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We had wanted to leave our homes before six in the morning
but left late and lazy at ten or ten-thirty with hurried smirks
and heads turned to the road, West
driving out against the noonward horizon
and visions before us of the great up-and-over

and tired we were already of stiff-armed driving neurotics in Montreal
and monstrous foreheaded yellow bus drivers
ugly children with long middle fingers
and tired we were of breaking and being yelled at by beardless bums
but thought about the beards at home we loved
and gave a smile and a wave nonetheless

Who were sick and tired of driving by nine
but then had four more hours still
with half a tank
then a third of a tank
then a quarter of a tank
then no tank at all
except for the great artillery halt and discovery
of our tyre having only three quarters of its bolts

Saved by the local sobriety
and the mystic conscious kindness of the wise and the elderly
and the strangers: Autoshop Gale with her discount familiar kindness;
Hilda making ready supper and Ray like I’ve known you for years
that offered me tools whose functions I’ve never known
and a handshake goodbye

     and "yes we will say hello to your son in Alberta"
     and "yes we will continue safely"
     and "no you won’t see us in tomorrow’s paper"
     and tired I was of hearing about us in tomorrow’s paper

Who ended up on a road laughing deliverance
in Ralphton, a small town hunting lodge
full of flapjacks and a choir of chainsaws
with cheap tomato juice and eggs
but the four of us ended up paying for eight anyway

and these wooden alley cats were nothing but hounds
and the backwoods is where you’d find a cheap child's banjo
and cheap leather shoes and bear traps and rat traps
and the kinds of things you’d fall into face first

Who sauntered into a cafe in Massey
that just opened up two weeks previous
where the food was warm and made from home
and the owner who swore to high heaven
and piled her Sci-Fi collection to the ceiling
in forms of books and VHS

but Massey herself was drowned in a small town
where there was little history and heavy mist
and the museum was closed for renovations
and the stores were run by diplomats
or sleezebag no-cats
and there was one man who wouldn’t show us a room
because his baby sitter hadn’t come yet
but the babysitter showed up through the backdoor within seconds
though I hadn't seen another face

        and the room was a landfill
        and smelled of stale cat **** anyhow
        and the lobby stacked to the ceiling with empty beer box cans bottles
        and the taps ran cold yellow and hot black through spigots

but we would be staying down the street
at the inn of an East-Indian couple

who’s eyes were not dilated 
and the room smelled
lemon-scented

and kept on driving lovingly without a care in the world
but only one of us had his arms around a girl
and how lonely I felt driving with Jacob
in the fog of the Agawa pass;

following twin red eyes down a steep void mass
where the birch trees have no heads
and the marshes pool under the jagged foothills
that climb from the water above their necks

that form great behemoths
with great voices bellowing and faces chiselled hard looking down
and my own face turned upward toward the rain

Wheels turning on a black asphalt river running uphill around great Superior
that is the ocean that isn’t the ocean but is as big as the sea
and the cloud banks dig deep and terrible walls

and the sky ends five times before night truly falls
and the sun sets slower here than anywhere
but the sky was only two miles high and ten long anyway

The empty train tracks that seldom run
and some rails have been lifted out
with a handful of spikes that now lay dormant

and the hill sides start to resemble *******
or faces or the slow curving back of some great whale

-and those, who were finally stranded at four pumps
with none but the professional Jacob reading great biblical instructions at the nozzle
nowhere at midnight in a town surrounded

by moose roads
                             moose lanes
                                                     moose rivers
and everything mooses

ending up sleeping in the maw of a great white wolf inn
run by Julf or Wolf or John but was German nonetheless

and woke up with radios armed
and arms full
and coffee up to the teeth
with teeth chattering
and I swear to God I saw snowy peaks
but those came to me in waking dream:

"Mountains dressed in white canvas
gowns and me who placed
my hands upon their *******
that filled the sky"

Passing through a buffet of inns and motels
and spending our time unpacking and repacking
and talking about drinking and cheap sandwiches
but me not having a drink in eight days

and in one professional inn we received a professional scamming
and no we would not be staying here again
and what would a trip across the country be like
if there wasn’t one final royal scamming to be had

and dreams start to return to me from years of dreamless sleep:

and I dream of hers back home
and ribbons in a raven black lattice of hair
and Cassadaic exploits with soft but honest words

and being on time with the trains across the plains  
and the moon with a shower of prairie blonde
and one of my father with kind words
and my mother on a bicycle reassuring my every decision

Passing eventually through great plains of vast nothingness
but was disappointed in seeing that I could see
and that the rumours were false
and that nothingness really had a population
and that the great flat land has bumps and curves and etchings and textures too

beautiful bright golden yellow like sprawling fingers
white knuckled ablaze reaching up toward the sun
that in this world had only one sky that lasted a thousand years

and prairie driving lasts no more than a mountain peak
and points of ember that softly sigh with the one breath
of our cars windows that rushes by with gratitude for your smile

And who was caught up with the madness in the air
with big foaming cigarettes in mouths
who dragged and stuffed down those rolling fumes endlessly
while St. Jacob sang at the way stations and billboards and the radio
which was turned off

and me myself and I running our mouth like the coughing engine
chasing a highway babe known as the Lady Valkyrie out from Winnipeg
all the way to Saskatoon driving all day without ever slowing down
and eating up all our gas like pez and finally catching her;

      Valkyrie who taught me to drive fast
      and hovering 175 in slipstreams
      and flowing behind her like a great ghost Cassady ******* in dreamland Nebraska
      only 10 highway crossings counted from home.

Lady Valkyrie who took me West.
Lady Valkyrie who burst my wings into flame as I drew a close with the sun.
Lady Valkyrie who had me howl at slender moon;

     who formed as a snowflake
     in the light on the street
     and was gone by morning
     before I asked her name

and how are we?
and how many?

Even with old Tom devil singing stereo
and riding shotgun the entire trip from day one
singing about his pony, and his own personal flophouse circus,
and what was he building in there?

There is a fair amount of us here in these cars.
Finally at light’s end finding acquiescence in all things
and meeting with her eye one last time; flashed her a wink and there I was, gone.
Down the final highway crossing blowing wind and fancy and mouth puttering off
roaring laughter into the distance like some tremendous Phoenix.

Goodnight Lady Valkyrie.

The evening descends and turns into a sandwich hysteria
as we find ourselves riding between cities of transports
and that one mad man that passed us speeding crazy
and almost hit head-on with Him flowing East

and passed more and more until he was head of the line
but me driving mad lunacy followed his tail to the bumper
passing fifteen trucks total to find our other car
and felt the great turbine pull of acceleration that was not mine

mad-stacked behind two great beasts
and everyone thought us moon-crazy; Biblical Jake
and Mad Hair Me driving a thousand
eschewing great gusts of wind speed flying

Smashing into the great ephedrine sunset haze of Saskatoon
and hungry for food stuffed with the thoughts of bedsheets
off the highway immediately into the rotting liver of dark downtown
but was greeted by an open Hertz garage
with a five-piece fanfare brass barrage
William Tell and a Debussy Reverie
and found our way to bedsheets most comfortably

Driving out of Saskatoon feeling distance behind me.
Finding nothing but the dead and hollow corpses of roadside ventures;

more carcasses than cars
and one as big as a moose
and one as big as a bear
and no hairier

and driving out of sunshine plain reading comic book strip billboards
and trees start to build up momentum
and remembering our secret fungi in the glove compartment
that we drove three thousand kilometres without remembering

and we had a "Jesus Jacob, put it away brother"
and went screaming blinded by smoke and paranoia
and three swerves got us right
and we hugged the holy white line until twilight

