"calgary" poems
Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark
No blinding light
Or tunnels, to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
Catholic school, as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
I held my tongue as she told me, son
Fear is the heart of love, so I never went back
If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
The soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms
If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
I'll follow you into the dark
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
In admittance,
In ecstasy,
In guilt and in anxiety,
In the gutters of Yuexiu,
The plains of Tamaulipas,
My precious mountain top
Near Calgary,
Or this flat, honeycombed and
High above Kyoto neon,
I’ve finally lost;
I surrender.
I surrender to –
Wave a white flag in comfort,
In defeat, and a first, when I warm,
Come this newer blanket,
Whilst we dance,
Come a first smile, decades, and
Finally to fathom,
“Embrace,” eternity, this
Hold opposed pierced when –
Swords eventually rust,
But fields forever bloom.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Before that August--
(strange month echo)--
bloomed in the east
sunrise bomb sunset dawn
you sometimes
rose
(unbidden)
to the surface
of my mind.
These were some of my triggers:
Calgary (always Calgary)
me too
Christmastime.
And all the times you attempted
to reach out to me
(sucker punch sleep ****
And then that August--
(good mornin' bombshell)
the news--
for shame.
For I had fallen for the lie
(while you talked all the while
in your human voice).
So you like 'em young.
So you like it rough.
August sun beat me down.
It took this glaring
of a light
to show me
the darkest of men's natures--
and that I knew them
intimately.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 7:55 PM UTC
Well, gentlemen, it all came together in the end there as
you will see when you study the game film later on. You
will notice that we controlled the line of scrimmage during
the entire second half, which is what turned the whole thing
around after falling behind. The way that we mixed it up on
offense, there was no telling where we were going to attack
from. That is what we have struggled with all year long. We
have been inconsistent, to say the least. But I’m sure that you
would all agree that we are starting to jell at just the right time.
Now, after a rough start to the season, it’s on to the playoffs.
Now is when we really need to focus, or it will be “one-and-out”
time. I can guarantee you one thing and one thing only. This
club has yet to reach its full potential. If we can just bang on all
four cylinders from here on out, then we might make a pretty
****** good run at this puppy. Frankly, I’m looking forward to
the challenge; I know that our guys are. They’ve worked their
butts off all year long. Forget about the record. I’ve never been
a real big fan of statistics. There are other factors involved at this
point in the season. It’s been a pleasure, folks. It’s been a long
time coming, and I am sure that this will not be our last rodeo.
Or is it last song and dance? Well, you know. We’ve got more
bulls to ride, and this is going to be like the Calgary Stampede
now. It’s time to saddle up and to man up; that’s all. Giddy up.
Punch them doggies and call in the cavalry. We have arrived!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Knocking on my door: Charlie Calgary is here!
His clothes in tatters, upper lip bleeding.
With tenderness my mother welcomes him. He looks
at me knowingly, pretending to tear.
Trickery! Always bluffing till they bring
Something free. He's among the youngest crooks.
She gives him dinner and one of my toys.
"Count your blessings", she counsels me. I frown,
flip Charlie the bird, get sent to my room.
This is the same game he often employs.
Later on, mother's in her evening gown,
Charlie's gone. I sweep the porch with a broom.
The day finishes. It's dark. Quite quickly
the starlight shows --- walking off carelessly, save
knowledge of wounding and cruel, fleeting thought ---
that sadistic boy Charlie Calgary,
whom my misled, well-meaning mother gave
stuffed-chicken dinners, new toys that she'd bought.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
She’s gone! The nurses came today
and carted Mother far away
to give me peace to kneel and pray
before the cross
Don’t think me harsh if I should say
she’s no great loss!
That endless screeching banshee wail
can carry on to no avail
the staff will hear but surely they’ll
not bend like me
And now I’ve peace to find the trail
to Calgary
Oh holy vision, cruelly slain
Your endless love is not in vain
I pray and understand the pain
of sacrifice
for no reward (except to reign
in Paradise).
Such selflessness I can but follow
(not like that ***** who’d lie and wallow
spit the pills she had to swallow,
curse and choke
Think yesterday would buy tomorrow -
some ****** hope!)
Take her diploma off the wall
what it was for I can’t recall
she never needed it at all
the lazy bizzim
But come - and heed the joyful call
the Christ is risen!
