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Jul 21 · 315
this darkened room
this bed feels acutely
empty tonight
and so do these arms
not holding her tight

question obtusely
why i'm not there?
why i still crave?
why i still care?

stuck back in that place
where i cannot cry;
last lesson life teaches
is that we all must die

love dies, and hate dies,
and courage, and fears;
rivals & friendships, and
laughter & tears

nothing is lasting,
nothing can remain,
everything changes;
it can't stay the same

we have to let go
for nothing adheres,
might as well nay existed
in a hundred years

i know all of this,
and accept it as well,
yet i want more to say,
but no more i can tell

still can't stop myself
as i stare at that phone,
but, what the hell, in last moments
we all sleep alone...
a bright and cheery one. lol.

the grapes of wrath - peace of mind
Jul 4 · 272
they live
across so
many of
all across
the physical,
across so many
miles of vast and
beautiful lands, for
doesn't every land have
it's beauties, though i'd
of course not trade any of
them for the north, though
i curse myself for it each and
every winter; but there is
truly no place like home;
across oceans, and often
from such very different
cultures as well, and ******
preferences and of genders,
across ages and those shared
frames of reference dictated by
history, so many divides, but
no barriers, just differences,
but thinking somehow still so
much alike in so many ways,
and drawn to a particular love
of a very specific and dying
art-form above all, but still,
it is like any of them might
have grown up with me in
the same neighbourhood,,
that someone who couldn't
have less skin in the game
as far as your immediate
life, a magical quality
as it makes them so
much easier to trust,
and they care, and
for no other reason
than that they care,
and even love in
many ways, though
my experience has taught
me that one particular kind
of love seems doomed to
painfully fail, which
*****, but such is
life, but that knowing
people care for no other
reason is because they care,
like an element, something that
can't easily be broken down into
smaller pieces or explanations,
it is just because it is,
and that's a really
nice feeling
to have.

i know the chance that
we would ever meet
are slim-to-none,
but if that were
to happen with any
of them i would
have an extremely
happy day, and
that's an especially
nice feeling
to have, too.
the beatles - with a little help from my friends
Jul 4 · 229
the dragon
i don't know if it
can ever be defeated,
the studied opinion says
it can't, and the statistics on
it are personally terrifying knowing
i almost made it on to that list three times
in my life. but i know what i'm doing is not
working so exhausted emotionally so i
can hardly think, when i'm in my own
one-person karpman triangle in my
mind, too, to match the trip from
my bed to the washroom to the
kitchen on an as much as i
know it isn't true because
i've been here so many
times before, type ii
but it seems the
triangle is on
forever with
no break at
all... though i
know that isn't true
the best way i can
describe it is my mind
knows it, but my heart is
too stubborn, and it says to
the messenger, no, i trust
neither you nor the mind,
and it all feels so endless,
but i need to do something else,
not necessarily something more,
but instead of devoting all this
energy that is at such a premium,
and pleading with my heart to believe
that this isn't going to last forever,
so please heart, just do this one thing,
because you will hurt and be hurt
out there no matter what state you're
in, and if you chance falling apart
in public, or even in front of one friend
that you can't stand the shame the
mind puts on you, and that isn't even
the mind's fault, so please heart, you
nor i can't get this thing all fixed over night
but you can do at least this one thing, please?

and i stir and go to my back entrance,
and pick up my phone in the first time
in two weeks, and i charge the phone
up, and then i turn it back on, ceding
control is tough itself, on a pc i can
control how much i can take in, or
think i can, when my heart loses its
faith, but i know my heart learned,
its first step back, that when it does
not know if it can trust yet another's
that at least in one moment it finally
lent it's trust to me, as it needs to learn
to do, maybe, maybe for the first time ever.
this song is very, very, haha, dated, pre-glam early eighties metal, but it still means so much to me, the lyrics helped me through my teen years understanding the ups and downs you can't stop from happening no matter how you give your very best effort with all your mental efforts, these lyrics stuck with me much, much longer than the music did.

i but i loved this band (1981-1982)... they were for years a beatles cover band, and when they started writing their own tunes i truly thought their songs had some of the same sensibilities with how the instruments play against each other, the really nice vocal melodies, and brilliant harmonies, stuff i wouldn't appreciate until later but that would explain why i liked them so much, other them being local boys.

but in any case, when i was 11 i was hit with early onset bipolar ii disorder, with my first major depression after being the victim of a traumatizing crime, and it just happened that this band had a regional hit (but a significant one, mainly saskatchewan and winnipeg markets, but hitting number one in both that province and big metropolitan area at least) with this song "i'm down" that i got the lyrics so exactly at easily the worst time in my life, and that made me feel like i wasn't alone, the first time an artist had gotten to me that much, understanding exactly how they were feeling through their art transcending the art and giving a much needed boost to someone out there, or even better, to somehow speak right past their head and right to their heart somehow. those boosts added up are what can make all the different to holding on and riding out the storm:

queen city kids - i'm down

...and for the inspiration, to my poet friend from cali, thank you mr. olson
Jul 3 · 124
reason (racing)

isolation (self-imposed)

sweet symphony (yet un-composed)

wishes come (a curse with each)

this longed-for one (just out of reach)

myself, to her, cannot belong

(with all my last words taken wrong)

cry with me, mourn this dire sleep,

the seeds she plants but cannot reap,

our kiss will never come to pass

(no room tonight for this romance)

what of the heart that cries tonight,

what of the song it sings?

if i could, i'd fly to you

if not for broken wings
Jun 30 · 819
bad habits
there can lurk
a mighty danger
in romanticizing in
memory that which
merely was ******
one of my worst tendencies.
Jun 27 · 532
the wheel
what comes up
must come down
and my hypomanic
phase is crashing down
on top of me, with more
new social connections i've
made just over a couple of months
that there is no way i can maintain without
that seemingly superhuman and boundless
energy i've had all Spring, but how to
explain that, who to pick, and my
guilt over having overestimated
my abilities, and people now
hurt over that, and it's hard
to care as much as i should
when it's a struggle to
make it from my bed
to the kitchen, or
washroom, or
even sometimes
to flip over... i know
well enough that what
goes down must also eventually
go up, but for now i'm getting by
hour to hour, and it isn't even a depression
just an exhaustion from months and months
of only sleeping every couple of days, or at best
sleeping 5 or 4 hours a night i think, my body worn
out and though i know this will pass as every phase
of this endless cycle that reminds me of a metaphor
for the mainly Eastern idea of reincarnation, i feel
it as a wheel, that i am the wheel, and it needs to
keep on spinning as long as i am to breathe and
live, so i spin it even on the days where nothing
gives enjoyment, the smallest task like running
a marathon, for no matter on what phase the
wheel is on, it is a much better alternative
than it not spinning at all, mixed-phase
rapid-cycling usually comes next, the
worst, but i am still breathing, i am
still keeping body and mind each
together with each other and for
now that is enough, it is more
than enough, and those that
love will understand or
seek to, and those that
don't i could never
explain it to them,
it seems to have to
be something they want
to learn enough to learn some
on their own... i remember getting
my wife early on in our relationship
on being in a long-term relationship with
someone with bipolar disorder, and she told
me how much she learned from it and how much
easier it would make things. when we got divorced
and i was going through the bookshelves, and when
i came across that book, i picked it up and saw that
the spine had never been cracked, not even to the
index or table of contents, and it made me laugh,
like i wondered if all those years before she
thought i was giving her that book for
some benefit of my own. i'm not
bitter or angry or let down,
finding that book really
made me feel better if anything,
but that's my explanation for not
trying to explain anymore, and at
times like this not to feel selfish or lazy
or like i'm not trying enough, i did that
for years, and it just made the slide slippier
and that landing harder. i've found that no-one
and nothing will love me, or take care of me, or
forgive me, or understand me, anywhere near as
well as i can for myself in times like this when my
batteries are just empty. the best thing i've learned
living with an illness that has a 50%  mortality rate
and a string of broken relationships because it is one
******* to try to hack being in a relationship with
someone with it is that it isn't my fault, it isn't from lack
of trying, it isn't a spiritual sickness, and how liberating
that was, that growing up in a family where anything
bad always had a culprit, where getting the flu and
throwing up meant dealing with a heavy hand,
i fell into that thinking for a long-time, but i
am now at least at peace that i know there's
either no-one to blame, no more at least
than diabetes or cancer or genetics,
and that there is no way in the
world if i could now just
pick being this way or
not, i'd choose this,
i'd choose me,
still broken me,
like we each
uniquely are such,
just as i accept others,
just as they are,
just like i am.
i'm firmly convinced that the closest thing to cures for this illness, even beyond any pharmaceuticals or cognitive behavioural therapy are much more simple, but only are granted by the time, the great healer, those being patience and experience.

tommy petty & the heartbreakers - the waiting
Jun 23 · 146
with as much
as i have right
now, i don't think
i'd ever do anything
that might muck it up
on how among my newly divorced buddies my age (we didn't all get married in clusters, but around 45 to 50 years old, we sure got divorced in clusters, in every case my friends and I leaving their partners) I'm the oddball because I'm not going on a wife-hunting frenzy of a quest, one with their own marketing consultant, lol, sigh. I figure life is so great discovering who I really am when it comes down to it that why would I want to take any chance of messing that up, that, could I be happy in a relationship again? Undoubtedly, but I also could not be any happier than I am right now.
Jun 20 · 110
i wish you love
i hope you now know
just what you deserve
and i hope you don't go back
to what drove you to me

i hope that i wasn't
some kind of stand-in
or a quick substitution
or an easy distraction

the ache still intense
but frustration is fading
as you taught me my worth
that i need completion

i hope you can look
in a mirror today
and see through the eyes
i lent you to see

your image, perfection
in my estimation
even if it is only
one sad man's opinion

please don't settle for less
please set yourself free
you are better than that…
you are better than me
It's All Over Now - Carroll O'Connor
Jun 20 · 157
goodbye rainbow?
ღ ღ ღ

your spectral path goes on and on
arcing from where you began

ღ ღ ღ

my dreams of gold are almost gone
i must keep chasing if i can

ღ ღ ღ

i'm walking dead on blistered feet
in chasing her i'd lost my way

ღ ღ ღ

to turn away, no chance to meet
the treasure that awaits today

ღ ღ ღ
The greater the storm,
the brighter shall
the rainbow be.

