Monthly Archives: October 2005

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN

The story of how John F. Kennedy was killed
still mixes in with the story of how I heard it

Half a sentence tugging at my greasy sleeve
as I rush from the parts store in Moose Jaw

Picking up more on CBC radio in the pickup
heading west at eighty on Highway One

The urgency of the world waiting
for more news on his condition
not greater in a time of harvest
than my father’s anxiety
to get the damn thing fixed
and the crop off before it rained

The moment in time with Kennedy
succumbed to his head wounds
in a Dallas hospital
was lost in the sound of the combine

BIRTHDAY 2000

BIRTHDAY 2000

It’s the day before my birthday
and I’m working on a poem

A poem about how it’s by pain that most
people got all the learning they got
and how I’d rather not

My mother invites me along to visit some
friends of hers in the country
He is walking around on a cane
all stove up from being thrown off
the four year old gelding he’s breaking

Forgetting anything I should have been
learning from my poem
we put on his wrong size saddle
and I climb on to show him a thing or two

And I do, I show how high you can go when
you get bucked off backwards and rump
tossed and land hard on hard packed ground
how to jamb a shoulder and break some ribs

May have learned something, time will tell
one thing for sure, when I wake up the next
morning it isn’t like one of those birthdays
that just slip by
This time I feel at least a year older
maybe a millennium

GROWING INTO IT

GROWING INTO IT

Remember all those hand-me-ups
all at least two sizes too big
mother bought for you

You look like a clown but don’t dare frown
it’s frugal and wise so don’t roll your eyes

“Be careful, be careful please”
but you’re all elbows and knees

Before they half fit they all look like shit
so it’s back to the store to try it once more
and your behind is behind two sizes again

Childhood patterns are hard to break

Growing out of school, marriage, and every
job I’ve ever had before I really got it
before I was even big enough to fit

WHY NOT THE BEAUTIFUL WORDS

WHY NOT THE BEAUTIFUL WORDS

Why don’t we use just the beautiful words

Why not cast out a net and bring
back only those that sing

Why would we use the English for butterfly
doesn’t that sound like a dairy related event

Why use the German schmetterling
doesn’t that have a schledgehammer ring

Wouldn’t Italian farfalla, Spanish mariposa
or the Portuguese borboleta be betta

Why not the très French papillon
does it not taste on the tongue to you
like air and nectar and dew

Why don’t we save bats for hitting balls
and for insulation for our house
would it not be much more fitting
to flit with the fledermaus

Are there not a thousand languages or more
do they not all hold jewels in their core

Why not let the children choose

Are their hearts not our purest tuning forks
are they not ourselves more clear
do they not still resonate with all
they speak and feel and hear

FONTS

FONTS

April is the cruelest month
to try to attach words to a page
they all want to be out and read
upon some bright and sunny stage

Mine are in revolt today, and say

Do not tell us
of the wonders of being in Times Roman
or that New York is nice in the spring
That Geneva has gold aplenty
that Monaco is a thrill
or the charm of Italic leaning towers

There is time enough in winter
to lie on and between the white sheets

Even then we wish at times
so badly to be heard
that we would if we could
press down so hard as to come
through to the other side of this page
and through the cover too
just to get to you

AFTER THE DEATH

AFTER THE DEATH
(for Orli and Gideon)

These are the days of the rats in the cages

The burrowing into sawdust corners
the gnawing on bars
and the running on wheels
mostly the running on wheels

Even at night, specially at night
while God in his lab coat naps in the corner

and you know with perfect logic and insanity

If you could just do it fast enough
if you could just do it right enough

Like the wheels of old watches
all the cogs would fit the way they used to
when the good ones all had jewels
sleeping safe in their dark cases

And each morning you had to wind them up
if you wanted hours in your day

And you know, wish, know, wish, know,
that there is another way that this must go

And if you could just get the woulda, coulda
shoulda, coulda, woulda, shoulda; would,
coulda, shoulda, woulda, wheels
to mesh their gears just right

You could turn it all back

SHRINKING GOD

SHRINKING GOD

I am of course a little shy
to recommend that God
spend more quality time
on that big couch in the sky

But it appears he is showing of late
a tendency towards co-dependency

Telling everyone what they want to hear
and trying to keep every fanatic as a fan
as long as he can

Saying one thing one day to George
and the opposite the next to Saddam
disfunctionates the best of families
and has the world in a terrible jam

I’m not sure where he should go for advice
talking to yourself is not usually good
but sometimes the kids can help

So, if young Jung is around he might
do some work on those troubling dreams
or Siggy might be able to help with the
complexes and the coping schemes

So all I really want to say to the big guy
is there’s no shame in asking for help
and we’re all behind you, so please try