Time . . .
unspoiled -- unsoiled?
until we reach for it.
Then poof -- it vanishes,
leaving traces of ambivalence
in the moist clay
of our mnemonic egoids.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Chronology
Time . . .
unspoiled -- unsoiled?
until we reach for it.
Then poof -- it vanishes,
leaving traces of ambivalence
in the moist clay
of our mnemonic egoids.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Men are from Mars
Into your eyes
I venture
deeply....
you bend to kiss my breast,
uncertainties scrabbling
to hide
beneath abandoned
memories.
A museum of hurts
frozen at attention,
white-lipped, refusing
to cry out.
I lie back,
and in your hands
I touch yesterday's child
soaring with superheroes
(limping now, lost in dusty detours).
Almost at the centre
I find myself,
shut out and angry,
yet somehow knowing
and accepting all.
June '97
I venture
deeply....
you bend to kiss my breast,
uncertainties scrabbling
to hide
beneath abandoned
memories.
A museum of hurts
frozen at attention,
white-lipped, refusing
to cry out.
I lie back,
and in your hands
I touch yesterday's child
soaring with superheroes
(limping now, lost in dusty detours).
Almost at the centre
I find myself,
shut out and angry,
yet somehow knowing
and accepting all.
June '97
Winter Solstice
Life is harder now.
Why did I expect it to be
different this time?
Drowning in glacial darkness
snuffing holiday candles.
I may not make it.
Don't try to hold my hand!
This is just a tunnel,
I tell myself,
light waiting at the end.
But can I be sure?
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Friday Night Wrestling
SHE:
Who calls the shots?
Do you own me?
Do I own you?
Who calls the shots?
Do you own me?
Do I own you?
HE:
We've got it all, baby!
Microwaved gourmet meals,
wine from a kit,
Dr. Phil and Fear Factor,
soaps and sportscasts,
two TVs.
We've got it all, baby!
Microwaved gourmet meals,
wine from a kit,
Dr. Phil and Fear Factor,
soaps and sportscasts,
two TVs.
SHE:
Wake up!
We’re going nowhere
in our dollhouse,
bobbing
on waves of mediocrity,
fogged with the stench
of rotting dreams.
Wake up!
We’re going nowhere
in our dollhouse,
bobbing
on waves of mediocrity,
fogged with the stench
of rotting dreams.
HE:
So what did you expect?
So what did you expect?
SHE:
I hoped for Superman,
not Ken.
I hoped for Superman,
not Ken.
HE:
You wanted Superman?
You're not exactly Lois Lane, you know.
You wanted Superman?
You're not exactly Lois Lane, you know.
SHE:
That's it! No more.
I'd rather drown
than suffocate.
That's it! No more.
I'd rather drown
than suffocate.
HE:
Are you so sure?
For every willing Ken,
there's Barbies galore
lined up waiting . . .
Are you so sure?
For every willing Ken,
there's Barbies galore
lined up waiting . . .
SHE:
Deep breath.
Plunge.
Clean break.
Not even a ripple.
Deep breath.
Plunge.
Clean break.
Not even a ripple.
HE:
Who's next?
Step right up!
The show must go on.
Who's next?
Step right up!
The show must go on.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
To Clone or not to Clone
According to Doctor MacBlair,
Cloning is grossly unfair.
"For if I were two,
And we got the flu,
There's only one bathroom to share!"
Cloning is grossly unfair.
"For if I were two,
And we got the flu,
There's only one bathroom to share!"
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
On Hands and Knees
"You have to work on hands and knees
to get things really clean,"
she'd say,
and Dad would growl
"Sit down and stop your fussing!"
How he hated it
when she charged his armchair fortress
with her roaring vacuum.
"Lift your feet just for a moment!"
It always took too long.
Dad hated all the cleaning;
his evenings and holidays invaded
with never-ending quests for supervillains Dirt and Grime.
At sixty-five he started roaming,
hanging out for coffee,
sweeping up if no one stopped him.
Mom would wonder where he was
and why he'd spend a dollar twenty-five (plus tip)
for something he could get for free at home.
Dad hated all the cleaning.
And yet, the other day
he frowned at my poor bathroom.
"You didn't learn much from your mother," he pronounced.
"Her taps were always shining."
I was all primed to tell him off,
yell that I had to work full time
and kids were messy
and needed me more than they needed shiny floors,
and anyway, how was I supposed to know
when Charles was decked out in his wedding duds and tender smiles
(he's very bright and will go far some day with software)
he'd turn out to be so challenged
when it came to mops and toilet plungers.
As I said, my mouth was cocked
ready to pull the trigger,
when unaccustomed brightness in Dad's eyes
as he turned away
told me how he longed
for Mom on hands and knees
scolding him to move his muddy feet.
to get things really clean,"
she'd say,
and Dad would growl
"Sit down and stop your fussing!"
