Friday, April 11, 2014

BARNSTORMING


BARNSTORMING

they lift bats
pound their gloves
chew gum
wipe sweat off their foreheads
proud in their uniforms
overwhelming like ballerinas

they smile and fist pump
when scoring a run or making a play
shake their heads with a wrong call
Barnstorming Boys of summer
moving from town to town
sliding with the hot summer sun

the joy that came across their faces
when slamming the ball
over the fence
the grace how they catch the ball
run the bases
with dirty uniforms

I came early to love baseball
even as a ten year old
I knew how to swing a bat
catch and throw the ball
somehow learning by watching
Satchel and his Barnstorming boys of summer

Thursday, March 27, 2014

PURGING

                                                 
                                                              painting by WP

the deed of painting
is how I process experience
a way of moving things
that live inside me outward
a way of purging

my canvas becomes a surface
onto which this experience
is layered scratched poured
rubbed and glazed
a way of purging

these experiences come from
traces of dreams and memories
imagined communication
with the dead and divine
a way of purging

paintings derived from what I see
in myself an others
showing an exploration of human nature
holding onto dead things in the dark
a way of purging

Sunday, March 23, 2014

MY BED

                                                           photo by Tracey Emin

I laid under my bed for a week
making jazz and poetry
depressed

Sunday, March 9, 2014

ROOM 1403


                       

                                                photo Lee Plaza Hotel.by Bonnie Bleeccher

                 ROOM 1403

in that drunken room
where the pulled down curtains
would hide his gloom
as the flamingos danced

drinking with loneliness
where his psyche was senseless
and the whiskey made him wise
he sang with the angels

he always sat in his big chair
getting ready for the next one
always surprised with the laughter
from he room next door

he never turned on the TV
so he stared at the light bulb
remembering his younger days
with no concept of failure

he never spoke
as he talked with his poems
forgetting his assured success
would never make him rich

he had such great fun in that room
dancing with the flamingos
singing with the angels
staring  at the light bulb

and writing that last poem


Wednesday, February 19, 2014

BROTHERS


                                                                 photo by Sportsnet

                                                      BROTHERS

more than blood we share
he is my medal
my rock
my friend
my brother

in times of need
cheers me up
when I'm down
my medal
my brother

during the journey
often challenging
and discouraging
he is my rock
my brother

in times when just showing up
is difficult
when tired
he speaks with his eyes
don't quit brother

in times when losing
he keeps me humble
showing me the ability
to overcome
he aint heavy.....he's my brother


note...Alex won gold for Canada in moguls 2010 Vancouver and gold in Sochi
          brother Frederik who lives with cerebral palsy....  is just an all around champion

Monday, November 11, 2013

HAVANA DANCE


her soul trembling and forlorn
surrounded by cracked walls
and salsa rhythms
she sees his shadow

driven by broken hearts
encircled by gnarled beats
and a lost lover
she feels his shadow

her soul tremulous and stiff
enclosed by a rusty past
and memories lost
they dance

photo by Edgar Degas


Sunday, September 8, 2013

PRAIRIE TRAIN



                                                                       PRAIRIE TRAIN

The white train comes from a dark tunnel
of rocky mountains with its covering of snow.
The white train looks as though it has just escaped
from the jaws of darkness.  The white train steams
from the mountains into the flat
prairie, yielding the fresh seeds around it.

The horizon is exalted.  Ancient plains.
Whole sections never to have been farmed.
Over there the strong arms of farmers who
stand in little groups.  You cannot see
warriors or lost faces. Cattlemen at a distance.
On their way to a roundup maybe.

In the dining car, behind the hardwood door...
breakfast cereal and berries, cold juice
and a smile.  Already this morning
the chef has prepared breakfast for twelve
while tracking the prairies;  the formal
waiter never spills a drop only smiles.

A clean white napkin sits on the table
like a small mountain ready to fall.  Suddenly
the train brakes and stops.  The boy and waiter
peer through the window with wonderment
as they see the farmers with silver scythes
ordering them off the train, into the prairie.