Broken Sleep

Photo on 2017-08-14 at 10.54 AM






Broken sleep————
my brain attempts —-to
continue at a normal pace
broken sleep

Sentences drift
half phrases — repeat
no coherent, trace
nothing but
endless space

Photo on 2017-08-14 at 10.56 AM

Darkness surrounded by a moat
this is where I stay afloat
void of sight
void of sound
nothing touching
all around

Brocken sleep ——
starves my mind
can my soul go blind?
excuse me while I
flatline _____________________
august 14 2017




In The Artists Mind

Many Doors To Open

It feels like everything I look at is a painting or a sculpture. I look at my sewing machine and instantly crop it and take a photo with my mind. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and it becomes light trapped in a still photo.

My mind automatically clicks, drags and crops what I am looking at. To the outside world Artists may seem off balance or slow or unfocused but truthfully you could not be further from the truth!
To make matters more complicated when you throw in the desire to add and or organize words in long form or poem you add even more to the complexities of an ARTIST MIND.

Think of how your computer gives you that spinning wheel when you have too many windows open on your screen. Well, that is what we deal with ALL THE TIME.

A SONG will…

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Saffron On The Line

Photo on 2017-08-01 at 8.01 AM #2

saffron hangs with folds of gold
the morning sun draws white lines on each fold
I fear my sunflowers will show their faces while I am gone
droplets of moister hangs onto the tip of the heavy leaves
transparent and delicate yet I can sense its weight

for a moment the air that surrounds me 
fills with a fragrance 
of a flower bidding good morning to the sun
my eyes, drawn to only one
amongst a wave of deep purple
only one looks back at me
fluttering in the still air

then it comes
sensing the opportunity
that moment when the world knows you are distracted
when it knows you feel at ease and secure
then it comes
like a hawk flying over his terrain
waiting for that moment
the moment when it is least suspected
when you have mindlessly left the door to your heart open
when you have let your guard down
it walks in and fucks with you
smiles, camouflage the dagger
I repeat myself
I repeat my self
I repeat myself
out of disappointment in myself
anger points only to me, 
for only I am to blame
weeks have passed where I have felt secure
feeling that I may be able to live
some kind of life
the universe knows when there is a soft spot
evil and good fly side by side
there is no real dissimilarity

what road must I walk next
must my entire life be the endless turning of pages
from a large book of lessons
perhaps, my moments of feeling secure
my naked feet on the warm earth
is the wrong path
perhaps I am not to get comfortable
I am not to be here
could that be the next lesson

I am so conditioned to please
so conditioned it that I feel I need to throw up
why is an open, extended hand perceived as weakness
perhaps it’s the old saying
survival of the fittest
there are no solutions
no crystal ball
just grin and bear it till the end

my saffron hangs on the line
all tangled unable to move back or forth
the symbolism is uncanny

Fill Your Mind With A Moment

Photo on 2017-05-13 at 9.04 AM.jpg

may 13 2017

the morning was young
the coffee fresh and hot
Bach: keyboard partita #2 in C minor
takes my mind to special places
glass marbles of indigo and sea blue
reminiscent of kisses in the water

a red winged blackbird descends
its wings stretched twice its length
falling, not like a leaf for it is light and sways with the slightest hint of a breath
more like a parachute falling with weight and precision

I can see the red brushstroke hopping about in the reeds
chasing undesirables from his home of cat tails and water grass
he is so busy this male
walking about on the cut grass 
calling and skipping to what seems as a gesture of fun
at least to these human eyes.
is there anything sweeter then watching the quiet moments of life?

I sit high near the branches
and pretend I am a bird

Honey Waters


Walking along the road
you saw what was perceived as a broken bird
watching it, you observed it was knocked out
still breathing, no broken bones
you picked it up and brought it home
the bird soon woke and flew out the window
wanting this bird for yourself
you continued to leave honey water in its path
diligence and patients are your strengths
offerings and honey water

One day a terrible wind came and blew the bird out of its home
ever so prepared you ran out and picked it up
comatose, motionless, unaware
this time you had prepared a cage for the little bird
lots of honey water was supplied
till this little bird began to heal
but there was something wrong
something evil in the air
the cage was kept in a deep dark dungeon
with only a sliver of light coming through a crack in the wall

Days past and the bird began to lose hope
all it wanted to do was see the clouds and the sky
to fly with the wind and be free
the bird was delirious, drugged 
all it could do was sleep
to sleep life away for it had no hope
confined and imprisoned behind the bars made of silk
panic started to race through its heart
everyday it got weaker
if it did not leave soon 
it would surly die
then this little bird began to conserve its to strength
everyday it would pull a thread from the ribbons
never drawing attention to its frayed edge
then one day while the capture was in a deep sleep
the bird gathered her feathers and flew
it flew high into the sky
it did not stop for a moment
not till all the poisoned honey water was out of its system
landing on the very top of a tree in the country
the bird was finally able to rest
you could hear it cry in the night
you could hear its cries in the winds
it cried so much that its tears turned into endless rains
its tears filled the rivers and flooded the lands
till one day it woke in a room so full of light
the bird could see it with its eyes still closed
the light rejuvenated the bird

Still, the memory of the dark cage will never leave
never again will the bird be hypnotized or enticed by honey waters
for sweet waters are not real

Morel of the story:
the water may seem clear
the water may taste sweet
but evil lurks
in waters dark and deep
may 10 2017


On My Chest

Today I feel beaten
I feel heavy in my thoughts
today I feel sadness
coloured glass that was my salvation
all those days and nights in the city basement apt
their colour and brightness offered hope
the sliver of light from the crypt
only reminds me of despair
I may have to repack them till I feel differently
It has been 8 years and 77 days from that white blizzard night
the night he fell and our world changed forever
People  mean well and friends want what is best for me
but please don’t tell me that I will find love
these words do not give me hope  it does the opposite
I can not survive another love
perfect was not what we were after
perfect is a story book tale
that is destined to fail
we  laughed and said we had compatible neurosis
days like this we would lie next to each other
we would feel safe in our love

8 years…76 days

Photo on 2017-05-06 at 11.53 AM

Its been 8 years and 76 days
since I consisted myself living here
there is a person in me
a busy one nagging at me to get things done
she is counting sheets of drywall needed
should she buy a wooden screen door
should she get a larger fridge
open the studio
clear the welding bench
order the tanks
sort out the metal

Its only my first day back
I say to ‘self’

Another part has her fingers on these typewriter keys
recording these precious first days back
reaffirming that she has made the right choice

Its only my first day back
I say to ‘self’

I want to absorb this immense light surrounding me
watching robins with their garnet bellies
looking for the perfect branch to nest and raise their young

I feel hypnotized by the moving water
the styrofoam iceberg Bruce carved and placed in the reflecting pool
marble offcuts fill the pie shape by the pool
trees that we planted so long ago
now tower over my home

Its been 8 years and 89 days
Its my first day back
I say to myself.