dragon

dragon in the street,
dragon in my room,
dragon on the ocean,
dragon on the moon,


dragon in the woods,
dragon on the town,
every time I see that dragon,
I get to feeling down,

black eyed stare,
chewing on a bone,
mommy never loved him,
heart cold like stone,

rough skinned dragon,
always spoiling for a fight,
watching me bleed,
the only thing that makes you feel alright,

dragon drank my whiskey,
then passed out on my bed,
I see that dragon everywhere,
he lives in my head.

night guard

I used to be a night guard,
like the night guards that sign me out,
a coffee stained journal,
and an old radio,
a chair worn down from long shifts behind flickering console monitors,
a lunchbox and a Maclean's magazine,
pencils scattered amongst
sports sections
and completed crosswords,
a ball of keys,
a late patrol,
a black sky,
a cigarette under a full moon,
I used to be a night guard,
you dream with your eyes open,
when you're alone until noon.

ticket on the dash

windy punch,
the ache of morning,
tired traffic,
and inconsistent coffee,
stern faces chew cash crunch sandwiches,
and hustle through mazes of parking lines,
ticket and receipt,
receipt and ticket,
"is there joy somewhere throughout this thicket?"
attendant looks at me over his glasses while handing me back cash,
"I don't know about that but I do know that it's five bucks more if you don't leave your ticket on the dash."

between periods

fierce force,
open the boards,
mark the ice,
fierce fear,
warm above,
cold down here,
remember the plays,
under enemy gaze,
it don't feel nice,
the strategy ok'd,
but a choice was made,
didn't have a choice,
but to make a choice,
to play the game,
and give the anger a voice,

look to me,
I'll look to you,
to play through the pain,
through inclement weather,
ready for whatever,
we'll put it together,
between periods.

Toploader

your love comes in Morse code,
a tarped load,
one shoe on the side of the road,
tossing and turning,
while memories are burning,
out of the comfort zone to begin learning,
stretching,
fretting,
sometimes regretting,
a meditation on forgetting,
how do we live in these times without letting ourselves get pounded,
by the beats of an eager heart,
draped over a rusty motor,
forever pumping blood to the flesh,
on the bones of the Toploader.

plunge

it gets frightening,
face in the darkness,
voices in the hallway,
it gets tough,
alone with the sickness,
voices in the head,
it gets lonely,
wind in the woods,
rain on the roof,
it gets hurtful,
forgotten words,
heckler in the crowd,
it gets complex,
twisting highways,
unfamiliar streets,
it gets panicked,
food, shelter, safety,
sirens in the night,

resolve the outside,
through the inside,
so as not to hide from The Test,
but to plunge into it.

aye, Samhain!

glimpse,
sense,
presence,
ghost in the mirror,
wetness,
coldness,
odor,
skeleton dances slowly,
candle,
web,
moon,
wind in the room,
spider,
owl,
raven,
blood drips quietly,
touch,
hold,
release,
woman in the painting,
old man,
bolts awake,
from a dream,

"who's there?"

woman in the painting whispers,
"It is the dead, they pray for you."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a comment from Old Olie got me thinking...
from Wikipedia:

Samhain marked the end of the harvest, the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darker half". It was traditionally celebrated over the course of several days. Many scholars believe that it was the beginning of the Celtic year. It has some elements of a festival of the dead. The Gaels believed that the border between this world and the otherworld became thin on Samhain; because so many animals and plants were dying, it thus allowed the dead to reach back through the veil that separated them from the living. Bonfires played a large part in the festivities. People and their livestock would often walk between two bonfires as a cleansing ritual, and the bones of slaughtered livestock were cast into its flames.

The Gaelic custom of wearing costumes and masks, was an attempt to copy the spirits or placate them. In Scotland the dead were impersonated by young men with masked, veiled or blackened faces, dressed in white. Samhnag — turnips which were hollowed-out and carved with faces to make lanterns — were also used to ward off harmful spirits.

The Gaelic festival became associated with the Catholic All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day, and has hugely influenced the secular customs now connected with Halloween, a name first attested in the 16th century as a Scottish shortening of the fuller All-Hallows-Even. Samhain continues to be celebrated as a religious festival by some neopagans.

recognize

the mind is a thicket,
a dark woods,
tattered by hardened soil,
torn by thorns,

the mind is a midnight street,
wet with oil and litter,
lost drunks,
and mangy dogs,

the mind is starless sky,
stretching a lonely echo,
across a darkened valley,

the mind is an unruly ox,
tamed only by a master of reality,
with a boxer's resolve,

the mind is a house,
full of sounds,
and voices,

the mind is a room,
with cracks in the ceiling,
a window to rainy gloom,

a place to return,
where tangles unfurl,

the mind is a door to the world.

lady boss

I work in a box,
I watch the clock,
I measure the money,
by the tick of the tock,
I cross the "T's,"
I dot the "i's,"
I deliver the deliverable,
and don't ask why,
no one hears you scream,
no one hears you cry,
cheap shirt,
cheap pants,
cheap tie,
I'll be your monkey,
at your beck and call,
just make sure you shake your ass when you walk down the hall,
hell, I'll do the chicken dance,
if,
when you lean,
I can see the cleavage,
in the back of your pants.