And driving until the night again takes me foremast
and knows my secret fear in her *****
as the road turns into a lucid *** black and makes me dizzy
and every shadow is a moose and a wildcat and a billy goat
and some other car

and I find myself driving faster up this great slanderous waterfall until I meet eye
with another at a thousand feet horizontal

then two eyes

then a thousand wide-eyed peaks stretching faces upturned to the celestial black
with clouds laid flat as if some angel were sleeping ******* on a smokestack
and the mountains make themselves clear to me after waiting a lifetime for a glimpse
then they shy away behind some old lamppost and I don’t see them until tomorrow

and even tomorrow brings a greater distance with the sunlight dividing stone like 'The Ancient of Days'
and moving forward puts all into perspective

while false cabins give way
and the gas stations give way
and the last lamppost gives way
and its only distance now that will make you true
and make your peaks come alive

Like a bullrush, great grey slopes leap forth as if branded by fire
then the first peaks take me by surprise
and I’m told that these are nothing but children to their parents
and the roads curve into a gentle valley
and we’re in the feeding zone

behind the gates of some great geological zoo
watching these lumbering beasts
finishing up some great tribal *******
because tomorrow they will be shrunk
and tomorrow ever-after smaller

Nonetheless, breathless in turn I became
it began snowing and the pines took on a different shape
and the mountains became covered white
and great glaciers could be seen creeping
and tourists seen gawking at waterfalls and waterfowls
and fowl play between two stones a thousand miles high

climbing these Jasper slopes flying against wind and stone
and every creak lets out its gentle tone and soft moans
as these tyres rub flat against your back
your ancient skin your rock-hard bones

and this peak is that peak and it’s this one too
and that’s Temple, and that’s Whistler
and that’s Glasgow and that’s Whistler again
and those are the Three Sisters with ******* ablaze

and soft glowing haze your sun sets again among your peaks
and we wonder how all these caves formed
and marvelled at what the flood brought to your feet
as roads lay wasted by the roadside

in the epiphany of 3:00am realizing
that great Alta's straights and highway crossings
are formed in torturous mess from mines of 'Mt. Bleed'
and broken ribs and liver of crushed mountain passes
and the grey stones taxidermied and peeled off
and laid flat painted black and yellow;
the highways built from the insides
of the mountain shells

Who gave a “What now. New-Brunswick?”

and a “What now, Quebec, and Ontario, and Manitoba, and Saskatchewan";
**** fools clumsily dancing in the valleys; then the rolling hills; then the sea that was a lake
then the prairies and not yet the mountains;

running naked in formation with me at the lead
and running naked giving the finger to the moon
and the contrails, and every passing blur on the highway
dodging rocks, and sandbars
and the watchful eye of Mr. and Mrs. Law
and holes dug-up by prairie dogs
and watching with no music
as the family caravans drove on by

but drove off laughing every time until two got anxious for bed and slowed behind
while the rambling Jacob and I had to wait in the half-moon spectacle
of a black-tongue asphalt side-road hacking darts and watching for grizzlies
for the other two to finish up with their birthday *** exploits
though it was nobodies birthday

and then a timezone was between us
 and they were in the distant future
and nobodies birthday was in an hour from now

then everything was good
and everyone was satiated
then everything was a different time again
and I was running on no sleep or a lot of it
leaping backward in time every so often
like gaining a new day but losing space on the surface of your eye

but I stared up through curtains of starlight to mother moon
and wondered if you also stared
and was dumbfounded by the majesty of it all

and only one Caribou was seen the entire trip
and only one live animal, and some forsaken deer
and only a snake or a lonesome caterpillar could be seen crossing such highway straights
but the water more refreshing and brighter than steel
and glittered as if it were hiding some celestial gem
and great ravines and valleys flowed between everything
and I saw in my own eye prehistoric beasts roaming catastrophe upon these plains
but the peaks grew ever higher and I left the ground behind
judy smith Oct 2015
An Ontario man and his two children have turned up safe after getting lost in the woods on their way to an Alberta wedding.

RCMP Const. Jason Curtis says David Hill, 33, along with daughter Sierra Hill, 10, and son Riley, 8, set off from Edmonton International Airport on Saturday morning.

They were destined for a family wedding in Hinton, a couple hours drive west of the city, that was scheduled for 11 a.m.

Family members got a call Saturday afternoon from one of the children in the car that they apparently got off the highway and were lost in a wooded area.

The phone then cut out and Curtis says the family spent the night in their rental car before finding someone Sunday morning who directed them back to the highway.

He says he doesn't know why the Hills left the highway.

And exactly where were they?

"I don't know if they're entirely sure of that,'' Curtis said.

RCMP said a ping from the cell phone placed them in the area of Obed, Alberta, which is between Edson and Hinton.

Police said they launched a full search for the family out of concern for the ages of the children and for the fact that some of the group suffered from medical conditions.

Curtis said that after getting directions out, the family notified their relatives and police.

"It couldn't be a better outcome. Everyone's safe and sound. And we're just very happy,'' Curtis said.

"The people are moving onto their family event, though they might have missed the wedding.''

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Kurtis Cullen Feb 2014
Prairie winds howling from the south, the entire southern plane a gaping maw issuing forth wide frozen tides in the air scorching the land. peering thru the open blotches of the windshield on the way home, headlights revealing the rolling billows of misty scintillating snow devouring the gravel road way, old raised green truck roars thru the drifts. Earlier, twilight. Freezing. Everything the wind touches, everything that blocks its path becomes still and solid and severely dense. Had a bubble bath before i went out. AB =Long Johns 7 mo's. outta the year. Cheeks barely exposed to the elements, cells begin to deteriorate instantly, the strong stolid ache appears seconds afterward, and spreads in my blood quickly, and doesn't stop till some minutes after i seek refuge in the truck. Taking an elk. old bull. my step dad bumbles the first shot and the beast runs down the *****. He shoots it again. Cuts the throat and eventually takes off the head. Draining Blood is steaming. Leave the entrails in the snowscaped pasture land. Chain the legs to the bale mover on the back of the truck and make for the shop a few miles away. There Fire rages in an old steel drum in the corner, burning wood blocks and black petroleum wax leftover from the pigs that blast out from the pipelines. Feeney's in my coffee mug. The heat radiates just enough to reach us in middle room but we still wear full coveralls against to stifle the endless cold. We hang the carcass by running a steel rod through its achilles tendons. Grandpa & Stepdad refer to a murdered family in Consort whose place was burned down, suspect the son was involved in a drug deal gone bad. (Cohen bros. come to mind. Real life in Alberta & BC seems a blend of Big Lebowski and No Country). Skinning the elk. Carving it up. Learning the different cuts of meat, where t-bones come from, tenderloin, round steak, sirloin. Cool. Mass more than a 100 lbs of meat for jerky making. Country cousins comin over the next few days to help with cutting it all up. Striking a balance between fine articulation and the art of laughing. Turns out Everyone respects poetry for the audience. Good god y'all.
Written during Xmas break
Jonny Bolduc Jan 2014
I have friends who went,

to Bethlehem, to Paris, to Spain.
Left for London, Beachy Head.
Those friends came back,
back to Halifax, Portland, Bangor–

My friends go.
They go
to the bar for a pint.
They go
to the South for the summer.
They go
to plant trees in Alberta–

The friends who go
are the friends who went.

But I have friends
who are
gone.

Friends
who are
gone
cannot go
to the bar,
to the South,
or to Alberta.

Some friends have left–
through some door,
in the night, in the day,
in a car, on a bed,
on a stretcher, in the street–

and yes, they are
gone.

Where will I go when I am
gone?
Will I be with my friends?
Perpetually traveling
to the South, to Alberta,
to the bar for a pint?

No. I will not go.

I cannot go, once I am gone. When I go, I will be
gone.

I could go anytime,
night or day,
In a car, on a bed,
a stretcher, or street–

Yes, I could go. And when I go, when I leave–
I will be
gone.

