No longer daunted By subterfuge Payola schemes or even Assassinations by a religious stooge
Still enamored by overbites Pretty lies, feathered caps and Japanese super cub motorbikes
Confused by burning coals to alchemize and quicksilver mines in a triangular ruse
I don’t need a course To tell me to be happy I already know what wealthy means: Have you a garden, a pen and Wood stove?
The answer to the biggest question is: “to love, and to be loved”
The pathway to go there is: kindness, tolerance, empathy, intrepidness, weakness is strength
All this is to say: Cynicism avoided, reality reinvented, consensus subverted, admiration for the usual Savor the regular days, notice the magnificence in nonchalance & common place.
Get down on your knees!
To look closely The tactility of grass The softness of sand The circles and cycles The shards of pottery The ants smaller than the other ants The lichen, the moss the dirt The rivulets The worm holes to everywhere else
{transcription from an “field notes” notebook while in bed… stashed here so I don’t misplace}
[Unrelated photo #SnowyOwl]
Finding home
No longer daunted By subterfuge Payola schemes or even Assassinations by a religious stooge
Still enamored by overbites Pretty lies feathered caps and quicksilver mines
Confused by burning coals to alchemize cartoon currencies in a triangular ruse
I don’t need a course To tell me to be happy I already know what wealthy means Have you a garden, a pen and Wood stove?
The answer to the biggest question is: “to love, and to be loved”
The pathway to go there is: kindness, tolerance, empathy, intrepidness, weakness is strength
All this is to say: Cynicism avoided, reality reinvented, consensus subverted, admiration for the usual Savor the regular days, notice the magnificence in nonchalance & common place.
Get down on your knees!
To look closely The tactility of grass The softness of sand The circles and cycles The shards of pottery The ants smaller than the other ants The lichen, the moss the dirt The rivulets The worm holes to everywhere else
“Hero card” images: unrelated to snippets below, as far as I can tell anyhow
Still enamoured by overbites On your couch learning French French as slowly as possible Prevents encouraging habits and libations
Depths and perceptions Pacific driftwood heave Bog lands Where the houses will float away Though welded to the dock
Can’t hear you over the brightness of the lightsMoved it over a peg to the left It didn’t seem So symmetrical Unnerving The symmetry, you see Makes me dizzy & rather unsure on my feet
Bag of Zippers Essence of Bergamot Samovar Lilywhite leaning Envision a clear path homeward Considering Lubrious Plaintive Budding Eagerly
Wafting sage and lavender Transcendent to Tibet High valley with a path Leading towards mtns unknown
Poetry Accolade of sorts: Pleased to be on the prize list for a very interesting poetry initiative with roots in Vancouver’s downtown eastside.
I was selected as the “random” prize which i suppose isn’t flowered with prestige but that’s not the reason i write and share poetry anyhow. Thanks to Muriel’s Journey 2021 And Beyond (FB) for including me.
My poem “Alchemists Confer with Hypnotists” (below) comes from my fcked up #MECFS medical journey of conundrums and unintended reinvention which took me around the world seeking ways to re-create neural pathways and myself as an existing sentient creature. The poem will be included in a chapbook and reading at some juncture.
Anyhow, congratulations to those acknowledged, those who write, submit, deal with illness and also to the memory of namesake Muriel and the organizers of the campaign, especially Isabella J Mori.
{The prize booty is stashed in a Canadian bank account for Ichiro for when the opportunity comes for him to visit his ancestral homeland of sorts.}
Poetry is everything, distilled.
A note about Muriel:
“Muriel was a social justice activist, poet, and spoken word artist of Indigenous heritage from the Gitxsan nation’s Owl Clan who spent a lot of time in the Downtown Eastside. In her work, she always explored new ways of expressing herself, always talked and wrote about what’s urgent and important. Her energy was like fireworks, and her hugs legendary.”
bizen yaki kiln, forging clay into treasure
Alchemists Confer with Hypnotists
Varying days
of bliss and malaise
I'm busy these days
chasing dubbies away
When the ache nears
the break comes and
light becomes a haze
your soul is so faded,
no hiding, so worn
The alchemists confer
and deny the hypnotists’
clinical opinions.
Retorting,
“He simply needs
more magnesium
injected directly into his bones”
The past-life regression
of painters and pirates
offered no evidence
only barroom stories when
posted up envisioning
a distant yourself
Generate kinetic watts
from my broken soul,
frantic heart and coiled brain
anxiety - I've plenty to power
all of Iowa - roller rinks and all
Please won't you deplete me
save me from me and help me
tell me, to sleep? And you’ll
insist on my compliance,
fading into ease.
note: dubbies is a Jamaican word for ghosts
Update from Muriel’s Journey selection committee:
Thanks for posting this. The randomness is important. Judging poetry (or anything literature) has an element of personal taste and is, therefore, biased. When we first receive poems, Kyle Hawke and I pre”judge” them so that our judges don’t have to Wade through too many poems. Then we present the three judges with about 30 poems. This year the judges were Heidi Greco , WJ Kehewin , and Gilles Cyrenne . All the poems are judged blind – nobody knows the names of the authors. By introducing a random price we give the chance to someone who might have otherwise fallen through the cracks. So far, by chance, all the random prizes went to poets who were already in the preselection.
wrote a poem (in reply to the great singer songwriter Hawksley Workman who’s playing in #Saskatoon tonight)
boarding pass leaving Saskatoon to Calgary and onwards to Vancouver and Eugene Oregon as an infant (allegedly 10 days old)
Saskatoon I was born here but never lived there (left quickly on a 707) but obliged to print on application forms since– quite literally hundreds or possibly thousands there’s never enough room (especially in Japan) to write: b. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Aug, 16 1970
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