New poem – in the subtitles

In the subtitles

do sirens do anything but wail
I’d love it if one time
maybe I’d have to be really high
but it would be great if the screen read
‘(sirens yelling)’
since kids these days sound just like sirens

Let’s hear it for ‘(eerie crunching sounds)’;
‘(bones splintering)’ let’s pare down English
into eyesized chunks
and glue it on a soundscape

New poem: pentimento and palimpsest

Pentimento & palimpsest

Need alters how I see things
To smother dullness under the hot metal
of discovery
To give it an edge! Ken this
and the hard slap of wave and sail –
the pause before the engagement

I am the old woman who sings
flushed but calm enough

To force the flatness of a bygone age
up and up in brilliant knotted folds
an origami statue, now
perhaps an ornithopter or an owl

The lines reform

The poem is a queue

It is a brief piece of logic tilted against
the pressing and persistent is of essence

The red of the horse harness
the gold of the headdress
all will be re-sown, re-shown, cut
carefully and edited, my ancestors’ bones
are reclaimed
tamped back into the ground

to grow fruit trees and grandchildren

Seas die and flint is born

Flint is knapped and trees are felled

Islands die and people take to boats

Boats sink and brave souls raid the wreck

It all is written over in the end
Earth, sky and water queue for the last word

Nothing done about the tree

No progress on writing. FINALLY got my package to m&d into the mail to them; includes Alex’s art and the Guest 23 mag I have a poem in, thanks to Dave.

Ball lightning: shown in the video is either ball lightning or a transformer dying, although there was no ‘bang’. … there are family stories about ball lightning that EERILY mimic a story from 1963 recounted in this article. (pOp saw ball lightning move down the centre of the fuselage of the Argus he was flying in). Also, Grandma Susie Hinde saw a troika of ball lightning moving above the frozen surface of a river, as she told me sometime in the 1980s about an event from her girlhood in SK.

Drove Paul around to run errands and get him out of his apartment yesterday. He was in much better shape than on previous days and we had something approaching fun. Keith was about to go for a walk with a friend and Suzanne was there cleaning when I arrived.

Ukrainians who are Orthodox are switching up when they celebrate Christmas to distinguish themselves from a version of Russian Orthodoxy whose Patriarch Cyrill the Biggass Hypocrite has announced that any Russians killed in the UK campaign go straight to heaven. VOOP! YUP  up we go! Local parishes have a choice now about the 25 December or 7 January date for celebrations..

Shlep this morning. I already bought milk at Walmart in Lougheed Mall yesterday. Also came home with about 20 bucks of Purdy’s chocolate TIS THE SEASON.

Justin Trudeau is ‘standing up to China’ which basically means whining and not putting more federal money into chasing down Chinese nationals openly laundering money in this town, the single biggest reason nothing is being done about it.

I HAVE COFFEE, the world is ok.

arrival / New Poem – You are given 3 choices

Jeff is safely arrived; I am taking the talking bricks from my imagination and making sentences elsewhere, this morning, but took a break to say that.

I practiced guitar this morning and that inspired me to start writing. 8962 words already!

In the meantime, a squib.

You are given 3 choices

  1. I want nothing to do with you, white woman
  2. Please, if you can, demonstrate how you would ‘Scream for Jesus.’
  3. Debate with me the context and applicability of this art.


I know nobody else will enjoy this poem but I so enjoyed composing it that I felt obliged to share. “One art, please.” Ah, Zoidberg, I love you so much you borscht-belt Decapodion!

Futurama Zoidberg GIF - Futurama Zoidberg One Art Please GIFs

New poem – the sieve

This is not a suicide note:
I’d bang on my brother’s door and waken him
rather than leave him my corpse ***on purpose***
ew, I mean, ew

my consciousness wrote the suicide note to you
but the smelly part is still here

I know that my procession
through these eroded markers
was foretold
but the weeping was tiresome
and I had no patience with the acidic streams
for – did you know – your tears become more basic
over the course of the day, and it’s 2 am here

I pull a stray hair out of my mouth and continue
in the present tense
<<< fly back and forth
destroyers of narrative >>>
I cry as if I could be cleansed
rather than imprisoned
behind bars of vapour

quit potchkying around and write this damned thing

it is my salute to those I love who live still
and everything they taught me, all of which
I will take with me to my niche
in the columbarium
for everything I’ve learned is nothing
compared to what is coming
it’s the brutal and the lucky
who will live
another sieve for humanity

I passed through one, today
Most days I don’t know
how close I came

but I do today

New Poem Little Seed

You are a little seed. There are millions like you.
You were made to sprout in a mind
unthinking being sprouted; that’s
For other minds to bend. Upwards where upwards
Is defined by gravity, that mundane unknown.

I can hear people laughing in my basement.

I want that to be in the scrapings of trace nutrients
I give you, that you are so loved, and all around me
Are ancestors who can still laugh, and will never cease
Weeping this river of love. Salt water kills plants they say
But there are those that grow in brackish water.
There’s no guarantee
That you will be one of those, little seed.
I too was once a little seed, and I commit you to this world.