So,
Friends who have
gone
where I cannot go,
they must know–

that we all will go, we all leave–
soon, yes, soon. Now,
in the pause
between
moments,
in the  quiet space
of a last

breath–

we

all are

gone.
Scot Powers Feb 2013
Crisp and clear Alberta Mornings
The beauty brings me to my knees
sun rising over prairies
dew glistens on the wheat

Blue sky mixed with morning starlight
it's a sight that can't be beat
for all 40 years I've been here
there is no other place for me

The mountains maintain my direction
prairies stretch out to the east
northern lights are alway dancing
on clear central eve's

Winding rivers divide prairies
rolling hills and forest too
fresh scents pervade my senses
that's when I think of you
David P Carroll Jul 2022
On a warm sunny day
In beautiful and
Peaceful Alberta
Today and the sky is
So blue and sun
Is shining brightly to,

And the little birds are
Singing so passionately
In the warm sunlight
And the children are
Playing in warm hot sun
And it's so hot today and
It's a beautiful summer's day
And I've been drinking
My wine all day,

And to feel the warm breeze
Gently blowing all day
And I'm in sunny Alberta
Today and the cherry blossom trees smell so beautiful and gorgeous there
Gently blowing softly
In the morning wind

And I'm watching
The flowers are dancing in

The warm sunlight
There little faces
Are smiling so bright
In the warm sunlight and there
Swaying side to side and it's
Just a beautiful sight
And the hills are
So green and bright and
And the grass blowing softly
In the morning sunlight

And I'm sitting watching the stars
Shining in Edmonton tonight and
It's just so beautiful and peaceful
Tonight watching the stars twinkling all through the starry night and
The moon is shining so bright and
It's so beautiful and blue tonight
And the midnight breeze feels
So peaceful tonight and it's
Time to gently whisper to beautiful
Alberta good night.

David P Carroll.
Beautiful Night 🥰🌉🌉
ellis danzel Oct 2013
You are like toxin. Just the simplest thought of you can send my body into a figurative halt.

My heart stops.

The constant reminder of how volatile our union was stuck like gum to the fibers my brain.

My perpetual hate reminds how much I love still you. Yet I hate you.

I don’t know if it was your coy nature or the way that you made me feel like I mattered for once in my life.

But you will forever be engraved in my body; my organs will never part with the thought of your touch.
You are still the reason I cry at night and the reason I cannot love more than lust.

You destroyed me. Taking every fiber of my being and rewriting it to fit you and you only.

You don’t want me, yet no one else can have me. It’s like a curse that will never be lifted.

Whenever I looked at you I saw wedding bells and children and a house in the mountains with all the glorious passionate love that you promised me.

Now, I see how stupid I was. How completely crazy insane I must have been to believe that someone as cold as you could ever build something to last.

You flooded my chest with tea and washed out with coffee. Only to leave what had yet to be stained with a red blotch in the shape of your lips on the lining of my heart.

You make me sick. I am ill with the corrupted grunge stain that your love left behind.
I love you, but I ******* hate you. And I cannot even begin to think that I will ever be able to love again.
It could have been a pleasant Monday.
We sat outdoors and ate our sandwiches.
It was crisp October, and we were on a dig.
Earlier, we had used the transit to measure
teepee rings from the nomad Cree tribe
that once lived and loved here.
You'd found the marker stones.
I'd found a stone tool.

But now we sit having lunch in the tepid sun.
I looked at you and saw a young man
who swaggered with false confidence.
You wore an army jacket,though we were just 16.
Your hair was red, and a little curly.
Your eyes melted me, -robin's egg blue.
I looked at your hands still holding the paper
and I saw between the freckles on your wrist
a blue vein.

Without ability to stop myself I touched you there.
And then my mind whirled.
For the first time-
suddenly, I was in your blood,
your heart, your mind!
You were just as jolted as I was,
and we have never been the same.

40 years later. We write on your birthday.
You ask about my mother.
Do you ever say my name?
Written March 15, 2011
Throw away your brooms and your mops

and all the tops to your good old canned goodies

and in fact throw your little cans of goody foods

with soups and little fruities away down

your flight of stairs and flight of windows down

those shining new linoleum walls



no need to worry about garbage here in these streets

so clean so clean so mean, and lean

and here everyone cries their child cries

and their bottles whistle that empty milk whistle

red wine milk drink drunk drank drinker



old clean city blues I see your dirt musings

can’t hide from me this great dirt

more dirt here than dirt itself has to offer

all things candy coated sticky nightlife

sticky affluence all your feet

stick to the black tar candy sucker floor



and I see you’ve been rat-free for thirty years

no bugs no slugs no moss

only late night sad sauce

always empty and wanting more

no rats no cats no dogs here

only cowboy hats

and all those old boys move
on down South anyway
I've always been in place,
in situ
Maybe (just maybe) ...
I'm sui generis?

When my lifeline intersected with spacetime on this continuum
I found myself moving toward a collision course with duality and non-duality
Moving towards a zero-point

What are we talking about?
Nothing (Rafelski & Muller, 1985)

As a geographer, the mimetic expression was dualistic
As one plane flowed through another;
as fiat lux flowed through Medicine Rock
I found wisdom

I further explored the duality @ this place
(also known as University of Lethbridge)

The U of L is an interesting duck

It walks like an Albertan university
It talks like an Albertan university
But one of these things is certainly not like the other

The U of L got its chops as a house of learning for the Liberal Arts
Follow those roots and you'll see conduits to another spacetime known as UCBerkley
U of L memetics share material memories from the birth of the Free Speech Movement (1964)

And as Arthur Erickson drafted up his plans for Canada's centennial gift to the Province of Alberta, I'm sure he would have been partaking in the pleasures of this particular spacetime

I'm sure at the very least that he was listening to Hendrix wax on about Castles

As Erickson designed this modernistic monolith called University Hall
There were influences such as Arthur C. Clarke and his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
He was certainly knowledgeable of the Blackfoot stories of the Old Man
And of course as an architect he would be versed in gravity and how built structures on a ***** tend to creep toward base-level
Strange but true, Erickson's first degree was in foreign languages

So what I see is Canada's premier architect wrote a poem for us in 1968
In a foreign language
And that poem would be expressed over the next forty to fifty years

Some of those primary poetic elements were:
Berkley, California
Hippie Movement
Creep (or gravity)
Base level
Blackfoot creation stories of the Old Man
Jimi Hendrix poetry and his savage musical genius

"and so castle's made of sand melt into the sea, eventually."

So let's reinterpret that line to be more U of L centric
(through my glossy apertures)

"and so monolith's made by man melt back into god eventually."

........ ....... ...... ..... ..... .... ... .. . zero~point . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........
REFERENCES

in situ: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_situ

sui generis: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sui_generis

Spacetime: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spacetime

Duality: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duality

Non-duality: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nondualism

Zeropoint: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zero-point_energy

Nothing: Rafelski & Muller (1985). The Structured Vacuum: Thinking about Nothing. ISBN 3-87144-889-3

Geography: Science focusing on places and spaces, on humankind's stewardship of the Earth, and on the inter-related problems associated with environmental, economic, political and cultural change. The study of spatial variation in both physical and human phenomena on Earth.

