There's an App for This - A Poem in Geek

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pwnage - A Multimedia Villanelle

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Reflections in the Half-Sleep Before Waking

the beer and your hockey sweater, as you drank in anger
and let out rage
because the toys had been left in the hallway again
but I can never seem to remember what came after

the sound of a footstep at the door
inside the locked bathroom, I explored
and your chilling words
"what are you doing in there?"

laughing, looking left, right,
then down at your back tire my front one touched it
I never knew, never thought, blood
could flow so freely

the party, near midnight, the ball on TV
you, everyone, were drinking, laughing, arguing
and I sat on the couch, reading
because only the books would talk to me

the look of pure rage, hate
baseball bat in hand as you hollered and chased me
the egg still visible on your bay window through the bushes
as I got away

a beloved cousin, trusted, looked up to
inviting me up a hill pointing to the distance
then pissing on my leg as I turned to look
and seeing the multitude of fists seeking my company

becoming a super-hero one summer aboard ship
running to the wheelhouse, not seeing the hole in the deck
and becoming "Captain Gravity"
down-to-Earth kind of guy

a picture of my Australian great-grandfather
surrounded by his fourteen children, fifty-three great grandchildren
great great grandchildren, and their children as well
he was 95, successful in a way I can only dream of being

Breaking the Pattern

The spine is mathematic.
A hand touched the cleft of her chin,
a glacial train moving across the face,
to escape along a sinuous path,
adrenalin courses
as fingertips slide
along an undulating funhouse,
advancing ever downward.

Escape is mathematic.
Trapped, in a funhouse frenzy,
face west, east, north, south, up, down,
adrenalin rises with every move,
every shift, but with a show of spine
the moment cleft,
a train of motion stops.

Her glacial gaze stares back with purpose.
She would be touched no more.

Teachable Moment

I'm a teacher, an instructor,
but I can't instruct my wife.
God love her, I love her,
but as for teaching,
well, I'm her husband.

She's usually the one instructing me.

I told her, one night, and another, and another,
on course nights, please don't cook,
please just be with the children,
relax, watch TV, call a friend,
let me order a pizza for us all.

Above all, most importantly, don't cook.

You see, when Indians cook, they cook.
They cut, they grind, they fry, they stir, they mix,
and then the cooking starts.
This is not food you pop in a microwave oven,
or heat up in a pan on the stove.

This, you see, is real, good, wife cooked food.

Tonight, course night, the smell entices me,
mutton, frying onions, garam masala.
So lost in a poem, and thoughts of dinner later,
I failed to notice two sets of naked legs, and naked arms
walk up to my chair, ready for their bath.

I could hear the sound of the grinder in the kitchen.
I could smell the roasting meat, and stewing potatoes.
I could see the end of poetry, for now, at least.

My wife just spoke to me a moment ago.
Pizza, it seems, will be a good idea next week.

A Crowdsourced Villanelle

Vision blurs amidst the sounds and life of night
moods lift and bear us somewhere we can't foretell
take what comes, be alert, be ready, forthright

Rein down the moon. Bring sanity to the light
in the darkest hour, our eyes lift up from Hell
vision blurs amidst the sounds and life of night

we walk city blocks and hope to share our plight
with nameless strangers whose gazes repel
take what comes, be alert, be ready, forthright

when strangers press, foreswear the urge to flight
let inner focus, memory cast their spell
Vision blurs amidst the sounds and life of night

While those memories wrap and hold us tight,
we can feel our confidence pulse and swell.
take what comes, be alert, be ready, forthright

The ship keens in the wind, the waves froth white,
and long and loud, rings the deep throated bell
Vision blurs amidst the sounds and life of night
take what comes, be alert, be ready, forthright.

* This villanelle was constructed line by line, by different poets in a UBC Creative Writing workshop - thus the "crowdsourced" in the title.

A Found Poem

This is prose, but it is so poetic...It hit me as a found poem.

Tony Woodlief remembers the birthday of a daughter who died 12 years ago, at the age of three

I suppose we all of us have shadowed places in our lives,
places where reside only the ill-formed shapes of what might have been,
never clear and untouchable and framed only by their absence of light.