element

wide wind,
crackling fire,
rushing water,
turning soil,
red sun,
open sky,
gypsy reads the lines in my hands,
psychic sees I'm gonna die,
pyramid the heart and mind,
to see the soul's third eye,
old pastor's certain I'm going to hell,
angel says "it's hard to tell,"
Devil whispers "it could be worse,"
white light gonna shoot through every dark verse,
old master's whiskey heats on the hearth,
baby sleeps,
and dreams about a new, blue earth.

dumpster

there's an old rusty dumpster,
in the alley below my room,
it's where my soul goes when I dream,
it stays out all night,
and sings with drunks,
feeds homeless cats,
and watches the moon.

individual

got friends,
who've gone to heaven,
got friends,
who've been to hell,
some stayed,
some returned,
oh, the stories they tell,
we long for one,
but we live in the two,
individual,
indivisible,
it doesn't matter if you don't,
and it doesn't matter if you do.

industrial park

smoke stacks,
mechanic shops,
the belch of diesel,
the cynical eyes of a junkyard dog,
cubed cars
beget streams of leaking gas,
pop cans,
broken signs,
discarded hubcaps,
delivery men argue,
cops speed through,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
dumpsters drip rust,
bums wander hopelessly,
in fields of overgrown weeds,

time is drunken angel,
tired,
uncertain,
indifferent,

the heart becomes an industrial park.

alien

to be the alien,
alone,
a man dead to his work is,
not extraterrestrial life,
not unauthorized immigrants,
but a man divorced from his passion,
survival,
competition,
to endeavor without significance,
to labour without meaning,
a stoic resolve,
repetition,
duty,
owned by the market,
the appearance of contribution,
how long can he stay busy?
the heart is neglected,
creativity is resented,
cold,
distant,
financial projections,
neurotic over-management,
transparent relationships,
chronic fatigue,
to escape one's own longings,
to be a product of duty,
self-unknown,
to be asleep,
to the freedom of choice,
to be the alien,
this is the essence of loneliness.

used to write rock songs, still do

my simple poems are affected,
by years of writing rock songs,
never wrote anything outstanding,
is that so wrong?
had nothing to say on this Sunday night,
so I thought I'd put in an update,
had some turkey with family this weekend,
it tasted pretty great,
saw a homeless man giving thanks,
I guess it's never too late,
who knows?
someday I might have nothing,
but can a psychic pinpoint a date?
I've been a little down lately,
but I'm trying to look up,
a friend once told me,
drink deep of life's cup,
I often stay up at night,
stare at the stars and moon,
or just stare at the street lights,
outside my room,
I reach for my understanding of what I perceive as true,
when I think that I find it,
I realize I never do,
but when I need a boost,
I reach for a blog by you,
did I mention I write rock songs?
...I still do.

Roshi Dogen, Roshi Elvis

"Life and death are of supreme importance. Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost. Each of us should strive to awaken. Awaken. Take heed, do not squander your life."

Dogen Zenji (1200 - 1253)

"A little less conversation, a little more action please."

Elvis Presley (1935-1977)

march

long weeks,
sleepless nights,
paycheque and hair thins,
pot bellies and double-chins,
youthful memories,
packed in tea biscuit tins,
weddings and divorces,
professional development courses,
blue-toothed mid-lifers,
driving Porsches,
office birthday, a bottle uncorks,
sugar cake and a plastic fork,
how'd I end up in this march of the dorks?
just wanna have a round with my friends,
play guitar on a porch,
hold a little bit left of the fight,
quietly watch the night,
slowly swallow the evening light.

clock on the wall

the clock on the wall,
was the clock in his head,
a friend lay fading,
on a broken bed,
nurses, doctors,
needles, medications,
prognosis,diagnosis,
anatomical extrapolations,
this was the fall of a man,
a fall of nations,
a shadow, an echo,
a crumbling of the foundations,
of what had been built,
through time,
through fight,
yet quickly,
in the night,
the very sickness that would make a struggle,
to get from bed to urinal,
reduce truth to a kernel,



would in a breath,
take what was temporal,
and make it eternal.



(photo by D. Neutel)

convergence

slip away from this brick and mortar world,
into checkered beats,
and black lit triads,
step down your leather shoes,
into a puddle of spit,
wipe your valves,
with a sweat dampened rag,
find the half-count,
pick-up on this B flat,
move to the F then to the E,
and hold it gently but tightly,
until your air is gone,
your lungs burn,
your veins throb,
empty all of yourself,
so there's nothing left to bury,
but a trill,
a rim-shot,
a pause...

...applause.

drive-thru haikus

leaves touch pavement
starry skies of summer end
please don't go

grey skies hang
my loneliness seems more visceral
where's my smokes?

plume of smoke
burning leaves smell blows past
cold misty hands

remembering back then
kissing her in the rain
change is hard


fall then winter
seems like things die slowly
beds get cold

this old sweater
good for drinking big pints
cherry pipe tobacco

life the search
art is the universal religion
birth through knowledge

lost at sea
"great writers steer you home"
bloggers remind me