Memetics: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memetics

fiat lux: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Lethbridge

Medicine Rock: http://www.uleth.ca/artsci/first-nations-transition-program/medicine-rock-story-our-blackfoot-name

Wisdom: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wisdom

University of Lethbridge: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Lethbridge

Alberta: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alberta

Liberal Arts: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberal_arts_education

University of California, Berkley: http://berkeley.edu/about/

Free Speech Movement (1964): http://bancroft.berkeley.edu/FSM/

Arthur Erickson: http://www.arthurerickson.com/educational-buildings/lethbridge-university/7/

Jimi Hendrix: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimi_Hendrix

Castles Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/jimihendrix/castlesmadeofsand.html

Modernism: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modernism

Monolith: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monolith

2001: A Space Odyssey: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2001:_A_Space_Odyssey_%28film%29

Blackfoot Mythology: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackfoot_mythology

Creep: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Downhill_creep

Base Level: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Base_level

Foreign Languages: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foreign_language

Poetry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry

Hippie Movement: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_hippie_movement

Creep: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Downhill_creep

Blackfoot Mythology: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackfoot_mythology

Jimi Hendrix: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimi_Hendrix

Castle's Made of Sand: http://youtu.be/PiBF_hJ3sSE

Glossy Aperture: http://www.pinterest.com/pin/422001427554852688/
Also GOTO: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/877844/inferno/

Indigenous Science: http://www.wisn.org/what-is-indigenous-science.html
I worked for a woman,
She wasn't mean--
But she had a twelve-room
House to clean.

Had to get breakfast,
Dinner, and supper, too--
Then take care of her children
When I got through.

Wash, iron, and scrub,
Walk the dog around--
It was too much,
Nearly broke me down.

I said, Madam,
Can it be
You trying to make a
Pack-horse out of me?

She opened her mouth.
She cried, Oh, no!
You know, Alberta,
I love you so!

I said, Madam,
That may be true--
But I'll be dogged
If I love you!
harlon rivers May 2018
Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―  
spinning with the
world go round

Circling back down
a long and winding road;  
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,  
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
  
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run

The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low

Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―    
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―

A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,  
towards the Alberta prairie

White knuckled steering wheel
held sway,  rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
          reincarnation; 
default reset button paused ― 
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
            jars it free

Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
         a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
  like a fading last breath

Letting it all unfold to become what it is


     harlon rivers ... May 2018
       ... travelogue 2 of some
I was playing a game with my kids the other day

I asked:
What do you use to see?
She said 'your eyes'
He said 'your brain'
Both right
Next I asked what do you use to hear?
She said 'your ears'
He said 'your brain'
Both right, again

The wisdom of children!

The game ended there but it got me thinking about what we use to feel
The most straight forward answer is our skin
Your brain is what processes the sense of touch so that has to be included
What about your heart?
Where does it fit into the big scheme of things?
Isn't the heart the space where we process feelings?

I have to loosely define things and often turn them upside down
ruminate
reorder my worldview to make it copacetic
I'm pretty sure that I often walk in two worlds
If my mind is simply locked in the western paradigm then people look at me like I'm bizarre
I'm not joking when I say they've wanted to lock me up because of my views
When I allow my mind to get locked into this western paradigm,
I sometimes even feel like I belong in lockup.

That's even worse than being held against your will
You're being held because you've lost your will

So I play with definitions to better suit my needs

When you do this however, there is a risk
Last summer I unlocked a spectre as I drank deeply and greedily from Crypt Lake

Crypt Lake is a real place on this planet
How did it get it's name (you might ask)?
According to the Blackfoot, placenames aren't given,
they come from place

Let's contextualize ~ this is all part of the journey
The physical leads to the spiritual and vice versa
To get to Crypt Lake you have to enter Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park
Found in the southwest corner of Alberta and the northwest corner of Montana
Once through the gates you have to catch a boat at a certain time
You have to be in the physical plane of existence at this point otherwise you're not getting on that boat
Once you get to the trailhead, then you can start to drift

That's what I did
As I walked, I let the stories come into me
I let them flow through me
They were sitting there waiting to be told
A spruce, arm in arm, with a pine
Hawks circling overhead
An ever present alertness for our bear brethren
Always open to the wildflowers
Indian paintbrush (I have red hair could I be considered an indian paintbrush?)
Pollinators flitting about
Oh, the water

Listen to the stories the water told:
First we come to Hell Roaring Falls
Next Twin Falls
Next Burnt Rock Falls
And to reach the Crypt, we have to pass through a mountain tunnel
Opening up to Crypt Falls
and finally Crypt Lake

This is a regular heroes journey if you allow it to be
I was in that place in my mind where I allowed it to unfold as it may

This is a place that's also known as the Crown of the Continent
Not far away is Chief Mountain, Turtle Mountain, and Crowsnest Mountain
Also Writing-On-Stone and the Milk River and Sweetgrass
These are holy names, this is a holy land

What I saw at Crypt Falls was the backbone of the continent
I saw the backbone of Turtle Island

I was floored
I had been on a continent wide spirit quest a few years previously
There was talk that the Deed for Turtle Island was coming due
And maybe it would be produced at one of these gatherings
We all waited but nobody produced it

I ruminated on that idea for a few years
I'm pretty sure that the Deed was there
Those who held it, just didn't realize

I learned something at the Crypt
I wanted answers and I made an assumption
I assumed that the water held the answers
So I drank deeply, even greedily from the Crypt

Right there in the international peace park, on the crown of the continent
With the Old Chief and the Crowsnest not far away
Writing-On-Stone just a sashay away
What about writing in calcium?
If I were the earth, I would encode important information in something
Transmutable

Not blood.
Bones

What I learned up there on the mountain as I gulped down knowledge from the Crypt was that the deed is written into the bones of the land and into the bones of those borne of that land

This is indigenous knowledge

It's in the water, the water is the medium for the message
The bones are the stock
But just like a double helix
A genetic sequence is an expression of time and place
On a certain spacetime continuum this innocuous looking structure
(take a look in the mirror)
Has all the necessary answers
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crypt_Lake_Trail

http://www.crownofthecontinent.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chief_Mountain

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turtle_Mountain_%28Alberta%29

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crowsnest_Mountain

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Writing-on-Stone_Provincial_Park

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milk_River_%28Alberta%E2%80%93Montana%29

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sweet_Grass,_Montana

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turtle_Island_%28North_America%29
You say I O.K.ed
LONG DISTANCE?
O.K.ed it when?
My goodness, Central
That was then!

I'm mad and disgusted
With that ***** now.
I don't pay no REVERSED
CHARGES nohow.

You say, I will pay it--
Else you'll take out my phone?
You better let
My phone alone.

I didn't ask him
To telephone me.
Roscoe knows **** well
LONG DISTANCE
Ain't free.

If I ever catch him,
Lawd, have pity!
Calling me up
From Kansas City.

Just to say he loves me!
I knowed that was so.
Why didn't he tell me some'n
I don't know?

For instance, what can
Them other girls do
That Alberta K. Johnson
Can't do--and more, too?

What's that, Central?
You say you don't care
Nothing about my
Private affair?

Well, even less about your
PHONE BILL, does I care!

Un-humm-m! . . . Yes!
You say I gave my O.K.?
Well, that O.K. you may keep--

But I sure ain't gonna pay!
Molecules of two elements, nitrogen and oxygen, comprise about 99 percent of the air. The remaining hoity toity 1% includes small amounts celestial seasoning luxurious riches as argon and carbon dioxide. (Other gases such as neon, helium, and methane are present in trace amounts.) Oxygen is the life-giving element in the air.

Earth's atmosphere is 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon, and 0.03% carbon dioxide with very small percentages of other elements. Our atmosphere also contains water vapor. In addition, Earth's atmosphere contains traces of dust particles, pollen, plant grains and other solid particles.

Even when the air seems to be completely clear, it is full of atmospheric particles - invisible solid and semisolid bits of matter, including dust, smoke, pollen, spores, bacteria and viruses. Some atmospheric particles are so large that you will feel them if they strike you. However, particles this large rarely travel far before they fall to the ground. Finer particles may be carried many miles before settling during a lull in the wind, while still tinier specks may remain suspended in the air indefinitely. The finest particles are jostled this way and that by moving air molecules and drift with the slightest currents. Only rain and snow can wash them out of the atmosphere. These tiny particles are so small that scientists measure their dimensions in microns - a micron is about one 25-thousandth of an inch. They include pollen grains, whose diameters are sometimes less than 25 microns; bacteria, which range from about 2 to 30 microns across; individual virus particles, measuring a very small fraction of a micron; and carbon smoke particles, which may be as tiny as two hundredths of a micron.

Particles are frequently found in concentrations of more than a million per cubic inch of air. A human being's daily intake of air is about 450,000 cubic inches. This means that we inhale an astronomical numbers of foreign bodies. Particles larger than about 5 microns are generally filtered from the air in the nasal passages. Other large particles are caught by hairlike protuberances in the air passages leading to the lungs and are swept back toward the mouth. Most of the extremely fine particles that do reach the lungs are exhaled again - although some of this matter is deposited in the minute air sacs within the lungs. From these air sacs, particles may go into solution and pass through the lung walls into the bloodstream. If the material is toxic, harmful reactions may occur when it enters the blood. Fine particles retained in the lungs can cause permanent tissue damage, as with Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (black lung disease), caused by buildup of coal dust in the lungs, and with silicosis, which is caused by the buildup of silicon dust.

If the air is still, given sufficient time, all but the smallest airborne particles will settle to the ground under their own weight. Their rate of fall is closely proportional to particle size and density.
For example, vast amounts of fine volcanic ash were thrown into the air by the eruption of the Indonesian volcano Krakatoa, in 1883, and again by the Alaskan volcano Katmai, in 1912. In both instances, the finer dust reached the stratosphere and spread around the world high above the rains and storms that tend to cleanse the lower atmosphere. In fact, many years elapsed before these volcanic dusts entirely disappeared from the atmosphere. Since a two-micron dust particle may require about four years to fall 17 miles in the atmosphere, the lingering effect is not in the least surprising.
Dust storms are also prolific producers of airborne debris. Europe is sometimes showered with dust originating in the Sahara. In March 1901, for instance, an estimated total of two million tons of Sahara dust fell on North Africa and the Europe. Two years later, in February 1903, Britain received a deposit estimated at ten million tons. On many occasions, Sahara dust has fallen in muddy rain and reddish snow over much of southwestern Europe. During North America's droughts of the 1930s, dust storms blew ten million tons of dust at a time aloft in the heart of the continent. Occasionally, high winds swept the dust eastward 1800 miles to darken skies along the continent's Atlantic coast.

When the wind strikes the crest of an ocean wave, or a calm sea is agitated by rain or by air bubbles bursting at the surface, the finer droplets that enter the air quickly evaporate, leaving tiny salt crystals suspended in the air. Winds carry these salt crystals over all the Earth. Normally, airborne salt particles from the sea are less than a micron in diameter. It would take a million of them to weigh a pound.
Salt particles play an important part in weather processes because they are hygroscopic - they absorb water. Raindrops usually form around tiny particles that act as nuclei for condensation. Generally, each fog and cloud droplet also collects around a particle of some type at its center. Tiny crystals of sea salt make better condensation nuclei than other natural particles found in the air. Thus, salt particles in the air help make rain.

Dust from meteor showers may occasionally affect world rainfall. When the Earth encounters a swarm of meteors, those meteors that get to the upper reaches of the Earth's atmosphere are vaporized by heat from friction. The resulting debris is a fine smoke or powder. This fine dust then floats down into the cloud system of the lower atmosphere, where it can readily serve as nuclei around which ice crystals or raindrops can form. Increases in world rainfall come about a month after the Earth encounters meteor systems in space. The delay of a month allows sufficient time for the meteoric dust to fall through the upper atmosphere. Occasionally, large meteors leave visible trains of dust. Most often their trails disappear rapidly, but in a few witnessed cases a wake of dust has remained visible for an hour or so.
In one extreme instance-a great meteor that broke up in the sky over Siberia in 1908-the dust cloud traveled all the way around the world before it dissipated.

Large forest fires are among the more spectacular producers of foreign particles in the atmosphere.
Because these fires create violent updrafts, smoke particles are carried to great heights, and, being small, are spread over vast distances by high altitude winds. In the autumn of 1950, forest fires in Alberta, Canada produced smoke that drifted east over North America on the prevailing wind and crossed the North Atlantic, reaching Britain and continental Europe. The light-scattering properties of this dense smoke made the Sun look indigo and the Moon blue to observers in Scotland and other northern lands.

Wind-pollinated plants are the most prolific sources of foreign particles in the air. This is a problem for people with allergies.

Spores are closely related to pollens. Spores are the reproductive bodies of fungi, which include molds, yeasts, rusts, mildews, puffballs and mushrooms. Tiny spores are adrift everywhere in the air, even over the oceans. Although they resemble pollens in general appearance, spores are not fertilizing agents. Instead, they are like seeds, and give rise to new organisms wherever they take hold. Spores have been found as high as 14 miles in the air over the entire globe. Most fungi depend on the wind for spore dissemination. Once airborne, spores are carried easily by the slightest air currents.

Once, physicians were taught that infectious microorganisms quickly settle out of the air and die. Today, the droplets ejected, say, by a sneeze, are known to evaporate almost immediately, leaving whatever microorganisms they contain to drift through the air. Only a relatively small fraction of microorganism’s human beings breathe cause disease. In fact, most bacteria are actually helpful. Some, for example, convert atmospheric nitrogen into usable plant food. Pathogenic, or disease-producing, microorganisms, however, can be very dangerous. Most propagate by subdivision-each living cell splits into two cells. Each of the new cells then grows and divides again into two more cells. Provided with ideal conditions, populations multiply quickly. Fortunately microorganisms do not thrive very well in the air. Unless there is enough humidity in the air, many desiccate and die. Short exposure to the ultraviolet radiation of the Sun also kills most microorganisms. Low temperatures greatly decrease their activity, and elevated temperatures destroy them rapidly. Still, many microorganisms survive in the air, despite these hazards. Among the tiniest of airborne particles are viruses, which are on the borderline between living matter and lifeless chemical substances.

Earth is the only planet we know of that can support life. This is an amazing fact, considering that it is made out of the same matter as other planets in our solar system, was formed at the same time and through the same processes as every other planet, and gets its energy from the sun. To a universal traveler, Earth may seem to be a harmless little planet in the far reaches of one of billions of spiral galaxies in the universe. It has an average size star of average brightness and is joined by seven other planets — which support no known life forms — in its solar system. While this may be fitting for a passage from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, in the grand scheme of the universe, it would be a fairly accurate description. However, Earth is a planet teeming with vitality and is home to billions of plants and animals that share a common evolutionary track. How and why did we get here? What processes had to take place for this to happen? And where do we go from here? The fact is, no one has been able to come close to knowing exactly what led to the origins of life, and we may never know. After 5 billion years of Earth’s formation and evolution, the evidence may have been lost. But scientists have made significant progress in understanding what chemical processes that may have led to the origins of life. There are many theories, but most have the same general perspective of how things came to be the way they are. Following is an account of life’s beginnings based on some of the leading research and theories related to the subject, and of course, fossil records dating back as far as 3.5 billion years ago.

The solar system was created from gas clouds and dust that remained from the Sun's formation some 6-7 billion years ago. This material contained only about .2% of the solar system's mass with the Sun holding the rest. Earth began to form over 4.6 billion years ago from the same cloud of gas (mostly hydrogen and helium) and interstellar dust that formed our sun, the rest of the solar system and even our galaxy. In fact, Earth is still forming and cooling from the galactic implosion that created the other stars and planetary systems in our galaxy. This process began about 13.6 billion years ago when the Milky Way Galaxy began to form. As our solar system began to come together, the sun formed within a cloud of dust and gas that continued to shrink in upon itself by its own gravitational forces. This caused it to undergo the fusion process and give off light, heat and other radiation. During this process, the remaining clouds of gas and dust that surrounded the sun began to form into smaller lumps called planetesimals, which eventually formed into the planets we know today.

