Friday, October 26, 2012


We used
 to dance
a slow waltz
Moving to the
music with just
enough attention
to be decent
You smelling of
spruce and Old Spice
and I


Beloved Gnome

Below the surface of the external
you move,
skillfully gathering treasures for me.

These you push to the surface
at appropriate moments
and I am filled with awe
at your artistry.

I poke about in this grubby
searching for signs of your
being near
A keen desire to possess this
wary spirit dominates me.

But you have disappeared into your
special subterranean world
of wanton fantasy

Silence engulfs me and I wait
willingly, longingly, for the


Thursday, October 18, 2012

Bag Lady

I could be that bag lady
you know
the one who stands outside
your favourite Greek restaurant
and holds her hand out
and says
"change please"
as you walk through the door
and stand by the bar and order
Greek salad to go and
when you get your food
you pass by her again
on the way out
and you walk home to your studio
and sit down in front of
the TV watching
Saturday night hockey
and you eat the tomatoes first
as usual
and then you go to the fridge
and crack a beer
just for a second
you remember
she touched your sleeve 
on the way out
"Christ" you say
"I'd better get that
jacket cleaned first thing
I could be her
I could be that bag lady
you know
for all you see me


Boys to Men

Boys to men
is history
but when this takes place
is a mystery

When he turns from
toy pistols and tiny cars
and takes up automatic rifles
and sends missiles to the stars

He runs away from girls,
is nervous and blushes
but before very long
he's number one with the rushes

He dreams of power
perhaps money and fame,
he's a little shocked to discover
how it's all such a game

But he plays it well
'cause that's what "men" do
he may never let on
that he's sensitive too

Like the smell of a battlefield
makes him so sick
but a toke or a rum
gets rid of that quick

Falling in love is a
short trip to bliss
But hold onto your head man
you can't live on this

He's got his priorities
lined up in a row
He knows for sure where
he's got to go

Boys to men
is history
But when this takes place
is a mystery


Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Night Street

Behind and beneath the
kaleidoscope of city lights
the homeless sleep on
cardboard mattresses and
cover themselves with
yesterday's news

I speed by their outposts
enclosed in a yellow cab
and admire the dramatic beauty
of reflected light


He & Thee

He's a pixie, fast and nimble
She's a fairy
she makes him tremble
She touches him
and sparks ignite
You see them as
falling stars
at night


Saturday, October 13, 2012

Old Fashioned Letters

delivered to boxes
known yet unknown

Beginnings on smooth white paper
she touches with her fingertips
wishing it were his shoulder blade
fitting into the palm of her hand

Black letters darting out
from her typewriter
forming new words
discoveries of her mind's eye

Letters to paper
as tongues meeting
delivering their special message


response or no response

Delightful tension
committed to the mail
from her hand to his
whatever mileage lie between

As he opens the envelope
as he unfolds the white sheet
as she transmits through this
the strength of her desire

the letter disintegrates
in his hands


Wednesday, October 10, 2012

An Inconvenience

She has been a nuisance woman

He could have done better with a Lab retriever,
faithful, obedient, and speechless;
unable to write letters
or call on the telephone

She, the cocoon lady,
locked herself away
from the rape of cold suitors
Filled with suspicion and disbelief
unable to open in a night

Inconvenient woman
wanting to make a mark on him
invisible to the naked eye
but felt in his heart

Wanting to emerge sometimes
through the words of a song
in a quiet office by the telephone
through the liquid warmth of a cup of tea
or thoughts of field mice in a country kitchen

a dance


Nuisance woman
feeling memories
through the palms of her hands
and coming up


Saturday, October 6, 2012

Winter Olympics

Too high to see anyone
and talk about the winter
olympics or how much
snow has fallen in the
Maritimes this year

So she sits at the sports bar
and drinks Guinness
She relaxes and lets her mind
trace outlines throughout
her body encircling the
places where her senses
have come alive again.
She waits for the old, resurfaced,
needs to subside

It’s an effort not to cry
the tears are right
there, She can feel her
eyes coated with moisture
The bar maid must be
thinking, “she’s high on

Or maybe just pathetic
and too old for this sort of
nonsense, she probably
thinks, “it will never
happen to me”

As if passion stops at
55, punch the time clock
and your card’s rejected, no
overtime allowed.

The second Guinness helps
She starts to watch the big screen
Olympic snowboarding
Wow, would you look at
that! He lifts off, spins in
the air, lands dead on and
finishes with a flourish,
snow flying around his feet

38.9 seconds
Is that a record, do you think?


Friday, October 5, 2012


I sketch strangers
on the street, endlessly,
until they cease to be
the others


Thursday, October 4, 2012

Are You There

If you only look on the surface
nothing moves here in winter
The thick ice seems dead and silent
The snow never melts
But when you walk on the ice
you see it differently
The ice is blue or green in the places
where gases are trapped within
Deep cracks appear
forced openings from the continuing
pressure of daily tides
The ice breaths as you walk
subtle and ghostly as if it is alive
under your feet
Steam rises from the crevices
The snow crunches underfoot
There are tiny tracks made by
some animal searching for food
If you listen closely the silence
is broken by the sound of the sea's breath
or the scratching of tiny feet on the
crust of the snow
If you only look on the surface
nothing moves here in winter
but when you walk on the ice
You see it differently.


Monday, October 1, 2012


These days are cold
yet no frost forms
on my windows
My view is clear and
what I see
are memories.
Rooftops covered
with snow,
wisps of smoke from
chimney tops,
a frozen fiord,
a full moon.