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 2:32 PM UTC
You had beautiful eyes
not that I noticed at first
first thing I saw was your feet
worn out black running shoes shuffling down the isle
fleece pajama pants with Calgary Flames logos all over
though it was pushing 30 degrees outside
and felt as if you could squeeze warm drops of water from the air
looking up as you stopped
blue and orange plaid criss crossed a winter jacket
despite the weather
your skin was tanned, not orange
you smelled of shampoo and vanilla lotion
watching as you pulled out cherry lip gloss
ran slender fingers over your shaved head
that was when you looked up... as if you knew
I'd been staring
I thought of a thousand reactions
you gave the only one I hadn't expected
then I noticed your eyes
just as the light came thought the window
they were brown, or maybe more like honey
fragmented emeralds drifting though them
you smiled and said nothing
not that you needed too
it was one of those moment that was better without words
would have been tarnished by them
where everything stopped completely and all I could think was
...wow...
nothing else happened to disturb that second
it just stretched on
no one else moved
or made a sound
I knew then that you were one of those people
you lit rooms with a glance
the one that others were drawn to
fell in love with
even if you didn't love them back
and wrote beautiful things about
I couldnt help but smile back
you were contagious
beautiful
the train stopped
you left
I stayed
and watched
watched you watching me through the window
smiling as though you had heard my thoughts
you knew I had really seen you
I understood
I would never see you again
our meeting was chance
but all the same
for just a second
I was in love
with a beautiful stranger
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
What is this poison,
that dims hope like light in a room,
caked with cigarette smoke?
The sour bath of sins
that spoils the fertility of our souls,
like the black sap,
clogging the crimson holes in our conscience.
What is this medication
that murmurs obediently in the tunnels
of your flesh like a blind fly trapped in an hourglass?
The thick soup that sinks the dredged
pulse of life as it croaks and awakens in
hesitation
for the next perpetual dawn.
A sign tacked like an eviction notice in the skulls
of your dreams, telling them:
“I’m sorry Sir, but for this magnitude of pain,
there is no cure.”
And still like an earthquake, death
trembles at your fingertips like an
old, worn man— asking, perpetually,
“When’s the next train to Calgary?”
I have not the guts to tell him
the smoke has held me
captive
all this time.
2011
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 4:01 PM UTC
I had a lover in Calgary
who used to paint the mountains.
She was all words
and no *** and so I was bound
to hurt her eventually.
I had a lover in Monteverde.
We would take the sky walk to the clouds
and lighten heads with wine.
I could never stand out from the beauty
that surrounded us.
I had a lover in Chernobyl
who used to collect children's shoes.
She was all memory
and no life, living in the fallout
of love and love's decay.
I had a lover in Alice Springs.
We would **** and drink in her shanty house
and argue through till morn.
I could never stand the sight of sorrow
and aboriginal rust.
I had a lover in every country.
They kept me from the sports news with gifts
of poets and good music.
For all the kindness they had offered,
I never had a speck to give in return.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
Jesus as you hung with arms outstretched
Even as you were rejected time and time again
Somehow you loved us so much that you would give your life
Unconditional unsurpassed love would win
Sin couldn’t hold you, death had lost its power
Over and over you showed us love
Nailed on a cross between two thieves
Three days later you came back
Hell could not hold you; Heaven rejoiced
Everyone could not believe so easily
Carrying that cross to Calgary I can’t imagine
Ridiculed, beaten, ripped and torn
Our sins you took upon yourself
So that we might have new life; so that we might be:
SAVED
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
Greyhound station the midnight customs man
goes through my backpack looking
for a glock or **** I guess; instead
he pulls out Thich Nhat Hanh's
Teachings On Love.
You teaching love?
says he; I say
learning it
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
You got a face not spoiled by joy
I've got some burns from fire by trials
You got blindfolds that can see right through me
You're not afraid of a requiem
I was told that I would feel nothing the first time
I don't know how these burns heal
But in you I found the time
If there is a light you can't always feel
And there is a veil we can't always heal
And there is teal we shouldn't doubt
And there it's alright, it won't go out
And this is a poem, poem for someone
This is a poem, poem for someone
You let me into the lyrics
A song only we could make
You break and enter my imagination
Whatever's in there it's yours to take
I was told I'd feel nothing the first time
You were slow to heal but this could be the night
If the night is alight
And the world can't see
If you are dark, angel
I'll be the light, it won't ever go out
And this is a song, song for someone
This is a song, a song for someone
And I'm a long way from Spy Hill of Calgary
And I'm a long way from where I was but I need it to be
If there is a blindfold you can't always see
And there is a world we can always be
If there is a kiss I stole as Logan
And there is a dark, don't let it go out
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
It's 2 a.m.here in Calgary,
I'm sitting on my bed thinking,
I have an English quiz today,
I studied for it,
But of course my anxiety has to come along,
I'm thinking of all the possible outcomes and future of either passing or failing the test,
The numbers so far 5:129
(No don't worry the 129 is the failure side, I told you so that you don't have to ask which ones which),
It's 2 a.m. and I have come up with 134 possible outcomes of this test and my parents make me take sleeping pills that I dump in the toilet,
I drink a lot of coffee and energy drinks,
But I'm still thinking tossing and turning physically and mentally,
Then you wonder why do you have to continue this way,
Then this depression thing comes in and makes my anxiety worse,
Causing a melt down.