New Poem – the Terrible Game

I am angry at you, Waffle
I flense your mother
I plunge my hand into the chest of your father
I cause rocks to be dropped on your siblings by rocs
I dismember your shop tools as if they were your children and eat them
Well know that I am displeased, Waffle

For your dictionary is foul, and your sloth is benthic

How is it, Waffle? that your dictionary looks like this
Ordinary words
Little, ordinary words in English
Escape your notice
‘Yep’ is not allowed.
‘Zoot’, as in zoot suit, is not allowed
I can understand that words with ‘s’ and ‘er’ and ‘ed’
Might be passed by, but then YOU ARE NOT CONSISTENT
About how the rules are applied
And I hate you
With that festering hatred that consumes cognition like oxygen
With a scary pH
Like a tailing pond, and I boil you in my mind in that very pond.


I refer to this game.

This poem is dedicated to my Onty Mary.

Time to do some shopping

I’m in a decent mood, finally, after all the damned EMOTIONS I’ve been having had forced themselves into poetry. I’m not saying it makes the poem better, but I sure wept hard writing it. Absolutely tip top night of sleep though!

I think I asked Jeff if we could shop today and if that’s going to happen I need to get up, take my pills and get dressed, because we usually leave for that about now.

New Poem – The Sad Enterprise

I was wanting to talk to you about the sad enterprise
of writing poetry.

How downcast one is, seeing all the parts for it
enlimpened by advertising
et all the new Malaprops. one toes English
hoping it staggers to its feet once more
as with the pugilists of old, one drunken wager from renown
one butterfly from glory
one stolen kiss in a library doorway closer
to a skald’s dearest wish

A bard gets tired, in a world eating new words
faster than it can understand the effects
of the old ones
neogollyism newspikke and an endless
scrolling déluge of porn, puppies and punditry
it only seems so bad because there’s so much of it
but indeed, it is bad, because there is so much of it

I do not need to search for topics. The particular
presents itself, most insistently sometimes
disrespectfully, I have the attention span of a house fly
and a variable crock of enthusiasms and illnesses
But I ain’t writin’ a poem about that.

I am scraping blueberry pie filling from the counter
and that’s quite enough
i do prefer love over sinks
and the enthralment of learning and insight and connection
over the technic that gets us all here
in the company of our peers
being the being that watches our species crash into an asteroid

I am saying this way is an old way, and it works for me
those beings who relent and strike the rock that is my forehead
then hoot with laughter as i bleed and swear
they are old beings and they do not have names
they don’t care about pretty moments
sing for your people, they yell, they babble and yell
trying to make themselves heard above my tinnitus

another field of verse – this body will lose this form
i remember holding you and thinking that these bones
inside these bones will be gone some day
you didn’t feel like a skeleton
no poem could contain my situation
and I was forced by my own breath into song

Other pens hover over those long bouts
of helpless, isolated weeping. it’s grim
and effortful and being uncomforted
is the whole point of it

I write poems about death because my friend died
there’s nothing complicated about that
it would be uncanny if I didn’t
poems are not edifices
they are tattoos
I’ve left a space here (pats chest)
for you, for when the word comes back

walked with Paul, fed him lunch

Then walked to and from the pharmacy to get my booster for COVID. Everything went very smooth. Stopped at the Liquor store that’s just opened up the street from the pharmacy and got Fat Tug and drank THREE of them and enjoyed that so much I picked up a guitar and started practicing afterwards.

Weather has been wonderful, smoke from fires variable, lower today.

Slept exceedingly well, woke up this morning with my arm sore af, (no surprise there, almost everyone reports it, and it’s sore right up to the side of my neck) but I can also tell that this will lift over the course of the day. And I walked a whole bunch more, on concrete, yesterday, so my legs and ankles are whining.

That picture of Neptune, whoooooeee.

Jeff is taking me to IHOP this morning.

Look what arrived in my mailbox this mornin’ SQUEE > Book*hug preview.

Russian women are being comforted regarding overseas vacations that they can now no longer take their husbands on, since men 18-60 are subject to an international travel ban, with the deathless advice “Swap him for your granny”.

They can ATTEMPT to mobilize 300K new recruits but since the Russian military has already demonstrated that it doesn’t have enough UNIFORMS, RIFLES, FOOD, FUEL AND AMMO for the men it’s already putting in harm’s way in Ukraine, I don’t know what will happen. Russian client states are getting restless; Azerbaijan has already started a brush fire war against Armenia. 300 people dead already, both sides pointing fingers for the continuous breaking of the cease fire.

A couple of kudos overnight, 160 hits on the new story.