A large number of small objects, called planetesimals, began to form around the Sun early in the formation of the solar system. These objects were the building blocks for the planets that exist today. The Earth went through a period of catastrophic and intense formation during its earliest beginnings 4.6-4.4 billion years ago. By 3.8 to 4.1 billion years ago, Earth had become a planet with an atmosphere (not like our atmosphere today) and an ocean. This period of Earth’s formation is referred to as the Precambrian Period. The Precambrian is divided into three parts: the Hadean, Archean and Proterozoic Periods.

The Earth formed under so much heat and pressure that it formed as a molten planet. For nearly the first billion years of formation (4.5 to 3.8 billion years ago) — called the Hadean Period (or hellish period) — Earth was bombarded continuously by the remnants of the dust and debris — like asteroids, meteors and comets — until it formed into a solid sphere, pulled into orbit around the sun and began to cool down. Earth's early atmosphere most likely resembled that of Jupiter's atmosphere, which contains hydrogen, helium, methane and ammonia, and is poisonous to humans. (Photo: NASA, from Voyager 1). As Earth began to take solid form, it had no free oxygen in its atmosphere. It was so hot that the water droplets in its atmosphere could not settle to form surface water or ice. Its first atmosphere was also so poisonous, comprised of helium and hydrogen, that nothing would have been able to survive.
Earth’s second atmosphere was formed mostly from the outgassing of such volatile compounds as water vapor, carbon monoxide, methane, ammonia, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, hydrochloric acid and sulfur produced by the constant volcanic eruptions that besieged the Earth. It had no free oxygen. About 4.1 billion years ago, the Earth’s surface — or crust — began to cool and stabilize, creating the solid surface with its rocky terrain. Clouds formed as the Earth began to cool, producing enormous volumes of rainwater that formed the oceans. For the next 1.3 billion years (3.8 to 2.5 billion years ago), the Archean Period, first life began to appear and the world’s land masses began to form. Earth’s initial life forms were bacteria, which could survive in the highly toxic atmosphere that existed during this time. Toward the end of the Archean Period and at the beginning of the Proterozoic Period, about 2.5 billion years ago, oxygen-forming photosynthesis began to occur. The first fossils were a type of blue-green algae that could photosynthesize.

Earth's atmosphere was first supplied by the gasses expelled from the massive volcanic eruptions of the Hadean Era. These gases were so poisonous, and the world was so hot, that nothing could survive. As the planet began to cool, its surface solidified as a rocky terrain, much like Mars' surface (center photo) and the oceans began to form as the water vapor condensed into rain. First life came from the oceans. Some of the most exciting events in Earth’s history and life occurred during this time, which spanned about two billion years until about 550 million years ago. The continents began to form and stabilize, creating the supercontinent Rodinia about 1.2 billion years ago. Although Rodinia is composed of some of the same land fragments as the more popular supercontinent, Pangea, they are two different supercontinents. Pangea formed some 225 million years ago and would evolve into the seven continents we know today. Free oxygen began to build up around the middle of the Proterozoic Period — around 1.8 billion years ago — and made way for the emergence of life as we know it today. This increased oxygen created conditions that would not allow most of the existing life to survive and thus made way for the more oxygen-dependent life forms. By the end of the Proterozoic Period, Earth was well along in its evolutionary processes leading to our current period, the Holocene Period,  or Anthropocene Period, also known as the Age of Man. Thus, about 525 million years ago, the Cambrian Period began. During this period, life “exploded,” developing almost all of the major groups of plants and animals in a relatively short time. It ended with the massive extinction of most of the existing species about 500 million years ago, making room for the future appearance and evolution of new plant and animal species. About 498 million years later — 2.2 million years ago — the first modern human species emerged.

Did You Know? The first modern human being was called **** habilis, the first of the **** genus. This species developed stone tools for use in daily life. **** habilis means “Handy Man.” He existed from about 2.2 to 1.5 million years ago. There are earlier species related to modern man, called hominids. The images show the skull shape and probable appearance of **** habilis.

The PreCambrian Period — accounts for about 90 percent of Earth’s history. It lasted for about four billion years until about 550 million years ago. About 70 percent of the world’s land masses were created in the Archean Era, between 3.8 and 2.5 million years ago. Rodinia, widely recognized as the first supercontinent, formed during the Proterozoic Era, about 2.5 billion years ago. It is believed that the oldest human family member was discovered in Ethiopia and lived 4.4 million years ago. It was named “Ardi,” short for Ardipithecus ramidus.
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
Remember Jerry 'cross the street?
He never said much
But I've placed my life in his hands
Time and time again
He's no longer a boy, Ma
But I don't know how to say
He'll never be a man

And Thomas, who stayed with us last summer
He was part of my squad
Was as straight-laced as ever
But we were knee-deep in wickedness
I hope he met God

And Andy was my partner
Always making me feel small
So I had a man's resentment for him
But he was truly very kind
Putting my safety first
Because he left me behind
to re-wrap my bandages
to stop my stump from bleeding, right?
Oh, and we fought
see, my pride was hurt
I was no pantywaist, I still had a leg
But he just laughed, said he'd come back
so, I've been lying in bed alert
'cause I'm still waitin' for that
man lying face-down in the dirt

But Ma, I'm coming back to Canada
And I only want you cryin' happy tears
But know that I won't visit our little town
Not for a long, long while
And maybe never our street
Not that home-road of the twelve ambitious young men
and little Peter, sneaking into the bustle
While only fifteen

Mother, please believe me
I love Newfoundland
But I'm heading over
to Alberta
So try to pretend I'm fully gone as well

Please don't tell ~
the only one to survive the shell
was your boy
who's gone through hell

I hope the rest were sent to heaven.
For the Newfoundland families, where entire streets would have no sons because each was taken and left in the battlegrounds.
A L Davies Mar 2012
howling idiots (myself) who
spat on store windows ****** & still half-drunk,
leering strangers in cars & stars
creeping from the sky to show teeth in wry grins
while
balancing nimbly on balcony railings
gazing thru heavy curtains to watch                     russian
                                                         ­                girls
******* on cold leather couches
shedding bulbous slavic tears which
ride crests 'f ghostly, high cheekbones &
at th'same time off some
where in drumheller, alberta
                                                             skeletons of ancient
kingly lizards rise & rattle like
                                                            ­ 1000 triassic maracas
recording spanish mariachis in
                                  bloodbath bullrings.
this will eventually be a part of something else
Michael Pick Mar 2013
I have scars and yeah
They all have their stories
Written scripts to heavy plays
With plot lines I can't share yet
So my mind's like an
Alberta rainy day
A longer expanse like a
Damp plateau or plain
Emotional highs are climbing like
A mountain range ready to drop from
This complex to extremes
But we can have happy moments
Without really being there
We all have our issues
And we work just to clear air
We all deal with them ourselves
Always in different ways
What's yours isn't mine, with
The dealings that words couldn't say
Like the heart's a grenade and
The pin can be a million subtle things
And the only broken heart I've had was
My fault with all my hopes and dreams
With built up emotions when I spared
Myself no lack of idealism
And if they say that drunk words
Are really just sober thoughts
Then in this life there's no place for
An inebriated heart
And while there's bruises on my back
From leaving problems out behind
I wouldn't accept any less than
Your scars and story lines
Because we're one of a kind with
The way that our mind would
Work through the times
And through writing and music
With George Watsky super verses
I've found my singular disability is
Over-thinking where my place is
But it's about time now
Where I'd work up to let go
'Cause I'm the only one to let down
When success is measured in gallons
So I put down the jugs and then
Expectations are the only
Exponential problems
And I know that I'll be fine
I like a lot of parts and hate other parts, but I think it sounds good when I say it, so I'm happy. First attempt at a new-ish style.
e Jul 2014
come Closer
but remember The First time when
I Was A Fool
… A Fool To Cry
”I Know I Know I Know”
my displaced pride exclaims
but Back In Your Head
i’m Walking With A Ghost
who whispers sweetly, “Goodbye, Goodbye”
maybe once i was your Heartthrob
but you kept shouting, “I’m Not Your Hero”
and the echoes reverberate against the stained glass windows of my heart
Where Does the Good Go
when things fall apart?
and Now I’m All Messed Up
and So Jealous refusing to Call It Off
the unnecessary flirting and asking for My Number
because i never claimed to be an angel
and the Dark Comes Soon
but you were well versed in This Business of Art
the art of illusion
but in spite of my warning that You Wouldn’t Like Me much
you went ahead and canonised me
and with that Sainthood i tried to Fix You Up with clumsy hands
frustrated I Can’t Take It
so stepping away i ask myself,
”How Come You Don’t Want Me?”
this relegation to my own version of Hell
when Freedom feels more like Dancing In The Dark
spinning wildly in your Living Room
and Under Feet Like Ours, broken glass
your hand holds me like the vice grip of an Alligator's bite
and when i was younger you always Drove Me Wild
as Love They Say
sometimes feels like kissing Underwater
to discover one another was like studying the Floor Plan of your heart
If It Was You, there would be me
and This Is Everything that we would need
i would be that Shock To Your System
the North Shore claiming lost ships like strangers embracing long lost lovers.
unnamed Dec 2012
The funding of my own little massacre,
my own precious little war crime. My smoke
is everywhere. My father coughs in his sleep.
My mother gags, hangs her head out the window, sick.

