Some Poetry About Life–and some about writing poetry

unadulterated shit (Owned by Donald Smith of St. George, New Brunswick, who loved this poem so much he paid me $25 to buy it in about 2001. MY 1ST OFFICIAL SALE!

i sat beside a mountain brook
and wrote a book
and when i read what i had written
i was smitten by the
inconsequentiality
of reality

the words did not make sense
and the plot was much too tense
for the mood and for the tone
which had shown the anti-idealism
of surrealism

so i threw it page by page
into the water which did rage
with laughter at each word
till a bird flew by and read it
and shit on it

a poem of silence

silence
noises unheard
not one word
no peep nor cheep
nor footstep creep
nor bleep!

alone
no one home
but me
does anybody be?
i cannot see

to be alone with silence
is to be alone
in the universe
not knowing for sure
if anyone else exists

this could be frightening
and border on insanity
but not necessarily so

silence can be:l,
peace of body
peace of mind
peace of soul

just me
and the universe
in cosmic harmony

be

a ball of words

sometimes i wonder
is it really worth it
to spend my time on rhyme and verse
to curse the world and all its faults
to praise the beauties i can see
and then i answer
it is
to me
even if not to anyone else
for myself it does wonders
to calm a confused mind
and straighten out my head

moments like these
are ever so rare
in our galloping world
that to curl myself up
into a ball of words
is a pleasure
of uncommon delight

the miracle

pictures are worth a thousand words
but poetry is worth a million
so on i write
into the night
cringing in fear
with insanity near
breathing new life
into words as old as death

isn’t it amazing
in all the length of time
humanity has spent upon this earth
someone can still combine
words into lines
that never before have graced
the printed page

miracles

are all around us

if only we had

the presence of mind

to see them

epitaph at birth

please
allow no man
to be my teacher
for he cannot live
mine life for me

therefore
allow me not
to be his teacher
for i cannot live
his life for him

but
let him help me
where he can
and i shall help him
wherever i can

because
we are brothers

let us remain that way

following my desire

like an eagle on the wing
soaring ever higher higher
trying to capture sun and stars
following my desire

like a mole beneath the earth
burrowing blindly through the mire
digging deeper than before
following my desire

like a leaf cast off by tree
like a snowflake softly falling
sliding down then gliding up
seeking rest — yet stalling

so i live my life each day
to opposing goals i do aspire
learning good exploring bad
following my desire

enigma

why do i see
divinity
when everyone i meet
sees mere humanity

is this a cursed blessing
or
is this a blessed curse

like a near completed puzzle with
just one piece to go
but the last piece doesn’t fit
that’s how i feel

i cannot fit myself into
the puzzle of this world
no matter how i stretch and strain
this enigma lies beyond my brain
to remedy

significant language signs

bark
goes bacon in the dead of night
awakening my neighbours
who pound on my door
who pound on bacon
whom i see nevermore

propound a baconism
if you know one
(i don’t
sorry
i didn’t mean to wet your appetite
or rain on your purr-aid)

a pound of bacon
for breakfast
a bunch of bananas
for lunch
and for supper a steak
with roast potatoes
mushrooms
and you

you are my night
if i were a woman
would you be my knight
i mean if you were male
wearing mail
i might add

twenty-two plus twenty
makes forty-two
but even douglas
doesn’t know the question
from adam’s
garden of eve

words
have no meaning
but the meaning i give them
when i write them
down

and if i believe that
you’ve got some prime property
(canada grade a bacon?)
in florida
to sell me
but i have no money so
i can’t buy that

so why do i continue to string signifiers one after the other (as if they were words in a sentence {You’re Guilty!}) in a vain attempt to communicate my thoughts to some imaginary being called ‘reader’ (providing they get past an even more imaginary being called ‘publisher’) whom i cannot be sure exists and who has no conception of me (that was my mother’s job)

i am a person
or
at least i was
until i wrote these words
at which point
i became
a poem

and that me immediately vanished
vanquished
by the ticking of the clock
ripped asunder
by the tickless time bomb
squashed
as under the foot of a flea
who got swept down the gutter
of gravity

imagine the coincidence
the play i saw last night
concerned gutters
kate and annie
maggie and polly and ellen
(they made a lot of offal jokes)

is that what inspired this crap
crepe-paper pancakes
inedible solid liquid
indigestible
barf

a lunar tune

to crash wildly
through jungles
of green
grass
to chase wildly
butterflies
on dewy
days
changing streams
in the middle
of a
horse
changing screws
in the middle
of a
dick
to follow
after none
but those
you don’t know
to fathom
the heights
of green
seas

