Monday, April 30, 2012

Selling Newfoundland

A page of native rights
We sold away for oleo-margarine
Good job, Joey!
The infusion of Canada cash
Drew conmen like flies
Joey, a fine judge of character
Put them to work bilking the money away
Two bought hotels and retired to Panama

I am proud
The first contact of missionaries with Labrador Inuit
Ended with cannibalism
I have a bit of missionary in me, I guess
To make up a little
For the lifestyle they bled away

We took on the debt
Defending England in WW1
Let England use the generation of young men
Who could have led this country
As cannon fodder in France
So English soldiers could go home on weekends
No wonder England shut us down
Sent us packing to Canada
They were also tired of governing
Not tired of taking millions
In royal bans for the Queen’s visits.

But that’s why the land was claimed
To sell off to the old country
I guess not much has changed

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Ode to Books

By the books
Which wait to be read
Like icebergs
Awaiting the Titanic
To sink my perceptions and misconceptions
To sweep my decks
With their submerged half hidden truths

Monday, April 23, 2012

House fire

This grand old house
Burns beautifully
While I sit on the sofa
Watching teevee

I brush ashes
Off my lapel
As the dining hall
Roars into hell

As other guest burn
I sip Chardonnay
Wishing they’d go
So I alone stay

A shroud of smoke
Billows around me
As I stretch out
And start to sleep soundly

If I seem mad
If my actions seem crazy
Think of the earth
And what we do to it daily

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Three Pond Barrens Date

Poised in perfect equilibrium
Between cruel winter and cruel winter
Fragile robin’s egg sky of Newfoundland
Reflected in Three Pond

Poised in perfect equilibrium
Between crying child and crying adult
Golden taught perfect skin of our youth
Sliding into Three Pond

Poised in perfect equilibrium
Between horny loneliness and stifling love
Fragile moment of warm summer lust
Bathed in Three Pond

Saturday, April 14, 2012

First Sight

The first time
I saw my mother’s face
I left spitting youthful words
I can’t stand this house a moment longer

The first time
I saw downtown
Bright lights and the sounds of the city
Wrapped in the smelly grey fog against my greasy window

The first time
I saw myself
Boy working behind the counter at midnight
A job that would never let him become a man

The first time
I saw love
Is when we had lost everything
And love was all we had to warm that cruel grey morning

Sunday, April 8, 2012


Is what I am
Boyish brain
In the body of my old man
Red hot poker in my back
Someone’s mother stepped on my crack

Broken I am
This year of sickness
I grow stouter
I lose my quickness
Make more sitting on my old ass
Than youth ever did out mowing grass

Is how I feel
When I see my mirror
It looks unreal
That this ageless soul
Should be wrapped in a shroud so old

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Ode to The Penis

My Penis

My penis is just a sack of blood
That does not make me bad or good
It does not define or control me

I feel no threat from lesbians
Some have been my close friends
Sharing tastes for women wine and life

I feel no fear of gay men
Although we work at different ends
We are both just working people

I sometimes dislike other men
Who let their penis rule them
They can be awful-minded boors

Likewise I dislike women
Who dislike me for my gender
Prejudging without knowing is a shame

I sometimes fear the penis
Is what often comes between us
If we let it stand when it should sit