My cheap *** before and after cheap ***.
I chat up some high-waisted pastiche on Alberta.
She tells me collage this and that and looks
so lit up and skinny, it's a dream.

Where I go to brand myself. I have this image
of a spark on my arm sitting stovetop red,
sinking into the skin, losing color as it digs,
turning to grey and then nothing like the drowning
of a comet's tail in atmosphere. My burns look so good
in the pale dormitory bathroom shower light: so baby tulip
and teeth, so how-I've-made-it-through-the-wringer.
Christ, I should be a film, look at me: so bent and bright,
such a cute boxer, such a prize fight.
He Said She Said Dec 2013
"How are you?"

"I'm fine, and how are you?"

If only it were that simple.

He believes in power of self yet some days just feels helpless
Hardened body and calloused hands help to hold in demons
Fair smiles and warm laughs on the outside of the house of body
but step inside and see this is no home

Broken bottles fly like broken words in a broken family
How cold does it have to be to freeze a waterfall
as cold as he, as he is cold as ice
tears stop on frozen edge, invisible to all but him
because he hasn't let them fall since he was nine
it may seem sad, the lack of expression almost half of one's life
but that's the kind of man built by a father who never pulled punches
he threw them

yet don't feel sad for our dear boy, he doesn't feel sad for himself
he believes in character he believes in strength but he'd never put a child through that hell
never again would that play be renacted
the stage set in a three bedroom townhouse, this here, the broken home
tongues fly to make sounds echo down hallways into their sons room

is this love?

He doubted it.

Slurred words shouted names he did not know

****

*****

****

Days later he figured this had something to do with why he was moving out, why him and mum left
Why pa flew to Alberta and he was stuck with this mess
the lovely pile of pills and drink he called his mother,
in her sorrowful state of crazy


Our large rock continued it's jolly course around the sun, and many rotations later the boy was king
In charge at home, but not of himself, slowly slipping
calloused hands had nothing to cling to
Mum was losing it, keeping her on her pills was hard
and dad was gone,
whether he was leading a good life or shooting debts into his arms he didn't know
he hadn't talked to him in 3 years
didn't plan to either

So this is how it feels for he,
the bruised boy with good intentions,
keeper of pills and watcher of siblings
the man of the house.
You ask me how I am
and I'll answer it with truth

“I'm fine"

And how are you?”
By "Him"
I am Munich

I am Paris

I am Edinburgh

I am New York City

But I am not New Jersey

I am not Bonn

I am not Alberta

I am where the city lights are

My life is a piece of art

I am where the symphonies lie

I am wherever Nabokov and Dali want me to be

I am on paints and pictures

I am temptation of rapture

Oh, Mister Nabokov, why this fate for me?   (I beg to you)

Oh, Miss Grey, why this fate for me?          ( I envy you)

Oh, Miss Banks, why this fate for me?        (I hate you)

Tortured ****
WINTER

as the heavy snow fell
the chimneys in the village
belched with dark smoke

SPRING

on that day in May
the rustic cottage garden
arrayed in blooms

SUMMER

stinging rays of sun
lashed idle sunbathers
along the shoreline

AUTUMN/FALL

copper medallions
hung from the maple branches
in Alberta's streets
Francie Lynch Jul 2017
I'm waiting with certain trepidation
Assured my reality
Is in for something big.

The eleventh dimension
Can't assuage my dread.
There's something happening,
As big as Dead.

The cellphone's our new Nativity,
Destroying my old myths;
Where's the white salamander hurrying,
Spirits hoovering, aliens lurking,
Hairy bipeds in the forests,
Yetis in the snow.
Nothing soon forthcoming.
It all looks like Alberta.

I can't snap inside the sun,
Nor freeze-frame a revolution;
Or the moment one feels love;
But truth is self-evident.
And the facts are yet to come.

All the best stories,
My life-changing beliefs,
Need one still, a black and white will do;
Til then,
I'll suspend
Disbelief,
And sustain credence,
Close to the dark room.

Then we'll be the Magi,
Bowing, grovelling,
Awed and surprised.
The Nativity: Poem by John Milton decrying the loss of his myths because of the birth of Jesus.
ZSH Feb 2012
i. Arc.tic Eur.ope mark.ings wo.ven to lea.ves –

8 Salix Boloria nails whisper the
rocky, submarginal dark –

triangles of Alberta and most wide –
arctic willow (except, occasionally,
other spots of Discal cell) Numero Uno, we've parallel branch
( n. )
with basal spot
invaded by the darker
adjacent colors or silvery white;



























ii. Fo.od pl.ants l.ight Ka.nsa.s


defined Oakland or the apex clasp
inner face of Valva
Texola Higgins. Food?

Brooded multiple orange
various species, obsolete cells

Yellowed cast; transverse lines..............(...)
9 Chlosyne wings; dark Maculation
Virginia portion

























iii. re.d ex.tend.ing


multiple orange (except Vesta Millicta)
Athalia Ambigua

Callophrys south
brooded flowers
connected wing

tooth like line
but central gray
new Juniperus
Collage piece (experimental)
+Zach
JOELLE Sep 2019
The French language to you, was little more than an inheritance
It was the promise between mother and daughter that a grandchild ought to know the language they used

In Bonnyville, they occupy the church, the Sobeys, the liquor store with that butchered accent
The hybrid between Quebecois French and rural Albertan English - ugly, and indecisive

You don’t live in Bonnyville, where the French roam free
The French in Edmonton feels lost, almost unknown
Poorly funded buildings house these Franco-albertans - children with the same inheritance as you

Immersion becomes a ***** word,
worthy of contempt and disgust
All the French kids know each other,
forced to grow up together while being deprived of options
They all go to the same university - the small francophone campus which stands unimpressive in the only neighbourhood in Edmonton where stop signs say ‘arrêt’

Oil Country, home for the right and prosperous, they don’t like you
You, you’re Francophone -
Stuck up, ******, pretentious...
Besides, there are no such things as Franco-albertans.

What could you be other than an invented term by some lost souls?
You aren’t French enough -
Alberta is an English speaking province.

The time you went to France,
someone asked if you were French-Canadian
Before you could reply, your friends spun your story - something believable, commendable...
your parents, lived in Montreal, and moved to Alberta with their wholly French children

Your father grew up in Edmonton,
memorizing the parks and malls by name
while your mother lived on a dairy farm, living in french - the ugly acadienesque french.

But, to everyone around you, it’s much more believable that you are a stranger to this province.
Maybe you are.
Francie Lynch Jan 2015
I've walked
The flat lands
Of Alberta
And ascended the foothills.

Near the doors of France
I've approached the caves.

Crossed the Channel
And homaged
The chalk altar
Of Dover.

Looked skyward to
The Dome,
Thought of creation
Across the blue
Michael knew,
And raised
A finger.
Edit and re-post.
Ottar Dec 2013
I have had it all wrong,
I wonder if my grandfather
thought that, when on a steamer
                    he arrived a dreamer
of moving west from Montreal
single trying to find a life, better,
opened and tasted peanut butter,
                                                and never did ever eat that again,
I have had it wrong, all of it
He kept dreaming and trying,
took the train to the northern Alberta,
saw his dreams take shape as he built
                 homes for other dreamers,
he met his wife, but that is a poem for another story,
he was a pacifist, he did not support, killing another,
but he sure had a temper,
           for a peaceful man, he decided to retire, and that
let him get old, I admired him for what he stood for and sit at
a desk he built with my dad.

I still have had it all wrong.

The desk is nothing special
other than the hands and
knowledge that built it
and something a father and a son
did together, one of the last things
of each other, that
would be remembered, they worked well with their hands.

Both men were dreamers.
My dad had his dreams, he mostly kept to himself,
but you just knew that they were to do with
things outside of the house.

Oh don't misunderstand, he loved working with wood,
he knew firearms, he recieved a Medal for Military Merit,
for dedication above and beyond what a militiaman was
to do, he wasn't a pacifist, in many ways he was different
from his dad and so many more he was exactly the same.

                                                          ­                    Shame, I have had it all wrong.

I was not an A student, but Gee, I tried hard,
my potential was palpable we just needed to resuscitate it from time to time,
I joined the CAF, married and had three who have amazed me,
with their strong beliefs, so different from one another, see?
I have worked twenty jobs and not one among them defined as a career...
oh and yes, I have spent time  in an unemployment line.

I am not a carpenter, like the other two could, my grandfather as a career
my dad took it on as a hobby, I am a pacifist, yes, but don't push to hard,
I might write you into a poem...  

I have written so many serious and sombre pieces,
There is already so much sadness in the world,
If planet Earth could cry a tear, standby with the tissue,
I deal with my stuff in words, I try not to hang onto them,
Rather free them like birds, Ravens and Crows with Hummingbirds and Eagles,
My soul is sore and
Animus would rather soar,
so I pour the toxins from my mind, my skin, from my day
you already know I am not perfect I sin, from my way of life,
so I pour the garbage I live and beauty as I see
it is around me for you all to read, shame on me
I have had it all wrong.

I don't have to get it right, I must write.



©DWE122013
Heading back to where I'd started
Thirty years since I'd been gone
I can still remember leaving
Didn't think I'd be gone this long

Playing legions and house parties
On to clubs and smoky bars
Things have changed while I've been missing
Had more wives than I've had cars

Heading Home...I think it's time
That little town, sticks in my mind
Heading Home...my heart is talking
It tells my brain that it is time

Did some tv and four movies
Put out albums and cds
Played in places long forgotten
Here at home and overseas

Played on flatbed trucks in rainstorms
Played in shopping malls as well
Played some shows in Arizona
Man, that place is hot as hell

Time to get on home and settle
do some tours but work at home
Time to be a grandpa proper
Unlike the dad who was on the road

Got a ranch out in Alberta
George Canyon lives not far from me
Maybe we can get together
And I can do one more cd

Heading Home to where my heart is
Been gone so long, time slipped away
Home is where my folks are buried
Home is where I'm gonna stay
D K Feb 2014
I no longer like living by myself, and that is your fault, because you're not here to be grumpy in the mornings. every day I could turn to my right and find you, nudge my way onto your chest, and you would kiss the top of my head with your eyes still closed. one good thing about alberta is that the mountains are beautiful there, mountains that always made me want to go faster, run faster, climb, but lying there with you, watching the sun make shapes on the bed, felt the same as being thirty thousand feet up high, where the air is thinner.

I was always taking mental pictures of my legs wrapped around you. you would sing tom waits and britney spears within the same hour. I got mad because you didn't kiss me right when people were around. you were so proud when you remembered what kind of tea I like in the morning. I finally figured out how to take off your belt with fumbling hands, and anytime the cat was around, you would pick her up and put her in my lap.

sometimes we held each other  in front of mirrors, as if to see what home looks like, and I would think to myself, remember this, always remember this.

passports and suitcases always make me nervous, now.

when you walked out of the airport I watched you go, and I was shaking. I understood when you said that it's all okay, that we've done this before, but I wasn't ready to do anything but stay. I took off my jacket and my shoes and I placed everything I had in little white bins, and I kept my head down and didn't look at anyone, but I'm sure every person who saw me knew that I had left behind someone I loved that day.
It ain't no Love i take flight like a Dove

in my mind just beatin' time kickin' rhymes

about Reality but Life's a ***** im married To

only way i Can Divorce is through the Fatal Way

What's the Happy in that? i keep a Hot Gat

cuz suckas be yearning

tryna make into a Steerin' Wheel

and turn me into another Direction

but they ain't ******' me with that Indoctrination

Education failed me so the Drugs came to Me

on MLK and Alberta from Houston big rollas

went from drivin' a Gold Acura now im pushin' a 

Beamer 7 a 2 quarters Slaughter

the competition on the Streets 

suckas be walkin' with Water under they Feet

cuz ya they Slippin' Set Trippin' yo Inf load the Clip In

and let the Bullets riddle through ya Body 

like you catchin' the Holy Ghost

i smoke the Most

til im faded out no Doubt 

i know i done alot Wrong in my Lifetime

and soon to me my Downfall

cops tryna get me to fall

into their trap but im too Intelligent

i graduated with Honors from the School of Hard Knocks

knockin' boots became a 9 to 5 live

every monday through sunday was always a Gun Play

we don't have murals on our Subway

cuz we ain't got one

but i know that

verse was Irrelevant im never Hesitant

to get the Money its Always Sunny in the Streets of the H 

theres always a dead body in the Ditch

Snitches hide in the Dark but like a Spark

to a Blunt we gone set they *** on Fire

and Make 'em Expire

and we still packin' Slugs

givin' a Shout out to my Thugs 

with one what?
one Luv???? yo
The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.

Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.

You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: *******, *******, *******, *******.  All ******* for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******* keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******* structure that holds up the ******* truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******* structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.

The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.

You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.

The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.

So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!
Bitcoin me, I am ready to fill up this empty vessel of a wallet
Ottar Sep 2013
Born in a prairie town, at the Grace
of God and Hospital as fall had already
given over to winter.

Falling flakes, landing, sticking here north of North,
South of the Pole, South of the North West Territories.
North of the rest of Alberta, mostly.

I was not born with a witty tongue or ink flowing freely.
For schools and teachers removed most if not all,
so it seemed.  So, if you are a writer, write!

The well maybe deep, dry, unused
                                      and abused, even forgotten and in disrepair.

So if, NO!
     so when you can decide to write again,
     you will and tell all, those nay slayers,
     teachers who shape you so that you have
     no tools to cope with life, tell them all
     that the flood of words about spring out
     of you, some body best build, yet another
     ark.

Now where was I?
I'll get back to you with the other part,
one day, right now trying to restart.
My heart.


©DWE092013

— The End —