ღ ღ ღ

Steppenwolf - It's Never Too Late

ღ ღ ღ
Jun 20 · 95
as it falls
as night falls once again,
as it has fallen for millennia,
on us, the biggest us, species,
it falls silvery, it falls velvety, it
gives of it its silences, voices of the
most immeasurable quiet, and the most
synchronized and immense breathing;
the world breathes with one breath
in the night, dripping down from
all the stars with the sweetest
oblivion yet discovered, that
of sleep, pouring itself on
rivers of dreams that flow
through each and every
sleeping breast, and as
it does we are all related
in our slumber. i am related
to you this very minute as you
read, as if old relatives long-parted,
we become one body, this world, woven
from starlight, and the aeons of time and the
eternities of space, through the veils that separate
during the day, everyone that sleeps leaking into the
substance of myself, and i into the same of all who slumber.
that is my wish and dream and fantasy as i start to fade and fade.
the cure - lullaby
ღ ღ ღ

I. The Song-bird

I can but dream of yester-year,
Thy voice a song-bird singing;
With every morn I woke to thee,
And friendship just beginning.

ღ ღ ღ

Crept up upon, and stole away,
Love claimed me when I found thee;
Thy dawn, thy noon, thy evening's set,
Thy crimson locks around me.

ღ ღ ღ

Please fare thee well my song-bird,
Though I know I shan't be near thee;
Thy melody still somewhere sings,
Though I no longer hear thee.

II. Your Garden, I

You but walk past the apple tree each morning
And blossoms fall that they may settle on your breast,
Lie and faint against your silk, I wish to God could I...
That chance you'd pluck this fruit and in me find your rest.

ღ ღ ღ

Would He but let me live amongst the thorny roses
That reach to kiss as you float gently past,
Upon that lowest branch, 'tis me, a bud un-closing;
Though I be trodden underfoot, and crushed at last.

ღ ღ ღ

Without regret or second thought I'd bear thee,
Content to lie beneath the baby's breath,
'Tis still my home in peace to dwell forever,
Tread underfoot, pressed even unto death.

III. Awake Thee 'Fore The Dawn

To pluck the day, its budding life,
Is thus to chance belong,
For blossoms still alive today
May be to-morrow gone.

ღ ღ ღ

To float up to the skies today,
And touch sun 'fore his leaving,
Is chance to dream, though now awake,
And never cease believing
(Hold on to that feeeallliiinnnn')

ღ ღ ღ

Though life in morning's most alive,
And in thy veins runs warmer,
Still tarry not, or thou may miss
What waits thee round the corner.

ღ ღ ღ

Though shyness is allure, my love,
Silence can love entomb;
Some blossoms once they've closed, my dear,
Cannot again re-bloom.

ღ ღ ღ

Please heed this all from he who knows,
And learned with such a cost,
For once I slept in past the dawn,
And, thus, her love I lost.

Carpe diem: Etymology; Latin ('to pluck the day')

iv. icarus

reason (racing)
isolation (self-imposed)
sweet symphony (yet un-composed)
wishes come (a curse with each)
this longed-for one (just out of reach)

ღ ღ ღ

myself, to her, will not belong
(with all my last words taken wrong)
cry with me, mourn this deepest sleep,
the seeds i plant, she cannot reap,
our kiss will never come to pass

(no room tonight for this romance)

ღ ღ ღ

what of the heart that cries tonight,
what of the song it sings?
if i could, i'd fly to you
if not for broken wings

v. think of me fondly

i can be needless
i can be like a stone
as hard as the leshan buddha
we all have that skill inside of us
but i think i need to be more than
a carving on a remote mountain
or a piece of malleable clay
shapeless until molded
by another's hand
i fumble
the unknowable
what exactly is the
future anyways?
think of the
next moment
and already
it is here
want to
reach out
but i won't
though i feel
parts of me are
slowly dying
and maybe
my love
can only
fade slowly
as hers does
for even now
in this silence
my heart can't
stop feeling hers
beating alongside
asking please,
jessica, please;
think of me
fondly, or
think of
me not
at all

vi. dreams

the very second
we wake from them,
they can be so very, very
far away; the harder
we try to hold, the
cruelly quicker
seems their

the gulf left,
       so unbridgeable,
            so enormous,
                 so peculiar
when only so brief
a moment ago it was
       so close,
            so familiar,
                 so a part of us.

ღ ღ ღ

can a person
truly love more
than one other at
the very same time?

trying to find the answer
to that question is like
trying to remember a
dream upon waking...

though i've discovered
there is just enough room
in this one man's chest for
both our broken hearts.

vii. of string and sustain

The memory of your crimson locks
cascading down around, a framing
of such rapture as your emerald eyes at play;
it plucks my heart with subtle quill,
a note so frail, al niente, it rings, then fades away.

ღ ღ ღ

The memory of your troubled soul
revealed before me, bare; sometimes beside
me, sometimes not, but always wild and free,
strikes at my heart, dal niente, a chord that plays,
reverberates... and echos still in me.

(Al niente is from the Italian musical term meaning to fade to nothing, where convexly dal niente mean to arrive from nowhere. I like how a single letter completely flips the meaning).

viii. petals

i close my eyes
and i am there as
my soul leaves me
brought to this place by
a perfect love song sung by
a choir of every songbird that
lives (or has ever lived), wordlessly
singing to beckon me to visit a while
filled, overpowered almost,
by the unrefraining fragrance
of these perfectly unmade beds
of unearthly coloured blossoms
living and lifted by perfumed mists
falling mildly from clear, azure skies
through breezes that gust so slightly
blowing rapturous sunshine against me
and in me through my mouth and my eyes
as all that beautiful light and heat gather
together in my rising, falling chest
and i am so completely whole
in one moment that is all yours
as we are so lost, and so found
in this morning's daydream
at the end of our endless
days that end tonight

ღ ღ ღ

as your breathing labours
your freckled, trembling fingers
separate yourself, and your eyes urge
me to push so strongly against and into
your most secret hungers that i so ache as well
to feed as i savour and stroll down the ever
twisting and turning paths of your
heavenly garden that come
tomorrow's light
shall forever remain
in my dreams yet again...

ღ ღ ღ

i want to stroll forever
searching vainly for our worth
much too fragrant for my world,
far too fragile for your earth

ix. from across the sea

as from a very distant star
whose light seeps under tight-locked doors
your light had traveled very far
from Éire's ever-dreaming shores

ღ ღ ღ

awaiting here impatiently
i was at least before i saw
'twas my heart being shaped for thee
as ice is shaped by spring-time's thaw

ღ ღ ღ

your light unfaded by the years,
a blue sphere burning bright,
that mixes now with my own rays
revealing paths within shared sight

ღ ღ ღ

no images of stars that died
remain within your heart or mine
as all those heartaches on the way
were leading us to what we'd find

ღ ღ ღ

and now two separate yearnings dove
at ending of a long, dark night
perchance a chance at lasting love
lifting two souls aloft in flight

X. Every Verse For You

As I gaze upon your picture,
Though your beauty knows no bounds,
Its your subtler of charms
                           that I adore;

But when I think of touching you,
Pressing my lips against your skin,
More base desires start moving
                           to the fore;

I want to fill you up with me,
I want to set your passion free,
I want to be the wave that crashes
                           on your shore;

But then I see who's next to me,
And I'm overcome with shame,
For it's more than just myself
                           I'm fending for;

Life used to be so black and white,
Do this it's wrong, do that it's right,
But now I'm feeling things I've
                           never felt before;

And as I write another verse,
It sounds so awkward and contrived,
Searching for some elusive words
                           you're looking for;

And if these phrases sound all wrong,
Maybe the night's just been too long,
For it's from a heart that's true
                           that they do pour;

Or maybe it's just déjà vu
That I'm trying to sell to you,
For it's been too long I've lingered
                           at your door;

But if I cannot have your kiss,
Could you at least please grant me this?
Please don't forget me (not just yet)
                           I do implore;

And as your picture fades to black,
I take a very long look back,
And as I look into your eyes
                           they underscore:

                           ღ ღ ღ

There is nothing I could say
That could make you start to love me...

