTCHED MISSION; Some spectacles seduce. If you can’t beat ’em…

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BOTCHED MISSION

Or, booty call gone bad.
It’s not funny. Nor murky.

Icy thorns of fury
Recede slower than scars.

The sustenance of pain wore off.
Frayed, aching, sopping

With venom, rage engorged,
Vein of mayhem opened.

Angel dust of adrenalin
Winging dainty arms,

Amplifying might. Charm
Offensive, to be admired only at night

Beloved as a mule,
His shame her cargo.

Serial monogamy, serial frustration.
No getting off this ride.

Flexing reserves of righteous
Muscle, she kicked ass and dragged.

Damn him, fuck spadework,
Shanghai the shower as tomb,

Victuals, body rotting,
Speculation rising

Till they found the red stench,
Cordial, self-winding businessman

In fetal position, lenses
In the washer, voyeuristic goo.

Water did not silence the apparatus
Nor launder its images

Truth as obscured
As that Judgement Day in June,

God in the guise of ex-girlfriend,
Jesus lost in five years of lynch mob.

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RUDE AWAKENING

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Some Mondays are more brutal than others.

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RUDE AWAKENING

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Thunder protests

Dappled grey morning,

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Skyline of baby teeth,

Gush of soldier ants.

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Pesky dream flickers

Will not scat. They invade

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Dismissive e-missives,

Monster blogs,

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Yammering news;

Mothers Day shooting,

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A spate of immolations,

The highwayman who surveilled

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A close to the road family,

Playing, exposed, oblivious

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To all the uses of duct tape

Though the kids knew

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They were too puny to win,

That you can’t move a house

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If it isn’t made of Lego.

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EXTINCTION . . . for all the beautiful losers

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EXTINCTION

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Warning, first you lose

The teat, then Dad

May skedaddle, disappear

Like snot into a rag,

The delicate mastodon,

Or cash, not so petty

Once it’s gone. Gone,

What was once embodied;

Mensch. Rock. Guide. Kingpin.

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He stands prostrate,

Christ-less, memory flogged;

The spit-built homes,

One failing each decade,

The friend in prison,

Five years for manslaughter

Of desire.

He who eschews matrimony,

The futile urge to procreate

Harbours a friend

That killed a dude

For fucking his wife.

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BIRD WATCHERS . . . a poem

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BIRD WATCHERS

Binoculars resting on the sill
Blackly inveigle us to look.
The luxury of observation
Rackety silk.
Cotton sheets abuzz,
I sleep with a mad bomber
In a bed too narrow
To contain explosives,
Eroding acres encroaching
Shores of receding flesh.
Grip off, I watch

Elfin hummers amok,
Flap-happy Mallards
Swarm a blustery afternoon,
Recall bionic gunrunners, East Van,
First day back from gangster land.
Recoiling at the forecast I fled,
Cramped in a compact car
Child piloting the wife. Blindfolded
Against your scrutiny, foiling
Implicit shame, I skirted
Roadblocks, sculpting my spine
Straight, forcing it

To withstand gales. Tolls.
Lousy steward, I drop
The argillite raven,
Gleaming abalone eyes divided.
I slap my back with hot plasters
So it may bend when necessary.
Fit inside. Repair.
When will listening
Reveal the shape? Scope. When
Will seeing decode the trick?

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TERMINAL LABOUR . . . a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it.

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TERMINAL LABOUR

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Murderous pipe

Snaking though mountains

Rips the century in two.

Calamity stitches, salt

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Rituals, mollifying dances

Distract hippie protesters.

Ransack a few days off.

Sour fists, sweet mouths,

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Boner in the rain.

He recalls her glass tears,

Tongue of flint

Silent in the station

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Shrewd in the bar.

Dunce fat depleted,

Husk nearly ready

For the casket,

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He works with her

To remove obstructions,

Excavate a trench,

Contour the land.

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