How he hated it
when she charged his armchair fortress
with her roaring vacuum.
"Lift your feet just for a moment!"
It always took too long.
Dad hated all the cleaning;
his evenings and holidays invaded
with never-ending quests for supervillains Dirt and Grime.
At sixty-five he started roaming,
hanging out for coffee,
sweeping up if no one stopped him.
Mom would wonder where he was
and why he'd spend a dollar twenty-five (plus tip)
for something he could get for free at home.
Dad hated all the cleaning.
And yet, the other day
he frowned at my poor bathroom.
"You didn't learn much from your mother," he pronounced.
"Her taps were always shining."
I was all primed to tell him off,
yell that I had to work full time
and kids were messy
and needed me more than they needed shiny floors,
and anyway, how was I supposed to know
when Charles was decked out in his wedding duds and tender smiles
(he's very bright and will go far some day with software)
he'd turn out to be so challenged
when it came to mops and toilet plungers.
As I said, my mouth was cocked
ready to pull the trigger,
when unaccustomed brightness in Dad's eyes
as he turned away
told me how he longed
for Mom on hands and knees
scolding him to move his muddy feet.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Dr. Mom
I am the very model of a medical practitioner,
And there are even those who claim that I am a magicioner.
Some doctors like to give you tests and some will throw the book at you,
But I know what your problem is the moment that I look at you!
My annotated pharmacopia is always by my side.
I know a lot of remedies that you have never even tried!
There's not a system in your carcass that is not old news to me:
Before I go to sleep at night, I read from Gray's anatomy!
Whenever you are out of sorts, I'll respond with alacrity.
In urgent situations I would even give you ECT!
In short, in pharmaceutical and surgical and herbal lore
I am the very model of the medic you are looking for.
I'll diagnose your every ill and I won't even charge a fee.
With earnest concentration I could execute brain surgery!
In mysteries of medicine there is no knowledge that I lack:
I've researched every malady, for I'm a hypochondriac!
(A Gilbert & Sullivan parody, which has been performed in public in the context of a summer camp skit, and has been published in a little book of Northern Ontario poetry.)
And there are even those who claim that I am a magicioner.
Some doctors like to give you tests and some will throw the book at you,
But I know what your problem is the moment that I look at you!
My annotated pharmacopia is always by my side.
I know a lot of remedies that you have never even tried!
There's not a system in your carcass that is not old news to me:
Before I go to sleep at night, I read from Gray's anatomy!
Whenever you are out of sorts, I'll respond with alacrity.
In urgent situations I would even give you ECT!
In short, in pharmaceutical and surgical and herbal lore
I am the very model of the medic you are looking for.
I'll diagnose your every ill and I won't even charge a fee.
With earnest concentration I could execute brain surgery!
In mysteries of medicine there is no knowledge that I lack:
I've researched every malady, for I'm a hypochondriac!
(A Gilbert & Sullivan parody, which has been performed in public in the context of a summer camp skit, and has been published in a little book of Northern Ontario poetry.)
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Bagatelle for a Literary Friend
Words...
Scooped up, pitched
like snowballs.
Was that a hit?
A face, a leg, a private place?
Laughter.
No rocks, please.
So many words.
Touching without touching,
reaching,
finding just one pattern,
six sides.
You tell me I'm a labyrinth
of endless rooms to lose yourself.
I say, hold hands.
(Published in Valley Writers Guild
"Gristmill" 1998)
Scooped up, pitched
like snowballs.
Was that a hit?
A face, a leg, a private place?
Laughter.
No rocks, please.
So many words.
Touching without touching,
reaching,
finding just one pattern,
six sides.
You tell me I'm a labyrinth
of endless rooms to lose yourself.
I say, hold hands.
(Published in Valley Writers Guild
"Gristmill" 1998)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Escape
humming on the platform
watching for the train
far from comforts of home
past collides with future
in clouds of pixie dust
dissolving dragons
ransacked compartments
dirty toilets
stained upholstery
or maybe
something serendipitous
brand new
no scripts
no fears
no overdrafts
all gone
watching for the train
far from comforts of home
past collides with future
in clouds of pixie dust
dissolving dragons
ransacked compartments
dirty toilets
stained upholstery
or maybe
something serendipitous
brand new
no scripts
no fears
no overdrafts
all gone
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Veneer
I never noticed the plastic
building up
layer by silent layer--
I was too busy
unearthing new worlds
to remodel.
Creatrix, disruptrix,
lighting up my universe
with dazzling smiles,
no second guesses.
Ouch!
Why did I let you touch me?
You scratched my veneer!
building up
layer by silent layer--
I was too busy
unearthing new worlds
to remodel.
Creatrix, disruptrix,
lighting up my universe
with dazzling smiles,
no second guesses.
Ouch!
Why did I let you touch me?
You scratched my veneer!
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