As there is nothing you could do
That could make me love you more...

xi. goodbye flutterby

ღ ღ ღ

                 of light wings
             & pretty things
             & stops & starts
             & heavy hearts

ღ ღ ღ

Not quite day-time, not yet quite night,
Is when we'd meet in briefest flight,
I, but dull moth, thoust, butterfly,
Under curt shadows of twilight.

ღ ღ ღ

Thou would'st trade yellows, blacks, and blues,
For dusty monotones of grey,
Acting aloof, yet, with such ease,
Thy shades would give thee quick away.

ღ ღ ღ

With such stressed seasons 'tween us now,
Surrounds me, life, and all it brings...
Yet doleful thoughts haunt noticing
Thy fading colours on my wings.

ღ ღ ღ

Ah, but to fly now even still,
(Wish setting sun could ever stay),
Ah, but to have yet one more chance,
(Wish we could wish ourselves away).

ღ ღ ღ

Forget me not, my Swallowtail,
Under thy body feel my air,
Through aether let my love reach thee,
Whisp'ring, My sweet, know I yet care...

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

Though it's far better now you've gone,
For I knew well 'twas never right,
For thee to lose such 'lucent hues,
Turning a creature of the night.

ღ ღ ღ

an  ode to papilio troilus

ღ ღ ღ

Tonight, just for tonight,
When we both go to sleep
With such distance and so
Many lives apart from one
Another, I still reach out,
I am stretching to you,
Asking with a long-distance
Whisper in your ear, please,
Let us say to each other
Just for one night
And only in dreams,
We are butterflies...
let us fly together,
and see the world

ღ ღ ღ

Running to Stand Still

ღ ღ ღ
Jun 20 · 201
flying solo
in the bluest of skies
float both moon and sun
with a graceful gull
sailing the winds
in-between them

ღ ღ ღ

the crows fly low
in a ******
preferring an
obstacle course
of trees to the
peace of
the heavens

ღ ღ ღ

today, i'd like
to make a choice
and push past the
point of no return

today, i'd like
to soar as that gull
leaving the crows
to their frenzied pace
of smokestacks
and billboards
and chain-link fences

ღ ღ ღ

the sacrifice of
loneliness doesn't
intimidate me

the sole fear
holding me back
is what reception
those pitiless crows
might prepare
if ever my wings tired
and i had to drift down
fading currents, gently,
back to the earth...

ღ ღ ღ

crows always have
this hungry look
in their dark eyes
Wow, that turned surprisingly darker than my initial intention, and surprisingly quickly, too, haha. I had images of those once must plastered on any free piece of wall space on countless HR office walls, and others, the dreaded and ultimately meme-snuffed-out motivational posters.

blaze foley (was the **** BTW) - clay pigeons
Jun 20 · 244
sharing a cab
.after telling me
my dreams are
an impossibility
we sat in silence for a while
as i stared at the buildings
and lights rushing by
feeling hurt
by her brutal

before she got out
this stranger leaned over
and surprised me with a kiss,
then said,

it's ok just to love, y'know?
(in that french accent i love)

for at least
all of today
i took all
of her, all of
that short advice
sealed literally with
a kiss, so fully so
deeply into my heart
joel plaskett emergency - nowhere with you
Jun 19 · 112
8 hour day
i count down
in half-hour increments
and i hit sixteen for my
weird night-morning day
and eight hours is enough
now gimme my Soma
to make it all fade back
to the black and white
chess-board world
once again
O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't.

— William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act V, Scene I, ll. 203–206
Jun 19 · 283
for those still to come
i sit here
staring at all this blankness
wanting to fill it with something
beautiful, something magical,
something special to someone.
but i don't have anyone like that.
not right now.

i sometimes slip back into
Disney fantasies, that there
is someone, maybe at this very
moment, longing for, somehow
even missing me, though we have
yet to meet. i know if true love exists,
if it's not some construct of our own
desires and longings, if it is a real
thing, the way i used to believe in it
so long ago, maybe even once, that
it's still ahead of me; it won't be found
paging through the might-have-beens
and near misses of ancient past, for
all past is ancient when it comes to
matters of the heart, and though, yes,
the heart wants what the heart wants,
the heart has it's very own logic, like
no logic Aristotle with all his logic
could understand, not like Shakespeare
did, and the logic of my heart chooses to
believe that there is someone out there
that tonight stared at a blank spot, also
wanting to fill it, to spill it, all out, words
of passion of romance of that wound that
we search for rather than avoid, written
all out, on a night like tonight, for someone
such as i, by someone such as her. it is a
true leap of faith, and maybe it's foolish,
but it makes my bed feel a bit warmer,
and a bit smaller, to think of a her
waiting for a him exactly like me
it ***** sometimes not to have anyone that loves you romantically, but then i watch a few episodes of Catastrophe, and the feeling quickly passes, haha. but seriously, i wonder if there is someone out there, my perfect match, who sometimes wonders exactly about me, whether we will ever meet or not. the idea of it, love without consequence because it will likely never even begin, it's strangely comforting.

kendra kahl - if you say so

(i hope she makes it big)
Jun 18 · 116
self-made eurydice
my fantasies are all used up,
all quaint distractions spent;
with narcissistic mists dispersed,
i wonder where you went

i turned my head, just briefly though,
i then looked back, you'd vanished
i hope that you are gone for good
in fact, i know, you're banished!

i wish you'd never left me though,
& not just so you could please me;
on days like this, i saw your smile
the rest? the rest was easy.

i find i cannot play the mute
when gold pagodas call,
though a lotus eaters' paradise
is bound to someday fall.

now that you're gone forever,
just one thing left to do,
close eyes to lost past lives & loves
find someone just like you...
on trying to get inside someone else's head, imagining their motivations, but by the ending stanza not being sure if i'm writing about me or them. realizing that everyone i've felt out getting into a relationship with lately has obvious addictions red-flags that i haven't just been ignoring, but have been unwittingly even seeking out. AHHHHH!!!! that's a scary self-realization when you think you're all better and fixed up, lol. willful blindness is a crazy condition.

ian mcculloch - "she sings (all my fife)"
Jun 18 · 64
i wrote a poem
and was about to post it
when i re-read it one more time
and realized it really ******
so now you are reading
this instead
on self-censorship
i am now awakened

my dreams have begun to lack anything resembling a narrative,
replaced with convoluted geometrical imaginings;
of points connecting to make segments
connecting to make squares
connecting to make cubes
connecting to make hypercubici
and so on
and so on
ad infinità
ad nauseam
ad opachi dimensione sette volte sette

this did not happen overnight;
first there was a mutation to dalìesque landscapes
populated by buñuellian characters.

the only character now that pops up now and then
is a stick-man whose arms and legs
and sometimes his head
expand and contract
from the gargantuan to the infinitesimal.

are dream the psyche's way of working out
the traumas in our waking lives,
as many have claimed?

hmm... if this is so
i may be getting very
well-adjusted, or maybe
my geometrical-shaped
dreams make naked that
i may lack a life at all.

i miss my simple dreams of you.
maybe just an excuse to use a bunch of special characters to feel special, lol.

the cranberries - dreams
Jun 18 · 104
once it begins
i can do nothing else
but helplessly look
into that dark abyss
into which i am sliding

but, yes, i forgot
there is one more thing
i can also feel guilt
for not trying enough
to be happy, content
that this sickness of mine
is my fault alone

have you ever felt this?
like your life is on rails
leading you here, leading you there,
like your life is completely
out of your control?

i cannot deal
with all these choices
so instead of acting
i remain perfectly still
as i wait for rock bottom
where i cannot even
watch TV or move or sleep...
once i reach there
i have no where to go but

the feeling of being at the top of a steep icy hill when a depressive episode begins to develop, never knowing with certainty where it will end, and how deep it will get, it can be rather terrifying no matter how many episodes you've ever had, because there is no telling if it will be one that gets away from you and you start to not think rationally, even about life and death. but knowing if you hit a rock-bottom moment and get through it alive, there is no where else to go but into the bounce up again.
Jun 18 · 76
wear black with me;
institutionalize our misery.
we'll get sullen with the sorrow
wonderfully pensive with the pain.
let's go into permanent mourning,
for the death of our hero,
for the coming destruction.

our funeral tears can be
our own pre-emptive strike
against the coming storm.
the thunder, the lighting
the terror, the lure
the roses beside the path.

divide and conquer;
who wrote the rules of war?
when there's nowhere to hide
one must stand their ground,
so stand this ground with me.