Some Old Love Poetry

caterwauling

hair from face in curls like cotton
candy-coloured eyes and smiling
lips that curve in sensuous delight
i see you there

where shines your face like golden-glossed
sunlight beaming all around you
sitting silent in my eyes are
visions more than fair

ne’er shall i such beauty see
in forest glade i dream of thee
surrounded all by flowers growing
jewels precious rare

(dare i let you know these feelings
deep within my heart inspire
rainbows that are radiant
with
love and hope and care?)

 

inside my mind

sitting before a fireplace
i picture you and i
hand in hand and watching
sparks as out they fly
into the room

words are seldom spoken
though many do we hear
in silent conversations
caused by being near
as in a womb

rhythmic vibrations
lull both of us to peace
as mind with mind we weave a
wall of loving fleece
about the room

but now the fire’s dying
and we must leave again
until next time we enter
the room where we were then
inside my mind

 

sensing you
sensitivity unique
fantastic treat

love unheard
unseen unfelt untouched
until now
under the influence
of you

i taste your love as a sweetmeat
upon my soured lips
i relish the sound of your sight
touching me

i live in the aroma
of your aura

i love you

 

waiting for the sun   (a tribute to Van Morrison)

waiting for the sun
to come
    anticipation

watching darkness go
while birds sing hello
to the sunrise
    i shade my eyes

magnificent pink the clouds
and disappearing shrouds
cause wonder in my mind
whenever shall i find
    day

when sunlight lasts forever
and moonbeams quickly sever
the blackness from the night
and bring delight
to lovers in the park
    hark!
who is this i see
is it truly she
    my moondancer

 

the one that got away

does she ever think of me
the way i always think of her
as she stood in the check-out line
that day at the supermarket
or was it in the line-up for a show
or maybe in a bar somewhere
    our eyes met for a moment
    across the crowded room
    our hearts called to each other
    and time suddenly stopped
no those were all others

this woman was definitely in safeway
as i stood holding a basket of fruit
she held a basket of lettuce
i couldn’t tear my eyes from her
she fulfilled my fantasies
all my dreams come to life

but she was with a girlfriend
so i could not answer her
when she commented about my
    canteloupe
and did i always buy so many
(they were on sale that day)

her eyes were smiling playfully
but were they smiling for me
i was too shy to ask
still i hoped they were

i think she noticed me
the way i was noticing her
she looked so young and innocent
the kind of woman i longed to throw
    my arms around
to protect her from the wicked world
where life could be so cruel
(i’m sure she needed no protection
but it couldn’t hurt to pretend
i was wearing armour
and she was in distress)

did she see me as the kind of man
she could entrust with her love
    sensitive and caring
    considerate and sweet
    intelligent and wise
    capable of the sort of love
    that transcends common lust
    yet lets that lust emerge
    when the time is right
    (is this the man she saw
     and is this why she spoke)

oh rue the day that i was born
so shy that i can seldom speak
    my heart
in a crowd of more than two
as on that fateful day

but i never will forget her
    dark hair and eyes
    small turned-up nose
    full lips
    pink cheeks
    soft silky skin

and though the chances are
i’ll never see her again
there will always be a place
    within my heart
for her memory

but how many spaces can i keep
for women such as her
she’s not the first and certainly
i hope she’s not the last
    (because i am so shy
     i always let them get away
     even though i think sometimes
     they would prefer to come to me)

and i wonder
    are there female hearts somewhere
    that keep a special room
    for men they sometimes see
    but never get to meet

is there one woman in this world
who sees me as
    the one who got away
(because she was as shy as me)

a poem in three parts

the fall
sometimes
there are times when
a fellow doesn’t have a chance
against romance
somehow
i don’t know why
my heart just dies
to be reborn
to a brand new morn
where stars shine
all the time
somewhere
it isn’t there
it’s here and now
somehow

the rise
falling in love
is nonsense to say
you don’t fall down
you fall up and away
like tripping on a cloud
and hitting the sky
or dropping your heart
and watching it fly
falling and flying
are one and the same
laughing and crying
and loving her name

the stars in my eyes
suddenly
i find
you’re on my mind
by day
by night
you’re in my sight
your scent
your touch
i love you so much
the fall
the rise
the stars in my eyes