Wednesday, November 30, 2011

November's End

Christmas muzak
Wordless for the moment
Cold crisp air
Northern hemisphere
Snowless sidewalks
Booted girls in long coats
Scarf-wrapped boys go capless
Frogs slumber in cold mud
Spider eggs start ticking down to spring
Leaves stripped from branches
Cluttering the streets
Outside the newly wrapped windows
Where kerosene burns the first time
At dark suppertimes
Or reading a book in bed
Before cold mud slumber
Wakes to work in the chill morning

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


Jogging home at night
Look for million dollar bills
No one ever drops

Monday, November 28, 2011

Jetlagged Soul

I am here
Body still shaking from the phantom plane
Soul still in transit
Walking the path my meatsack flew
ETA before the weekend hopefully

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


The hippiest hip
On the global edge
The worst whites can do
To a bird of paradise
Tattooed, cow-pierced
Bare-footed skateboarder
Too good to work
Not too good to beg for smokes
Or camp protesting in a park

The Maori are still there
Driving buses
Delivering freight
Not really bothered
By the white waves that wash over them
Or the neon Chinese characters
They still see
Paradise there
Under asphalt and traffic lights

Asians and arabs
Arrived and living life
Working hard and smiling hard
Sending their kids to school
Speaking slacker English
Fighting tournaments in internet cafes
Speaking 8 languages to the clients
As they work in their father’s store
Or smoke and chat and run their own

Strange city
Palm trees and gigantic trees
Frozen still behind Victorian brownstones
And walking parks
Buses hurtling up and over
The hills to Queen street
Where she has never been
Where I another strange wanderer
Trudge past your chic shops and beer stores

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Born in the North

My Californian friend
Sat in the sunlight and said
“Get one of those avocados”

I knew but I did not know
What he meant
And shamefully asked
What was an avocado
And how did you eat it

This is what it means
To be born in the North

My Indian friend
Cooking with me said
“Throw those brown leaves out”

I knew but refused to know
What he intended
I carefully hid the leaves
In the cooking pot
And we both ate them

This is what it means
To be born in the North

My Japanese wife
Took out her parasol and said
“You should get out of the sunlight”

She knew but did not know
What it meant
To innocently ask
A body starved for warmth
To deprive itself of sun

This is what it means
To be born in the North

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Friday Night Sound

Rubbery screech and metal crump
Voices raise in ire
Banshee red siren

Subtle burble of smoking men
Click clack of heels
High pitched hyena laugh

Tinny rock muzak
Early carols
Cellophane snap and change jingle

Wednesday, November 16, 2011


People keep on being sheep
So long as they worship shepherds
They won’t even make a peep
As to the block they’re lured

Dirty looks from stone age books
Keep our bodies in chains
That we learn to hate ourselves
Is as inane as it is insane

Fear Big Daddy in the sky
More than Big Brother on earth
Both turn us into children
Both tell us what we’re worth

Given choice of hells they sell
In this life or after it
No matter how they sing and dance well
I politely refuse to buy any of it

Monday, November 14, 2011

Fall Rest

Go you to bed
Sweet mothering earth
We treat you much less
Than you are worth
We bully and torture
Take all your best
Now your seasons have turned
So off to your rest
Off now to slumber
Beneath sheets of white
We cannot stop you
You have the right
While with woodland folk
Your brown body lays dreaming
We will rest too
From out cutting and reaming
Give gifts from your bosom
Stamped with love brotherly
The one time of the year
We act with humanity
I will miss your beauty
But I am glad you will go
Would that I could sleep with you
Nestled beneath the snows

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

In Morning

Lonely mouse myself
Slides the shoji with no thump
Pulling clothes on pantomime
Takes me twice the time
To ready myself for work
And slip out the door

Terminal autumn sun caresses
Like an older parent
Asshole-in-face waiting
Then asshole-in-face riding
Bang my head
Searching for change

At the office
Second hand dead man’s shirt
And frayed clown shoes
No tie never nowadays
When I’m safely in the pen
Until slaughtering time

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Morning Self

In the morning
After you fully awake
And your mind’s eye opens
Like the orange iris of a lotus blossom
You know
Which fingernail is too long
Which hairs need cutting
Your pulserate
In detail

It is because
At this time
As you sit in the dark
Before making your first move of the day
That you are the most fully alive
You will ever be

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Second Slowdown

Hey all,
Pretty busy with work here till the end of the month. Expect poems intermittently and of varying quality and depth. So not much change, actually.