if we hurry and begin
before the sun sets tonight
the walls we can build
supplies that we'll store
might save us from the storm,
if nobody else

we can enter the Tower
(eleventh the hour)
not in search of the secrets the universe holds,
but to hide from these secrets we once tried to reveal
Jun 18 · 314
i feel a little... life i guess
a tingling in the arm
a handful of springs ago i tried
blowing my brains out through

i watched lives
other's lives
for let's just say
a season or two
without watching a soul
a few years lived
between may & october

these blank lines are there
for a reason.

because i want you to stop

think about this question.

what does it mean to you
to have a broken heart?

i know,
it sounds like melodrama
to anyone who hasn't tasted it
you may think i'm... i don't know
what you may think

but losing the
love of your life
redefines loss
i don't care
what you
have lived
or loved
or lost
it will
it does
for anyone
i'm 29
and i'm an old man

and when you put
the pictures away
hating yourself for doing it
loathing yourself
but doing it all the same
cuz it would **** you
if you didn't
it's shocking
the hate
you can have
for forgetting
so soon
the shape of their smile
and the look of their face

my legs began to stiffen first,
(in june)
and my arms,
cold and nonresponsive.

it was all i could want
that was possible for me
to be left
before i became
a statue made of stone

the sick liberation
from ugly grief prison
to be completely anonymous
taking it in
and giving nothing back

unmoving, anonymous
quitting my life
and leaving home
going into the wilderness
without a word or a trace
not even to your parents
or closest friend
driving north
until the road ends
leaving your car
and walking north still
deeper into the northern
part of the the province
to die or get clean
and i had no particular
preference either way
which i probably why
i never went to rehab
i wasn't yet sure if a life
lived clean was a life
i could want to live,
would want to live,
would live... it wasn't
a settled question yet

(caution: logging trucks next 600 kilometres)

in retrospect this instant, like the funniest thing i've ever read,
but it was like a last warning of still being able to turn back
that after this point it was like a middle ages sailing map
like i'd crossed over into a magical here be dragons
sort of realm, and man, did i not know how truly
correct that feeling would turn out to be
until a few days later when the worst
of the withdrawal kicked in, the
thing i remember most were
my feet cramped up into
screaming claws for
at least a week
day and night

i learned that there is nowhere on earth
(and i mean NOWHERE)
where you can be left alone
to curl up and die
if it isn't your time

even in the middle of nowhere
God can still let you know
you're essential to someone
who could not live
one day longer
without you
i bet whether
you want to admit
it to yourself or not

to want to be needed
and hating it when you get your wish
and being smacked in the face
with the fact that your sorrow
was not for just her

her that was

but for yourself
and that makes
it somehow despicable
to me though i don't at all
understand why that is
beyond still searching
out reasons to hate myself

and dragging yourself
back onto your feet
and walking back south

i remember like yesterday
making my last phone call
to the last person that might
have been worried that i'd
dropped off the face of the earth
but i'd lied once again about where
i'd gone and why i'd gone there
so how seriously was i really
taking all this 12 step stuff
anyways. how seriously
does anyone, all of us
chain-smokers downing
*** after *** of the most
high-test coffee to ever
see the face of the earth...
but i guess we're all putting
in some effort, and maybe
that's enough, some is enough...

i've known death
and triumph
and whatever it is
you think you cannot
live with today
take the word
of one person
i don't know with what
you could live with
but with me
a spirit
can live will live
through anything
life can dish out
if you can just wait
for a new purpose to find you
even when you can't find
that new purpose yourself

you are needed
you are needed
whoever you are
we are all needed
the first poem i'd written after a very long break of several years of not writing. i have no idea what some of the references mean, but it's weird looking back on a really critical time in my life.
Jun 18 · 122
pink clouds
i'm still waiting
to be kicked off of this one,
but even with disappointments
it isn't really much of a shove, more
like a reminder that i got this thing
called life more than anything that
could move me much, and i'm maybe
a little scared even that this optimism
thing might just be a more permanent
condition rather than just a passing
treat to enjoy and say goodbye
to like all of my love
affairs other than
my latest one,
a love affair
with myself
i have to admit john lennon's self-congratulatory line "i used to be cruel to mt woman, i beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved", like how cynthia loved not having his fist punched into her face, that kind of thing. it seems overly flippant and with like an attitude that his own self-enlightenment not to hit every woman in his life should alone be worthy of applause *shudder* it's a lyric that hasn't aged well at all... but i have still always loved this tune anyways, and hearing the line delivered by two chipper women somehow makes it less bothersome to enjoy:

the beatles - it's getting better all the time (cover)
Jun 15 · 220
through glass
smoked and murky
you see ugliness
where i see beauty
where courage
and where you see
only weakness i see
the strongest woman
i've known so just
trust me when i
say you have
nothing evil
inside of you
and keep theses
words somewhere
safe letting them
be your mirror
when it is
too dark
to see
note to my daughter when she tried committing suicide in 2014, three months after i had tried. i felt i didn't have enough credibility with her to be saying these words, but i sure meant them deeply.
Jun 15 · 89
.can i keep you?,
once you asked
(though trying to refrain).

i answered yes,
you gave your love,
but took it back again.

can i keep you?,
asked again,
here'd be my answer, true:
(really angry)

can you keep me?,
yes, you can,
i've left my heart with you...
July 22, 1997
Jun 15 · 71
old unsent love poem
i struggle
with this and
that and you and
me and maybe
looking so hard for
something that said this
was all so fake for you so i
could put all you said or wrote
into question saw what i wanted
to so i could be hurt so very deeply
that i could finally let us go and continue
on with this oh so lonely life of mine and
if that is what i needed and if that is what i
did then i am sorry because there was a time when i
would have walked through hell's flames to reach you
and i would have given you everything but now all i need is
to be free not from you but from us and even now i want
to deny that an us ever existed because it hurts so much
to know that if there was it is time for us to end and i
don't have any instructions on just how to let us go

when you feel that you might not be able to go on
and resolve is sinking like a heavy stone just believe
that an us like us can never end and in the sunshine you
will see my smile and hear my laugh and feel a touch you
never felt and you will find your way because i could never
ever fully leave you alone in the cold because you have slipped
through my every defense into the very depths of my soul along
every turn & bend in my road and as i would and would still really be
for you in every way my princess just as i know you would for me
if somehow you were here and there believe you would share this
weight as i would yours and though the wind may *******
around and that right now love may be pain devouring
i'll never believe it is just a poem because i still feel
i'm still not alone and i still feel the sun can i still
feel your sunshine so you still feel mine
because everyone needs to feel just
a tiny bit of sunshine sometimes
sometimes sunshine
a super old poem, that i know if i sent to my daughter's mom (I'm finding all sorts of hidden treasures to jog my memory going through my old journals, and seeing how much I slowly changed over the years in different ways, which has been also enlightening), sending it would have meant we would have gotten back together, my daughter would have a younger sister that would be 26 years old right now (my biggest of regrets of my life), things that only in hindsight you can see as such pivotal moments in life, for good or ill. And how many of these we have in life, and what unknown ones those may have spawned, and when you think of the immensity of all those random things, like how I came so close to sending this to her (my mail-mail, this was 1992), that randomness is somewhat comforting, that life carves it's own path in a way, and the only life that exists is the one we have, the others remain forever mere possibilities, for good or for ill.
Jun 14 · 463
objects of affection

Your fading yawn upon your lips,
Your snooze-bar pushed by fingertips,
Your Big Red Mug™ that you reach for,
Your feelings that you might need more,


Your gilded mirrors you gaze into,
So needlessly, because you're you,
Your stroking brush run through your hair,
Each thoughtless prop without a care,


It seems insane, but, oh, so true,
I long to be these things to you,
But you will never, ever know,
Because I know I'll never show...


But still, even your fuzzy bunny slippers
In which you slip your dainty feet into
Each evening... pure bliss.

from the archives... it kind of reads like an ode to codependency lol, but I still like this one still anyways, nice memories.

"She makes herself some coffee filled with sugar, milk and truth.
It's hard to dislike somebody who really likes you...
She says: Hey, do you mind me asking for a part of your love,
of your world, of your bed, of your heart?
Hey, do you mind telling me where to start?"

elin ruth sigvardsson -where to start
Jun 13 · 417
just don't say that word
i read a poem today
that had a line so close
to exactly the last words
you ever said to me, when we
were still truly in love, and i loved
you more than i ever have, ever could
love another woman, before the even worse
wound, another that never fully heals, not
completely, that when you have true love
and then lose it, you sometimes lose the
ability to truly believe in true love ever
again, and that pain may linger all
the more. those lines made me go
up to my storage unit and dig
through mounds, pieces of
yesteryear, my decrepit
answering machine.

i got it home a few
hours ago, and was so
nervously hovering before
hitting play, slowly winding
the tiny cassette tape by
hand, terrified both of
hearing your pretty
of the prettiest of
voices, and of
the machine
jamming, destroying
the only thing real i still
have left of you, other than
that place a piece of you will
always live within my heart
none the matter any of the
infirmities either of us
struggled with, you
and i found what
no two other
people ever
had: you,
and me

but it played:

"Jason... (holding back tears, voice quavering and shaking, with long pauses and the sound of a woman being torn in two) I know last night you said we could never again have any contact, and I still know you're not angry, just absolutely heart-broken cuz you told me that I have no heart to break, you were wrong, because it's broken right now in a way that can't be fixed. You explained your reasons for thinking that, but what you don't understand, it's that you want it all, but with something that tastes so good to me, the best there can be, even the flakes and crumbs are enough for me.

You said you can't live without me being right in front of you, creating new memories with me and you... but I have to let you know, the best memories I've ever made have been just knowing you... and did you know we only had four real seasons, one each of a spring, summer, fall, and winter, spread over a decade, but only really one entire year, and all that rom-com nonsense? It was all true, and if I could only ever have part of you, that would be more than enough because the thought of anything else is still too scary to even think about, but waking up this morning now I have to not just think about it, but live it, now every day forever, and.... and..... I....

You hurt me so much, even worse than saying I have no heart, and yes, I screamed at you to get the **** out of my life then!! before that, so I'm not holding it against you, but it still hurt me so much, it did, when you said if I never spoke the words to you then I never could have really been in it with you, and you never asked me the reason I didn't want to hear that word from either me or you, it would have made it so real that I know I would finally have to make a decision... you're my sweetness, too, you know? Remember? Haven't you even been listening???

I never wanted to say the words or let you say them either because then it meant this is real, I said that already, but then it wouldn't, then I wouldn't... this isn't just two people able to project their perfect versions of themselves to, or I mean on, each other, one another, the way you said that, right?? Well I got out my stuff and I counted how many hours I've devoted to you the only way I knew how, over the phone, that adds up to 610 entire days of you talking with me, and think of all the IMs, the hundreds of poems we wrote for each other, doesn't that prove anything to you? What else did I have to do? And I know we both agreed and both meant it that it has to be over, it's over, I know it now, but all my heart keeps screaming is what within my real power can I do to get you back again, and the answer is nothing, there's nothing at all I can do, but my heart keeps on looking for an answer anyways.

I know we both agreed to erase almost a decades worth of writing, but it's something I instantly regretted, more yours than mine cuz that's a part of you I could... (she cries for a long time, and I used to listen to this tape so often that I still know intimately every sob like it's written into me, and at this part as always I cry, too, mourning an old loss, but still a huge loss nonetheless).

I'm just telling you that if I was right in front of you, if  I was looking to you, I mean at you, close up and right into your the eyes where I had nowhere to hide, with your arms wrapped around me real tight, I would tell you the exact same thing I'm telling you right now: I love you, I love you... I love you, and I miss you so much it feels like I might die every time I breathe in. I love you, and I'll miss you, Jason. I really will. click."

And I've been feeling a bit lost all day since then, puttering with one thing or the next, writing a poem for my daughter, taking Blizzard for a walk, calling a few friends and my sis. But I'm beyond distraction so I thought I'd write it all out, but after dragging the voice-mail into the digital age, I'm drunk with listening to snippets of your heavenly voice over and over as I put your words to paper, or I guess to pixel, wondering what it sounds like now, your voice like an entire symphony, with each instrument singing the sound of that voice, how much it may have changed, but still stayed the same, and thank goodness for lots of patch cords, but only vowing to myself I won't listen to it more than once a year, and I know exactly the perfect date, the evening and morning between August 31st and September 1st, when we had that very last phone call, and you left me the message the morning of the 1st. I'm going to listen to your voice Jessica, I promise no matter how old I get, now every year on the night between those days for the rest of my life, but no more than that. And I get it all much more than you'll literally ever know anymore, you're too far away from me in time and in tide, and always in distance. And I already all of a sudden wish it were the early morning of September 1st so I could hear your voice again, I'm aching to hear you again, travelling back to the past, backward fast down the bumpy road of lie, somehow back to you. And I've got a secret, shhhhhhh... most every love poem has always been written for you.

  p.s. I still check you pinterest board once in a while, and I try to decipher whether you're as happy as you could possibly be, through a new recipe, or song, or football mom sticker, as if that were possible. And I still remember the promise you made many times that someday, before either of us die, that there will be a time for us again, when we will meet face to face one day. And I scoffed at that every time as romantic procrastination, but I know how sincere you always were, I think you believed in it as much as you believed in anything.

p.p.s. (because you love p.p.s.'s) I know how it's crazy to think you might still believe that after all these years, but I still like to think about it on days like today, rare days, made all the more precious by their rarity, and I read "When You Are Old" by Yeats, and listen to "Passing Afternoon" by Sam Beam, and I just wonder about what it would be like, if someday you came here to me, that we built a new life together, what would it look like, but all I know is I wouldn't care because we'd be together, and you know I know all your secrets and things that you think are so repellent, behaviors caused by the wounds you have suffered, but not to me, not at all, and never were, I accepted you always exactly as you were, and probably are, and I wonder if you really, really ever got that part, that I even loved the side of you constantly on fire, that with you I'm fire-proof, and then I don't wonder anymore, because I know if you were with me I couldn't be happier no matter what it looked like, and, yeah, I wonder... sometimes when you ever cross my mind hard like today I wonder.

p.p.p.s. (I'm guessing you'd like p.p.p.s.'s, too) And afterwards, a strange and unexpected peace settles, and my mind begins to blank out in mid-evening, not bliss out, but just a profound silence within me, and I turn off my ringer, the TV, don't pick up a guitar, or a book, nor anything at all, and I'd/I'm/I'll sit on the back porch smoking (now vaping), listening as carefully to those universal sounds of a big neighbourhood, and all the hundreds of stories echoing out and then fading away into the night, probably more like ours than we'd think, because first love is first love no matter how it occurs, and it plays on repeat echoing in my heart, "I love you, and I'll miss you, Jason. I really will. *click", and my mind stay blanks, it's all in the heart, and I look at the slowly darkening night sky (we get so much sun this time of year way up here), and I sit and wonder, and I wonder, yeah, sometimes I just gaze out into the night sky and the stars until my eyes just almost accidentally fall on one, I pick just one with my heart's eyes hoping that, a crazy hope, I look toward the southern hemisphere and to the east, and I wonder what the chances are that one out of the endless amount of times I do that, I wonder if you'd ever be looking at the same one, at the same time, or when I see a clear moon in a daytime sky, just like yesterday, because I know you love seeing those, too, and wonder if our eyes are falling on the closest think that, well, I wonder, maybe the closest, furthest away thing we'll ever have left of each other, I of you, and you of me, and, you, looking at the moon during the day, and that night with both of us walking in the blackness in bare feet on soft green grasses on a real blue moon, and promising whenever there is a blue moon, more than one in and month like we did that night, we promised we always would (I always have, if just for a minute), yeah, sometimes I just wonder if you still do it like I still do, and sometimes? Sometimes I just wonder...

"So please don’t ask why I cannot look you in the eye
When I plead that I love you."*
- cc, "liar liar"
for jessica ann

her last poem, which i kept
(yes, i cheated)

forgetting you.

I sit here
Having things to say
But no words to say them
And hoping somehow
They'll find their way
To your eyes.

I go through
My easy (enough) life,
With carpool
And running, cooking,
Homework, bath time...
Simple, enjoyable
Every day tasks
That keep me moving
At a steady speed.
Until I'm not.
And night comes
And I lie in my bed,
Day dreaming
(no, that's wrong...).

I imagine
A world separate
From where I lie,
With snow covered fields
And a black sky
Filled with brilliant stars.

What would that world
Be like...
Your taste,
Your smile,
Your hand.
Would I
Be happy?
Almost certain,
Though, I know,
I could not
Be happier than I am.

Your precious words,
Find a place
Somewhere near
My heart.
I hold them tightly,
Quietly mulling over them
In a moment's silence.
And I could not,
Would not,
Forget you.

our last song, my cover for her of "No Other Way"

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."
Jun 12 · 169
brittany bea
should today have
death and the darkness
of the grave come suddenly
and unexpectedly, my fear
is now gone, save for a
sorrow that would
linger still, just of
saying goodbye
to you, that my
dear love for
you would
be more
my favourite place in the world is still on a bright sunny day under an umbrella at the Snow Hut, having a triple-scoop rocky road-bordeaux cherry-maple walnut cone, and sitting there long after we're down to the cones, slowly and patiently picking at them periodically, tiny piece by tiny piece, as we talk about nothing and everything at all in the world. that time with my now almost 30 year-old daughter is my earthly bliss.

bruce springsteen - when you need me
Jun 12 · 132
he prepared me
for this moment
my whole life

i had a perfect
heart shot, a whitetail buck,
with no doe or fawns around
for many klicks, a solid branch
to steady my aim, at this distance
i can drop it over open sights
i'm a good shot, i've practiced

i hesitate, i can't do it,
i don't want to do it,
i can't let him down,
i don't know what to do,
i don't know what to do!!!

jason, if you take the shot,
i won't lie to you, you'll never
be quite the same again

i'm sorry... i can't do it

slide back the bolt, shell ejected
can't look up at him, feeling so dejected...
i hand over my old .303.

