Month: January 2022

audio
I sing of the flailing follicles 
which flicker aboard a cosmonaut's 
skin like a candlelight,
for astronauts stew in a vibrating brew 
of eyelash escapees 
and eyebrow runaways,

That wiggle and spasm vigorously
in all directions like crazed toddlers
in the throes of a sugar rush. 

A space traveller's hair strands 
stand at attention on occasion
paralyzed by the panoramic surge of all-encompassing connection 
Earth gazing showers over virgin vision,

Their hairs also desperately grip 
threadbare roots before
weightlessness finally yanks 
their anchors out like
a tidal wave scattering 
a dandelion ball across an abyss.

Audio

O Canada's residential school 
terrors, both fresh and future, 
Which stories will our 
textbooks now feature?
Shall we scream at our irises 
to shut out the scorching lights?

though horrific beastliness 
tempts us to become stiff,
our plucky empathy compels 
us to put aside our miff
and crumple our foreheads 
to honour the hurt,

O Canada, our wailing eyes must endure 
and nurture the bitterest 
accounts of searing truth, 
we must not ignore 
any unearthed innocents 
no matter how uneasy it may be,

I button up my tear ducts - 
for now - then turn my eyes, hands and heart 
to Marvin Gaye and join his resounding, 
vein-stirring cry: save the children.

a haiku in the traditional Japanese form

sticky scribbles bound

to ink blot test, persona

duct tapes twitching lips.

We know it's a game of guessing
whose name, and when and where
the x crossed eyes will be next

poor George, poor George!
zero chance, negative respect
from the hangman's knee

an eternal team of tree hangers,
uniformed, hawk-like, leisurely
capture any melanin ornament

hawk-like, yet I must admit I felt their 
cold hippo jaw molars crushing my neck 
in thousands of pounds per square inch

then as now, chump change, chump change, 
then as now gotta try anyhow, yes, we must,
cameras first in tow, we too can capture now.

a traditional Japanese haiku

Whoa, bushy squiggle-
Fidgeting virtuoso
Leave my dog alone

I fail thru ditches,
I fail around peaks,
following which
I grow outward roots in all directions.
The only rootless failure is an atrophied approach.

I steal oddities from the ordinary
by avoiding jargon as often as I can.

Fancy phrases swell my head
like a bloated gut, boring my viewers
quicker than a drilling tool does.

I use verbs that intersect with daily commutes and invite the pedestrian on an enriching tangent.

I coordinate every detail of my artistry
like a Cirque du Soleil choreographer
creating crisscross motions in mid-air.

Pulse is a privilege.
So squeeze your veins with thanks
as often as your hours will allow,
O infant, clad in overlapping rainbows;

Welcome to our green-blue twirl world
which comets frequent in their profuse circuits,
You refresh us like lavender oil on a rainy afternoon.

Your mother's womb is a chamber of secret synergies. Springing forth from a union of gracious deity gates, 

you are like a geyser 
of ripe, frothy, daybreak dew.  
Plum blossoms in full bloom 
envy you and your folks.

You are as kinetic as magnet eggs in birdsong,
eagerly yearning for a ball of yarn
to weave the waves of your days
into a scarf of warm memories.