Sunday roundup

  • Paul’s in Seattle. He drove himself. There will be a family council (we hope) when he returns.
  • Typhoon Merbok is screwing up coastal Alaska
  • The gyrations involved in getting Trump squared up for his ‘day in court’ continue. His most recent legal beagle asked for three million dollars cash up front and as I said on Twitter, the lawyer is still going to get his ass cheated off his body.
  • Mass graves continue to be discovered in Eastern Ukraine. Putin and his wolf pack have a lot to answer for. India and China are pulling away from him, except insofar as whatever they can pick off what’s looking like a particularly unappetizing piece of global carrion.
  • 13368 words on Landslide, 4197 on Totally Boned
  • I’m incubating a couple of poems, more when I actually figure out why I want to use heavily charged and coded words and even more when I write them. I think one of them wants to be a very dry list of my mental health symptoms
  • Almost 600 Americans are still dying every day from COVID. It’s the second highest reported cause of death in the US this week. BC reported infections and rate of infections are currently dropping, and about 200 people a week are catching it, with a very low death rate. Whether we’ll ever get anything but nonsense and bluster out of BC for the mass disabling event that is COVID is an open question; Keith thinks it’s a possibility and as a family we’re thinking of all getting tested.
  • Alex comes today, still don’t know exactly when.
  • There is a memorial for Queen Elizabeth in Queen’s Park in New Westminster at 1 pm today. I will not be there, I merely note its existence
  • Twitter is full of Brits queuing to file past the Queen. Out of towners who don’t give a shit about the monarchy are also complaining about getting stuck in traffic and the idea of voluntarily driving around London the weekend before they plant the HRH is ludicrous to me.
  • Hungary’s getting subsidy money from the EU cut because they’re a bunch of anti abortion, anti gay, corrupt fuckwits. We’re talking billions of Euros. The poor of Hungary will hurt the most, as always.
  • QUIT FEEDING THE GODDAMNED BEARS North Vancouver I am looking at you; do you suppose the conservation officers ENJOY SHOOTING BEARS I can tell you to your face they don’t, ya collection of buhs.
  • To recap: Buh is the bih-bah word that substitutes for crazy. Crazy isn’t acceptable. Buh covers: disgusting (stop being a goddamned sex pest, I don’t want to see your penis or your ass, or hear about what you want to do to me while you drive by in your best friend’s car), dirty (please maintain basic hygiene), dangerous (please do not jump onto moving cars, please do not drive cars impaired, please do not aim your car at protesters or tourists), bothersome (please leash/muzzle your pet and don’t run air tools at 3 am, please do not pull the panic stop on Skytrain for no reason, please drink/toke/inject responsibly, please wear a mask), noisy (keep it under 65 dB f’Chrissakes), wilfully destructive (seems obvious) and violent (why are you knifing me).
  • ‘Confess Fletch’ with Jon Hamm is entertaining as hell, great script, laughed my ass off. Also sticks the landing in 90 – all action movies and comedies should try to get in at 90. I’ll give superhero movies an extra half for all the eyecandy bloody CGI

Normative af – New poem

Smart enough to be scared
But not of the right things
That is the choke point on
My sensorium
so everything‘s on blast
Until something in par
…………………………………………Cu lar
Wrenches my attention from
Its customary perch

Chasms got causes
Causes got chasms
Chisel at the word in your brain
…………………………………………………….Fling yourself
At that perfect marble word
And create some content god damn you
Bitter git on it

On this hand I have love, love, love, but not the love of romance, the bordering-on-unpleasant revelation that love with lies isn’t love, it’s just a convenient set of tropes that allows you to behave one way and profit from it whether or not you believe. It’s like religion but you don’t get sucked up to heaven or spat out into a new instantiation, stuck with having to learn and suffer and die again again
Nope, you just hoe this row, this row. Normative as fuck, don’t look at the undersides of things.
Mock the people who know better because their teeth are crooked and their English is no good.
I can’t go back and re-hear those things, the things I heard with my racist ears. I didn’t know I was a replicator of death machines; born to give birth to workers and soldiers, and another breeding body. I didn’t know. I still don’t know.
The language I abhor grips me and dashes me at the world until the inside of my head is bleeding, although it’s probably the grease in my blood that makes it so.

Brief visit

Fridge is still busted at Katie’s place – landlord swears he’ll buy and have delivered a new one (old one taken away I expect) since Paul and Keith refuse to move a fridge and it’s the landlord’s job to replace it. Paul is mildly pissed since he spent half a day lining up a good used fridge.

Keith dropped by to return a container which was now full of YUMMY YUMMY lentil stew. Absolutely superlative. That man can cook now.

Enjoying this season of Archer.

3895 words I wanted to see how many bombshells I could deal with in 800 words and Brad has managed to talk Omar into two impossible things before their tea is cold.

The pink dawn faced off the yellow moon and sent it away.

We’re getting smoke from fires in town today – Bowen will be worse if the maps are anything to go by.

It was 20 years ago today
when Buzz Aldrin punched him in the face
And I really really want to say
that he had to be put in his place
So let us all assert for you
Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon and said it was a BEAUTIFUL VIEEEEEEEW

intersectionality is a cognitive aid, a tool, glasses so you can see what is happening

it’s not meant to be gamified by white guys who think that because they live at the corner of Lonesome and Hardup they get an option to score points without flak from the racialised commentariat