i surprisingly get a hug once he puts
it down, and the last words i ever
expected to hear

i've never been so proud of you
relief. relief. relief.
Jun 11 · 103
beautiful losses
ღ ღ ღ

i think i may have finally discovered
the answer to the riddle all men ask

for she always is a woman of my choosing
a sunbeam in which i'm not meant to bask

i ask her if she'll be my love forever
the answer to her lips always comes fast

i recognize this woman at first meeting
who'll say yes though she knows it's not to last

ღ ღ ღ

and this is why i love the ones i love
and this is why i fall the way i do

ღ ღ ღ

for loss of heart's the loneliest endeavor
but it needs someone to miss to see it through

i roam around still searching for this woman
i've met a hundred times to break my heart

i cherish not the pensive pain that follows
but i love the thoughts that heartache tends to start

these thoughts bleed into words bleed into poems
i jot them down whene'er i start to cry

so thank you to the cherished ones who've answered
as long as i keep asking this pen will ne'er run dry

ღ ღ ღ
some days, especially ones that are emotional, i feel like i could just go on writing forever, so many things i feel like i need to get out... but it's like a child painting, you need to take the picture away at some point or it will always end up as brown smears, all the objects blending into each other. it doesn't all have to be written in one day.

neil finn - better be home soon/don't dream it's over (acoustic)
Jun 11 · 84
sweet sunshine, your still beauty can inspire me
without the pain of loss i know so well
the warming rays and endless days you give us
require no need for paltry kiss and tell

for no one in this world could ever cage you
your love cannot be bound by man-hewn bars
the lovers you can keep are ever endless;
they can be counted on the boundless sea of stars
ian mcculloch - heaven's gate
Jun 11 · 248
four years gone
a war poem

you told me one time
that your first memories
were of artillery shells
raining down on your orchard
for three months solid
no r.e.m. sleep for anyone
back in the bad old days

you were pushed down a well
to drown like a kitten
when you were just three
by a mother half-crazed
by fear of those ruskies
just a half a klick away
and goebbel's **** lies

you lost your dad
that very same day
marched off into a vastness
that he never marched back from
a simple fruit-grower
pressed into a service
where he had no choice

you spent your whole childhood
with siberian drunks
as your only day-care
as your mother and sisters
were worked half to death
in the fields every day
and back at the gulag
huts ***** in front of
you and uncle jake
every single night
forced to watch

escaping to the west
(could you ever escape?)
coming to that
small prairie town
where every family
had lost at least one member
to those **** blond-haired krauts
a **** blue-eyed ***** just like you
german as a first language
was not the best one to have

i don't blame you
anymore at all
for my childhood miseries
for drinking as you did
for cheating as you did
for beating as you did

i can't do that
it's not my place
to pass judgement
or assign or detract
from any capabilities
on a dad that just might
have been one of the very
the last casualties of the
second world war

i pray that much
of my past might be
understood by those
i hurt with some sort
of similar understanding
june 13, 1941 - june 11, 2015

simon % garfunkal - the boxer
Jun 11 · 63
i need not more

than close my eyes

to see you

than listen to silence

to hear you

than pull back my hands

to touch you

than empty my mind

to know your thoughts

than close my mouth

to hear your words

than surrender to slumber

to dream your dreams

you have given
me something

that helps me to see
beyond reality

to the possibilities
of tomorrow

you have given
me hope
velvet underground w/ nico - i'll be your mirror
your breath
on my neck

a troubled cure
for a troubled mind

i wished that
until i was healed
that you'd let not
your breath cease

the best laid schemes
o' mice an' men
gang aft a-gley
spirit of the west - home for a rest
Jun 11 · 59
explain the hatred
in your hands
do the deed
with wedding bands

explain the loving
in your smile
fill your need
you'll stay awhile

explain the fear
within my eyes?
when i bleed
it never dries

abuse me
to amuse me
just don't ever try to use me

engage me
or enrage me
please never try to cage me
the pogues - if i should fall from grace with god
Jun 11 · 60
got wet
from bad to worse, from push to shove,

you always hurt the ones you love,

where do you get your orders from?,

she answered me, above

i can't object if Christ's her boss,

guess my gain would become His loss,

the river wide, i feel insane,

i think i'll try to cross...

begin the swim she yelled to me,

when you get here we'll both be free

the river's grown, i lift my head,

she're nowhere i can see

where she's gone i just don't know,

if i did, i too would go;

if rotting dead beneath the waves,

i'd join her down below

if i don't move i fear i'll sink,

down to the depths, beneath the drink;

since i don't know if she lays there,

best to turn back (i think...)
bob marley - wait in vain
Jun 11 · 67
ღ ღ ღ

what would you have thought

if i would have said...

ღ ღ ღ

i could almost have

fallen in a wee bit in love

in those few days spent

memorizing what details

i could of your face,

half wishing i'd courage

as strong as desire,

that the refuge you served

served to more than to inspire.

ღ ღ ღ
skydiggers - i'm wondering
Jun 11 · 120
i can speak
without fear
if it's just for a night

i can skip
a few pills
if i'm feeling alright

i can look
in the mirror
if i don't wonder why

i can laugh
without tears
if i'm saying goodbye

i can live
without death
if it's just for a day

i can touch
without pain
if you're going away

i can love
without fear
if it's just pretend

i can win
without loss
if the game's at its end

i can cut
you so deep
with these things that i say

but written
doesn't mean
that it's really this way...
Aloofness won't protect from pain, no matter how we may pretend.

jack johnson - gone (live)
Jun 10 · 541
part of it all
with every breath
we each are breathing
molecules from julius caesar,
of aristotle and every one of
our prophets, leaders, even
god for some of us, all those
molecules of carbon and oxygen
that have travelled through those
same lungs, too, molecules that
have travelled around through
epochs too numerous to be
easily counted; i like the
idea of it, how connected
we all really are on such
a fundamental level

ღ ღ ღ

just as history is the
memory of human beings,
true or false, right or wrong,
mother nature is the memory
of the entire earth, and the
carved meanders of this
little creek indicate
her patience and the
irresistible force of her
will; i seem to recognize
how alive in a way our
entire ecosystem is, each
part, each of us, are like
vital organs in her body,
valleys are her wrinkles,
as are all things that return
to dust; like a great sculptor,
she molds all things as God
intended for her, her chisels,
wind & water & sunshine,
exquisite tools that have
their own logic and cut,
her hammer is time

ღ ღ ღ

time flows by
at the exact same
rhythm of your water in
front of me, all these baby
ducks and goslings and a pair
of graceful swan and their cygnets...
they are so beautiful to watch, and
something almost magical happens
as i watch them for so long, and with
the baby fox popping their heads out
as if a game of whack a mole, or some
sort of complex, silent musical instrument
i somehow seem to start to think like
that which i am watching in awe of,
they get inside my head, or maybe
the other way around, and i feel
even more a part of nature as
they so much more obviously
are. one head of lettuce and i
can't think of a better investment,
as one brave mallard came right up
and ate a leaf out of my hand as
i sat my notebook down and acted
and watched before writing anything
for a change, this spot becoming like
a battery of sorts, and a place to go
that is quiet, and just secluded
enough that i know no one will
cross my path so i can be alone
with that which i am a part of
with the walls that block the
awareness of that crumbling so
quickly as i force myself back
to silent observer, the lettuce
all gratefully gobbled down.

ღ ღ ღ

yes, i had become a water fowl
for a few moments at least, my
spring creek being that flow of
time, with its currents and eddies
and whirlpools and rapids and all
other movements trace out our own
wrinkles, and memories, and the
current is as inevitable, as irresistible,
and understanding that simple obvious
concept, but feeling the living metaphor
lapping against my bare feet dangling
in the water with an eye out for leeches,
it makes it so real that it's a frustration
to not be able to describe it well, but
more gratitude than anything else.

ღ ღ ღ

the tree in my front yard that i cut
a big piece off, that strangely made
me cry to do, i counted the rings of
just that one huge section branching
out near the truck, 66, 67, 68 years,
rings etched by time just as it traces
my laugh lines and the deepening
furrows of my brow, and i like them.

ღ ღ ღ

i like not railing against my aging,
i like embracing it, even stuff like
basal joint arthritis, because in losing
a core area of competency, i had to
learn to play again from scratch and
switch to classical and writing songs
with new chords and fretting, no more
solos, just a slow rhythm and intricate
finger picking that made me realize
that i hadn't lost a thing, it has just
grown into something new, and when
i can't do this anymore, i'll switch over
to pure slide, i'm never going to stop
playing, and mixed metaphors and all
that, just how i grew to meet the limitations
of aging in this way, i wish to greet every
new season of life now in the same way,
loving that which i love, not burying any
talents, but adapting with grace, that's how
i want to age, like that tree branch, twisting
and contorting to get it's share of sunshine
on its leaves so naturally and effortlessly
and unconsciously, ring after ring, each layer
of sediment in the earth, as do ancient cites
rebuilding themselves layer upon layer
atop themselves like the rings of the tree, and
life just keeps passing itself on and on and on,
and i think about the veritable ocean of ink
and graphite i've used up with these thoughts
over the years, how many thing of great immensity
i borrow every day, before it all flows back to you.
“Come out of the circle of time And into the circle of love.”
                                                                                        ― Rumi

eric burdon & war - mother earth
Jun 10 · 57
i couldn't say anything
that you didn't think was a promise
of how happiness was all that i'd bring you ,
and through everything that we'd
be together, or that you were
all hope
for my life ,
and it's your faith
that's i've shattered,
and painful memory
is all that i'll bring you
thinking back
on these moments
years from now.
When it's just not there with someone, for any reason, and inadvertently or not, rejection always really hurts feelings in the process of explaining something that doesn't take away from anyone at all, just not your type you find out as you get to know them, and probably in any kind of relationship that naturally reaches an end of any kind.

We're, all of us I think, guilty of treating others with the assumption they are a lot less fragile than we assume, that we think of better ways to put things after the fact, to be more delicate, and we're also all so fragile, I suspect some people just learn better coping mechanisms for rejection, lol, but the initial sting is still painful, so we should know a lot better, too, probably to be as delicate as humanly possible... but human nature. Whoops :-(

Note: I wasn't going to mention it because I did such a crummy job of it, but the image I always get of The Little Redheaded Girl shutting down Charlie Brown if he ever really did get his chance, and crushing his heart in the process no matter how she tried to think about his feelings. I was trying to shape it all like her silhouette facing head-on, with the old early-70s feathered sides in the Peanuts Specials that I grew up with. But I discovered I am no Charles Shulz, lol.
Jun 9 · 235
twirling on icebergs
she is
gone forever
now, and yet i
find no sadness in
that, even if i try to,
for all she was was a
vapour a thought an idea
a concept a longing and maybe
just a projection of all i hoped for
her to be, for do any of us ever really,
really know much of each other, really, or
are we all just like those half-forgotten diagrams, the
parts peeking outside of the water not even barely beginning
to give any clue to the endless layers of complexity and messiness?

                                                     ­   ღ ღ ღ

                                                              ­                                                 yet...
                                                     ­                                                    you can
                                                             ­                                           trust me,
                                                             ­                                     wow, could
                                                                 ­                           she ever dance

                                                          ­                                     if i ever knew
                                                            ­                                anything about
                                                           ­                             her then, now, or,

                                                        ღ ღ ღ

ever even
once upon
a time, hers,
mine, whoever's,
none of that matters,
just that she almost floated
away into pirouettes over the
shining ice below, just like a vapour
a thought an idea a concept a longing
and even a projection, that's how she would
dance with me, or for me, or for herself all alone,
that is how she dances still somewhere, wherever,
for whomever, maybe just herself... yeah, none of that matters,
just that memory of her dancing, making me smile my truest smile.
memory of monique dancing on a beach under the stats a long time ago
they bend and stretch,
this way and that,
in the most unusual
poses, but they're alive,
picking through garbage.

the man had had a really
nice dream the night before,
of a time of before, when
life was so much more than
picking through what was
refuse to others, refuse to
him, and to her, back before.

but these dreams don't
bother him; they both live
in a world without hope,
even quite literally, truth,
living right up to the edge
of the large areas of the world
considered still too radioactive
for human life, so dreams of
before are always very
welcome for them all,
as are memories; they live
now in a world where dreams
and memories are the only good
things to live for still, but because
of a lack of good things, the joy
contained in dreams, in memories,
are many times more potent in a
normal man or woman from before,
so even without hope, people still
enjoy talking about the old days,
and storytelling again takes an almost
central role in these brand new societies,
that are actually a continuation of at least
from 30,000 BC from a total of around 200,000
years, and likely going back many more tens
of thousands of years, so, it's in their blood, our
very genetics, our evolutionary make-up, and
maybe their mess began exactly because there
were no big story-tellers being heard, not for
many continuing generations, not speaking of
whatever great social ills may have been
prevalent in their day, nor leading rallying
cries that made a difference in changing
government social policies, not heard like
a woody guthrie or a john lennon, and so much
further beyond and behind them, not in
the last few decades before the War,
the great voices were still out there,
if you're into your local music scene,
you'll probably get it, when you've
really heard it, and done well, that
reflects back to an audience exactly
what that audience is not maybe
thinking, but what they are feeling
as a whole, those feelings that last
sometimes a lifetime's length, the
ones like from rejoicing to mourning,
or from happy to sad, or mourning back
into rejoicing, and sad back into happy once
more, those voices were still out there, but it's
just that no-one could hear anymore, addicted
to their platforms, their own artificially constructed
lives carefully crafted to project outward, as deeply as
any ****** or blow or any other addiction one could
think of, they all filled their lives ever more with
trivialities, our hearing the storytellers remind
them of their purpose, and all those afflicted
by that culture shared little blame, it
seemed to shift at some point in a
fundamental way from a general
what's good for my world? to a
what's good for my religion?" to a
what's good for my country?* to a
what's good for my family? to a totally
exclusive what's good for me?, instead
of that proven much better an even balance
between the all of these, rather than too
much an extreme on any end of any
spectrum, like picking from a complete
spectrum of every colours, but only picking
those hues at the extreme edges, leaving so
much beauty unfulfilled, and so sadly unused,
so many crayons left melted in the crayola box.

but none of that matters at all anymore,
there is no left or no right, no ideologies,
no selfies, no rat-race, no rich, no poor
just all one thing now, survivors, that
as promised would envy the dead, add
but again, what's good for him and for her
are their dreams, like his last night's,
or any of his memories, even the ones
that without the stark comparison of
here and now seemed horrible, of trying
to guess how on earth all these millions
of small factors, how that vile mixture
was made that got them to the point of
the mutually assured destruction that
was designed to prevent it from ever
happening, just as in dr. strangelove,
if for no other than the most important
reason in all human history now, after
before, how to make sure never to let
whatever those factors were that most
made war come upon them no matter the
human cost, that they never be ever
allowed to ever take root, if the human
race even survives at all, which is still
very much in question.

they keep walking even after it is starting
to get dark, looking for a fresh vein of whatever
food they can possibly find, staking out the area
for a thorough 6-feet down over plot between the
four bright yellow luminescent plastic government
issued poles bright and early tomorrow; people work
really really hard in this time as a rule, of necessity,
long hours, so when the day is done, and the mind
again has time to wander, they will wash and lay
out tomorrow's meagre choice of garments to
wear the next day, have a light bedtime snack
if they have anything to eat, or looking forward
to what is now the only sure meal of the day,
and thus the biggest, lunch time, to help people
with the best gift from the one group of their own
that had betrayed them all the most, the politicians,
those who still ran the show, and they realize how close
their democracies often got in, as too far in areas too often
also, but they still need them, and giving them the midday
fuel to scavenge to struggle to keep themselves from
completely starving to death, all of that, lost in
another memory myself now, the work infecting
the author, or is it reflecting the author, hmm,
but all of this is infectious i must admit,
but, yes, my point way back there was
the people work themselves deliberately
and for only the reward of keeping body
and soul together one more day, or week,
but also so they can run and jump and slide
right up to the soft body of their lover dream,
or the the hard body of their lover dream, it
doesn't matter who likes which, but snuggling
in with affection near spilling over the edges of
your heart like a 2nd type of madness, a madness
not of thoughts, but of feelings, a manic heart patient,
philosophically speaking, with the greatest lover
you've ever had, or will have, your perfect lover,
the lover you would pick like building a sims
character, with your perfect preference looks,
like ideal eye colour & type, hair colour & type,
every physical detail, and every personality trait,
but we have all kind of done that in real life at
least once, and realized even when someone
else checks so many boxes, like that line from
500 days of summer when the guy's little
'tween buddha little sister who gives him
advice said something like, look, just because
a pretty girl is into all the same ****** ****
you are doesn't mean her your soul mate,
but when this lover checks every box
in the yes column dream, and not one
box in the no column dream, that's the
type of thing that can't be ignored no
matter how hard a human being can
try now, so they all share the one same
lover above any other, their dreams,
because though they still have some
to be grateful for in their immediate
lives, they still breathe, it is a harsher
world now that ever could be before
easily imagined, and they all rush
as one to their lover's arms each
night, as almost in unison for those
of them in the majority working Main
Shift, the best pickers given the best
light from the sun, and all is shared
back to the community, so the elderly,
orphans, or otherwise infirm in some
way all get the best share, because they
have already otherwise paid a cost that
strangely wasn't noticed in the before,
and then it's true love dream the greatest
of all dreams forever and ever dream, just the
dream of a time before what every single language
that still exists as a living language, and
many, many were lost, but each one of
them calls the War the Catastrophe,
even those languages to whom the
word catastrophe already had a strong
link to another event, this was likely not just
the very worst thing that hadn't yet happened
to them before it of course did, but the very worst
thing that will ever even happen in their world, period,
not because of some mass enlightenment,
though there does seem to be one of those
incidentally as well, but because at looking
at the scarred and some areas forever mortally
wounded, including startlingly enough, every
specifically targeted areas on every continent
known for their high agricultural yields,
from the Great Plains in North America,
and Ukraine in Europe, to Iraq in Eurasia,
to Egypt in North Africa, to places you'd
never heard of mostly, and with that best
of the last arable land already gone (fighting over
water supplies in more arid lands is what
triggered the War), any hope is thoroughly
misplaced, and though even he would
always feel guilty of it, war seemed the
answer to him once, too, before the one to
really end all others, for the human race
will most likely be extinguished just due to
irreparably damaged DNA where in not too
many generations, those where any people
can still even communicate in some sort of small
way will dwindle and dwindle, being the very
most fringe minority no matter how deep one was,
no matter how safe one thought they were,
mere generations because the heart will still want
what the heart has always, it can't be controlled, there
will be no more war because there will be no
more people. he remembers it happened on that
really big celebration of the anniversary of
d-day, the big d-day centenary, the day that
social disorder, just as in 1848, spread as quickly
as the real huge forest fires they have everywhere
now, today, and my story is getting more and more
mixed in with life, just one more new fact of a new life,
when all the new dictatorships sprung up in some of the
most unlikely of spots to end in all-out thermonuclear
warfare world wide, all on live feed... it feels somehow
ironic that the vast majority of those who instantly
vapourized in the very first wave of a much more
extended war than anyone would have guessed,
but the greatest casualty list by far, were themselves
watching it all happen and be commentated on by
talking heads in big newsrooms, instead of using
those last precious moments to say goodbye to
some loved-one, everyone has at least one,
but they were addicts right to the end
of the time before when the very
word cellphone, and the concept
of it even be almost knowingly
forgotten, as so many others,
and now sweetest sleep has
grabbed hold of both of them
after an hour or two of intimacy
just for them alone, and their
greater lover always dream, awaits
them already, arms wide open, beckoning
calling out to them all, each by name, all of
them left, for in dream lies the
last link to anything normal.
i took a psych class once, i forget which one, but we watched a documentary on dream study done with former concentration camp, and true death camps, like Birkenau the notorious Auschwitz sub-camp that exterminated m such a thoroughly organized fashion, too, what did people in such trauma dream of (i'd have guessed they would have horrific nightmares and terrors each evening), and it turns out 100% of them reported having the most marvelous dreams of their lives, like a pressure valve for the incredibly intense misery on a seemingly unending day by day fashion, their dreams were unparalleled in how marvelous they were. And after watching Chernobyl, reading old government documents on what day to day life would likely be like for the survivors of a fullest exchange of nuclear weapons with the old CCCP, and that seemed to me to the closest thing to hell as far as living would go, so I thought their dreams would have to be pretty great, too.
Jun 7 · 2.2k
revelation spring creek
tonight all is silent
on these quiiet waters
and tonight all is silent in me
again i have entered
into her state of grace
and i taste of what heaven might be

i've held back no secrets
and envisioned the truth
and the truth seems so easy to see
i've forgiven myself
sought forgiveness from her
and her sweet words of love set me free

i know i will stumble
today and tomorrow
but my mem'ry of now will still be
a gem of great value
a refuge i'll cherish
right now and for eternity
love the silent sound of her flowing waters
Jun 2 · 379
.when will i find
a love that's true?'

to God above i cry

you need to learn
of beauty first
my God above's reply

but i have known
such beauty here
i cry to God again

if i've not learned
of beauty yet,
i'll never know it then

my God above
looks down on me
and shakes His head and sighs

you'll know love true
when old age comes
and fleeting beauty dies
i've found some of my journals from high school this last week going through boxes and trying to reduce, written many years ago when i didn't know my *** from a hole in the ground, and yet this one, the 24th poem i ever wrote, about mid-way between grade 12 (in 1988), it really stuck me as almost creepily prophetic, that at my age now all my contemporaries looks are indeed fading (not least of which, my own!), and just like in this poem i did as a throw-away for a lit & comp assignment, reading it again after all these years, and kind of remembering even just jotting it down in a hurry the morning the assignment was due, it was like some sort of burst of wisdom i pulled out of the aether that just now the circle is being closed on. weird that!
prayers leave your feet
with every step in front of you,

a setting sun made kaleidoscope
by harvest dusts in your heart.

each flower in your lap
smiles up at us,

each day passes
folding into the one before.

it is raining outside
in the colour of life,

to make the world
fresh again.

it is blowing
in the colours of
shhhhh & hushhh,

to soothe
the world to sleep.

prayers leave your feet
and turn your endless path to joy.
inspired by "The Scenic Route"
May 27 · 189
cœur blessé: reprise
i have everything
a man should want...
yet i struggle with a will to live;
all the joy from my children,
my wife, my career, and, yet,
there's something missing.

i don't know the answer,
but somehow i can still speak it,
though i can't even think it, for it's a
forbidden thing, and this is a world
that often has no room for love.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

but that was almost
a different lifetime ago
and i've learned to let each
season go, and not even prepare
for the harsh winters but just to
enjoy these joyous springs, and
the long & hot summers.
i feel something good
ahead i just know it
but then again even
now each day is
the very best
of my life
i had
to lose it
all family
friends fortune
reputation career
health all my dreams
for the future it all
had to be peeled
off and stripped
away to reveal
rotten at
the core
and that
which just
yesterday i cursed
and cried out at the sky
over why God why me
is now the greatest blessing
that could have possibly be
bestowed because i know
now what is important
what is all i need to
not just get by
but to thrive
and that is not
living and striving
for the approval of others
and being much more than
content with the approval
of the only one whose
opinion ever mattered
in the first place
my own and
the only one
i really need to
love to make my
life more than
is only me
it's just me
lou reed - satellite of love
May 27 · 117
may God guard the diver,
the one who dives so deep
they may not surface.
i hold a tear in my hand;
it is as deep as the ocean
filled with only love.
you don't have to tell me
why you wanted to take yourself away,
but please do not again forget that i am here
always for you, for anything, everything.
the tree of the world does
not need another broken
branch, fallen to the ground,
never to bear fruit, it needs
you to bloom; this tree always
has room for more blossoms.
the only thing worse that struggling with your own addiction, is seeing your child fall deeper and deeper and deeper into their own.

harry belafonte - turn around
May 27 · 100
i am not
of stone, for,
while strong you
alone bring out my
weakness. a thousand
days of promises to keep
all melting away, a teardrop
falling against your skin; what a
single word from your lips can do.
no, i cannot be of stone, but i can be
fresh, newly liberated soil; a place where
a heavy stone had lain for longer even than
the earth can remember. touch the ground, and
put your hand against me, and wonder to yourself
if you have ever felt something so smooth, and soft,
and cooling against your palm. new earth freed from
a stone is not strong, but its smell is very rich, and
alive, and when you breathe it you are smelling
life itself, and when you touch it you become
a part of something bigger than yourself
for a moment or two... but why am i
writing about something that you
already know all about?

lost all day
as i waited for
something though i
don't even know what
it was; maybe just to
feel it, your hand
against me, it
so soft
iron & wine - time after time (cyndi lauper cover)
i knew this
was one of those
that was only meant
to be for a little while,
but i still jumped in
with both feet, and
now the current is
swirling, trying
to pull me
as i have
to say goodbye
so soon to my very
best new-old friend,
left in silence that is
deafening me, but that
is the way life's just meant
to be sometimes; it's no one's
fault, and so eminently natural.

ღ ღ ღ

to read a poem
is to be led by the poet;
it is best if you let them
take you where they want.

let them lead you
with their light,
but not too closely
lest you be consumed,
and it is just the same
with fresh love, isn't it?

ღ ღ ღ

she cannot come back to me,
and nothing right now can
help me, but her singular
beauty rising before
tomorrow's dawn.
but she's gone.

i still listen
for her soul,
but she guards
her silence perfectly.

ღ ღ ღ

i knelt down
by her spring
and (foolishly?) drank,
not noticing the current
which for tonight, and just
for tonight, has taken me below.
but i have no regrets, i refuse to
because she saved my life in
the realest way possible,
but still, tonight, i let
the pain flow, i let
it flow, and then
i let it all go.

ღ ღ ღ
amos lee - keep it loose, keep it tight
May 27 · 192
third quarter phase
i call to mind, or rather
my mind calls unto itself
to long for all those dear friends
i've made but are long left behind
by treachery or carelessness or apathy
walking through the drought-hardened
fields of the early 80s was like a moonscape
but in my memory right now of it, the feeling
beneath my feet is as soft as crepe silk, i look up
and all those old friends are returning to me
and there is no obligation in it, it's just me
in which they are happy, it's to me that
they cast waves of laughter, telling me
jason, may you live a long time as
free of worry and illness as a man
can be in this broken-down world

and then like in that old springsteen
tune, they all fade away into the night

And I awake and am alone again; I go out into the backyard,
naked, and the sky is all left-handed half- moon, and I'm
back to where i started from somehow, a child again.

And I plant a seed right next to me
and hope it grows into a tree.
paul westerberg - a beautiful lie (live)
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