But we have what has yielded those shadows as well,
or at least the memories of them. I can’t know
how her voice would sound today, but I can
recall her singing ABCs; I can’t know
what it’s like for her head to reach my shoulder, but I can
remember carrying her on my shoulders.

In every life there are the things we have
and the shadows that haunt us,
and which we call
could have been.

Maybe part of enduring is
looking where the light is,
rather than where it is
not.

----

When I read this, and the story behind it. I sobbed for days.

Hat tip to Andrew Sullivan

Eff the TO-Leafs - A Canadian Ghazal

It’s just a bunch of bullspit Cherry said last night, eh?
Keep Kaberle? Someone’s had a puck in the head, eh?

I frickin' can’t stand it down at the ACC these days
It’s not like the old Leaf Gardens up on Carlton, eh?

Only people who can afford to buy seats wear suits
I took the last tie I bought off after I got married, eh

Even down at the beer store, it’s like fifty bucks a case
Beer is starting to cost more than one of those lattes, eh

Then the HST bullspit? At least I can still go to Timmies
eh, somewhere my coffee won’t need an effin’ loan, eh

What Small Thing is Man

Teardrop in the lake, our insignificance to the divine.
As darkness falls, your intentions, Lord, I can’t divine.

I used to flee the world, my place, my life, my fate
My only faith, my hope, was in redemption divine

As her heartbeat fades, her life ripped from my arms
I raged, unbelieving, anymore, that YOU were divine

Then the fires came, ripping through my soul, my life
what was left, gone, destroyed, by vengeance divine

See, it’s the wrath of Lord thy God, old testament style
Jimmy - rage, hate, hope and love are equally divine

My Poetry Prof vs. The Sonnet Form

Her sonnet presentation was today
It’s a pleasant beginning to term 2
She used to think sonnets were just okay
But now, she knows, they’re really fun to do

The form is characterized by a turn
Or volta, a change of perspective, tone
But, as Professor says, with some concern
Good sonnets fall within a certain zone

What’s good about sonnets, says Stephen Fry
Is that they’re just right – the Goldilocks form
Size enough for a thought, flexible, spry
Sonnets can both entertain and inform

The difficulty in sonnets is not
in the writing, but in how they are wrought

As Time Slips Past at the Afternoon PD

some are dependent
some are independent

the technique will change
across a varied range

to incorporate flexibility
with mixed ability

pay attention
to retention

matching implementation
to execution

enhancing invention
which all,
of course,
goes without mention

Words

Should you shut your ears to anything else I may speak
should you shut your eyes to anything else I may write
if nothing else at the very least
heed these words
let them find a home within you
a safe place to stay until they are needed
when they can be called upon in your time of need

Words
mere words
bind all things earthly or not
within the realm of human imagination
what is love death pain
without one word to hold in all the
understandings and perceptions each carries
they are unknowable
the power of a word manifests itself
making the incomprehensible tangible

Words
mere words
are everything of import
they bind us to courses of thought and action
dictating out lives
oppressing or liberating
used to define the worth of a person
whether they are to be locked in a cage
or to command the loyalty of millions

Words
mere words
Can make your spirit exult
hearing those things which your heart longs for
or reading what appears to be a dream given form
you dance you laugh
your whole world grows
to include anyone within reach of your smile

Words
mere words
can break your heart
leaving your tattered soul soiled
unrecognizable upon the ground and you
struggling to find a way
to begin to stand to try again

Words
mere words
in them lay the very essence of humanity
for what they have the power to do
they also have the power to undo
and I have some words for you

In any of your endeavors in the light of day or dark of night
when that insidious quiet descends upon you
threatening to consume you
taking you away from yourself
I want you to look in that same place
no matter the day or hour
and pull out these words

In a quiet place
where a soft wind blows
rustling leaves and grass
under a tree
you will find me
smiling
waiting

Priorities

So you say you
shouldn't be so high
on my list of priorities

there's work
there's friends
there's life

So you say you
shouldn't be so high
on my list of priorities

I say you are wrong

For when I wake
there is only ever one item
on that list

Mr. Today

I’m Mr. Today
I used to have another name but
that was someone else
I can’t remember him anymore

About myself there isn’t much to
tell but I’ll tell
the little I do know one thing
I am really good at is sticking my
head through an open door seeing
someone inside then entering their life

Some things last have
permanence though I wouldn't
know enough about that to say change
is the only constant I know

How could they give you up?
she said in a soft voice still heavily
breathing in the afterglow I don't
know what to say all I can think
is because they can

Anything goes for me really I'm
not scared of being knocked down
as they say all I have to do is stand up

Falling in love is easy I do it all
the time cats have nine lives and I
have nine hearts but sometimes
I wonder if falling is only a habit

Remember Biz Markie well I
never have been the
just a friend
he is always someone I later meet

Before God I swear I will give every
new her all until she says goodbye

Per ardua surgo and all that I just
hope I made a few smiles laughs
singing illigitimi non carborundum
all that matters really the
categorical imperative

I'm Mr. Today can't remember
yesterday don't know about tomorrow
every new today I am just as
surprised that I am still here so
certain that chances are like
the Littlest Hobo tomorrow
I'll be gone

After the Bath

I'm finished!
I'm finished!
I'm finished the bath!

Come here!
Hurry!
I'm wearing my slippers,
from the bath.

You have to put on cream
on my tummy,
not my hands,
my tummy.
I don't have a baby in my tummy,
but Mumma has a tummy
Mumma has a brother in her tummy,
or a sister in her tummy,
maybe a brother,
but I don't have a sister,
I have Kathleen,
she's not a sister,
she's Kathleen!

Let's go here!
Look! I have the paper!
I have the paper!
I have the paper that shows the shopping,
it shows how to get to the shopping,
and how to go to the place,
to buy the shopping,
and buy the birthday cake,
the big birthday cake,
for Mackenzie,
for Mackenzie's birthday,
because it's Mackenzie's birthday soon.

Kathleen's birthday is over,
and Mumma's birthday is over,
and Grandma's birthday is over,
and Grandpa's birthday is over,
but Dadda's birthday is,
Dadda's birthday is coming.

You have to take the paper
to get the money from the bank,
it shows how to go to the bank,
and you take the paper,
and it gives you the money,
and you buy the cake,
the big birthday cake,
for Mackenzie,
and then you take the paper,
and Dadda's birthday will come,
it will come,
in two hours,
and then,
and then you have to,
you have to go to the poo-poo.

Okay, Dadda?
Okay?

Unrepentant

She weas really offended
by the things he said.

They really hurt her,
and she didn’t know if
she could forgive him.

"Don't worry," he replied.

"I don’t want you to forgive me."

Those words which hurt
so much
only struck hard
with the force of truth

All he wanted her to say was not
"I forgive you."

All he wanted her to say is
"I understand."

Question

Curiosity seems
always
to fill me.

One question
burns
or, at least,
niggles.

Have I done anything to offend?

If I had,
would you tell me?

Another First Last

I saw King Canute today,
half formed, translucent
on the restaurant window.

With every new word,
attempt at a gesture,
the initiative moved
farther from view.

What spark there was,
or interest
shifted red while I sat,
halfway amused,
as the night moved on
until
it was time to say goodbye.

Hello My Friend

His friend yelled
with unchecked anger
even some hate
in his words.

At first he accepted them
listened
and understood
forgave
and smiled.

When the friend did the same thing
time and again
and he grew tired
but patience held
listening, wishing
they could would move on
to something else.

But when he moved
it was from anger
forgivable
to anger
unequivocal

Words were said,
that cannot be unsaid,
for which I am sorry
is not accepted,
words which brought
patience to an end.

Pent up thoughts exploded
in an angry rush ending
pushing past self-control
into an anger not known before or felt
and to his friend he said
"I hate you."

He told his friend he would be happy
if he kindly went away
and did not bother to come back
again.

It is only now,
much later on
I begin to understand why
as he said those hateful words,
he smiled,
seeming at peace.

To Live

Being the smartest or
craftiest person

strong
swift
honorable

or not

matters little, really.

It's the stubborn
the obstinate
the pigheaded

who seem always to find
some way