It's 2:01 a.m.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
The special one!!
Mother full
of joy
when seeing her
baby boy
she knew he
was special
a shining crescent
above his head
She saw the future in
his eyes
love exuded from
this little child
he would never
be allowed
to run wild
so much kindness
they would
scorn an' revile
The star in the
sky alight
shining down upon
this eventful night
the sight of three
wise men
their caps did doth
furnished the child
with rare gifts
frankincense and mirth
As son of god he
walked on water
performed miracles
giving a blind
man sight
they came for him
in the night
nailed him to a cross
at Calgary
In the cave they
laid him to rest
never thinking
he would ever
rise again
upon morning no
stone in sight
just an empty cave
to fill their gaze
fact is he went to
his father
where he still
resides today
lighting our way.
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
“I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.”
– Allama Iqbal
In September,
the harvest moon,
named by the Algonquin people.
A gift to the earth;
endowed for corn, beans, squash, sunflowers,
and received in bright
thankfulness.
When, finally, the time arrives
for an autumn moon
to take its place between the earth and sun,
swooping as close to earth
as bright fireflies filling the sky.
Lunar scheduling;
a time to deliver scoops of light to
the shadowy earth.
Human faces staring upward
at the inky sky.
Stars dimmed by the golden moon
that shines on prairies, sand, on city streets;
glowing its song of moonlight;
offering a nocturne to the silent ground.
Each upturned face,
waiting to be christened with moonlight;
a conduit of heavenly fire
that moves from face to face circling
in contra dance around the rocky earth.
And each up tilted face
in Calgary and Cairo, Belarus and Brazil,
rhymes with golden light.
As the moon glow wanes above, it waxes here below;
endowing our faces with moonlight, a celestial loan,
leaving the moon with only orange and red,
while September yellow clings to us on earth.
The sound of light brushing our faces,
settling into place,
with sweetness of chamomile,
fragrant with the end of summer.
Whispers of the autumn equinox,
and the earth keeping promises.
Soon we must return
the borrowed lightening,
the buttery splash,
to the orange-red moon.
And we pay.
Not with regret,
but gladly.
All we who have seen the hushing of the moon;
we hold forever in the particles that make ourselves,
the seeds of moonlight.
Pieces of the moon.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
I hear tale
of a man
courageous
loving and simple.
He died one day.
For what you ask?
well I'm going to
tell you about this
man before the talel.
He was born in
a manger. Since
birth he was to
be named king.
Not king of the
land and not the
richest in material
things but king
of the kingdom
of heaven.
Jesus Christ
was his name
and today we nailed
him to a cross.
He bled for me
and you. Every drop
for every sin and
every wrong thing
you have done.
He was brutally
tortured, whipped,
smacked, chained,
carried a cross down
the road to Calgary.
Filled nothing but
passion of
forgiveness is
what willed a
mortal man to
open the gates
to heaven.
He was even
tempted for
40 days
and 40 nights.
by the serpent
liar. There he
proved he was
the son of God.
It is even
with his last
words that he
forgave us for
killing him.
Today take a
second and reflect
and know that
a man named
Jesus Christ
died for you.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
There was another brother whom history forgets
And though born a fisherman, he preferred other nets.
The coterie of rink rats who lived on the Left Coast
Thought he was sine qua non, and they would often boast
*He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.*
His slapper had heat to make a goalie wet himself;
His wrister was money either five-hole or top-shelf.
After the goaltender felt another puck **** by,
He’d curse and bang the crossbar as fans took up the cry
*He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.*
He dominated rinks out West like no other man
From Calgary to Saskatoon, Fresno to Spokane.
He’d hat tricks in Winnipeg, six-point games in Moose Jaw
Moving scribes to hackneyed verse written in fits of awe.
*He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.*
Though the man was a fine skater, strong, agile and fleet
The slightest flaw in the ice caused anguish to his feet
And he would scold arena crews—*What’d you call this mush?
‘Tis nothing but chips and ruts; I’d rather skate on slush!*
(More prickly than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gio.)
After one match in Oakland on ice unduly rough
He stormed into the locker room, shouting ‘Nuff’s enough!
He didn’t change his sweater as he stormed out the door,
Hopping on a trolley car, to be seen never more
(He’s a bit loony, don’t you know.
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)
He was sighted in the Yukon, once or perhaps twice
Engaged in some mad mission to find the perfect ice.
Neither man nor beast can say what became of this fool,
Though bits of skate lace appear in petrified bear stool
(Tastes better than his brother Joe?
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
On the last step there's a notice that points out that time is slipping by, it all depends on where you are or if the light is ripping you and did you ever notice that a notice never sees you and the ocean falls beneath me as I take my first steps forward where the compass reading takes me to another chapter pointing me back home.
Fortune tastes like silver in your hair when there is moonlight and your fame was spread like marmalade on billboards so they bought you and you ended up in Calgary where wise men sought your company but each man stands against the walls when winds whip up and gather in the last of winter harvests and the ears of corn are pulling me back home.
In a minute which is nothing and a minute then that tells it where's the truth that we were promised, where's the hope that we were given, is the compass flying blindly, are the wills of gods against us, if the last step's the beginning, tell me where did we end up then when we started on the way here from back home?
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
George Merle had to take a trip to Calgary for a medical assessment at the bidding of his union. He had to be there June 24th at 9:00 a.m. to se a Dr. Paul Darlington. George was apprehensive to say the least.
George made a booking at a motel close to the clinic. He also made a booking to fly from Regina to Calgary the evening of the 23rd.
He arrived in Calgary and took a cab to the motel near the clinic. He made himself comfortable in his room and tuned on the T.V. Around 10:00 p.m. the evening began to drag and things were getting pretty boring.
He left the comfort of his room and went out into the cool crisp night air for a stroll. He passed an all night tavern. He went in, sat down and ordered a coke.
Inside the dimly lit tavern he met a man whose name was Blakie. Blakie was dressed in, you guessed it, black. he had a full black bear, wore a black leather jacket, and a black New Jersey Devil's peaked cap.
Blackie told George a few food jokes and they became fast friends. Blackie said he was from the Mission down the street, also they would go there later for a bite to eat. He then ordered George a drink.
When the drink arrived Blackie paid for it. George sipped the drink, it tasted good so he drank it down. The affect the drink had on him was devastating. The music became deafening, the room spun, strove lights flashed all around him. Blackie suggested the go outside for some fresh air.
Once outside, George stumbled in the street. Blackie grabbed him, kept him from hitting the ground, but at the same time surreptitiously stole his wallet. They stumbled down the street to a poorly lit doorway that read Mission of Lost Souls.
They reached a plateau and a door that said Belfry. He had the dry heaves then opened the door. The door to the belfry creaked open. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the light of the moon. There was a huge raven sitting, staring at him atop a 4x4 crosspiece that supported the bell.
Then an eerie voice that seemed to come from nowhere said, "What is your name, why have you come here?"
"My name is George, I have come to find a better way of life."
The raven began to caw loudly as if laughing at him. It flapped its wings and took off. It flew wildly right through one of the stained glass windows. There was a loud crash and scream that cried, "You will forget?"
Once again the eerie voice said, "What is your name, why have you come here?" He could not remember his own name. He was completely perplexed and mumbled, "I don't know.
He returned to the Mission of Lost Souls and thereafter became known as "Ralph." The Mission of Lost Souls had claimed its 617th victim, George Merle never made it to his appointment with Dr. Paul Darlington in Calgary on the 24th.
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 8:05 PM UTC
Break me and make bread.
In your head,
I'm forever alive.
You can take your road to Calgary and it won't bother me
if you take me.
Here are true lives in the lines.
We read because we need them,
even in our solitude, we choose them and after all, they give meaning to the many men who come to pray before them.
On the Richter scale, we measure five, not quite a fail but not an achievement of which we could boast.
Break me and I'll play host to the demons that ride through the night when you're at your most vulnerable.
Take me and recreate me in the image of your man, but we fake it where we can.
Because,
and that has to be the answer sworn,
the baby born
the cradle cap
the winged bat
All these to choose
rejoice and win
or reject and lose.
Sermons on the Mount in many fonts available from any encyclopaedia,
online any time
Line
Break.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
your lips
became
the inside of
a music note,
your mind
mapping out my
life.
good
night.
and dream
of me;
or don't.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
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Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC