Fiction is a theatre within the mind;
Two layers down, disbelief unwinds.
My mind’s a rusted gate that groans,
Locks echo phantom steps of bones.
Half-remembered embers flicker and sigh;
Plots in slumber leap, collide, and fly.
The heart becomes a trembling compass,
Pulled by whispers across night’s atlas.
Hope is a fragile bird, born from ruins,
Its wings sewn from silver-threaded tunes.
Reveries are rivers, sometimes trash, sometimes gold,
Flowing through the mind’s cathedral, cold.
Nightmares illuminate the human fear;
Monsters recoil, yet terror feasts on me.
Ink-spilled twilight drifts through thought’s stream,
Lantern-ships sail silently on visions’ gleam.
The waking world welds fractures with sign,
Yet dream-gold lingers, silver-threaded, mine.
Nocturnal wandering walks near the feet of all,
A universal totem of the human call.
In those days they were not in a hurry to vacate the planet,
My ancestors and their global friends
Life was to them a health monument in granite
And they lived on and on and on with welds.
Life becomes weighted
as stones are placed upon the backs of men,
till they bend.
Pain from the weight makes us curse
pain makes us pray-pray away.
Pain welds a frown to the face.
Eventually friends will all go away.
Nobody likes to breathe in another's pain.
A smile is a pigmented trough
where nuggets of life are often caught
shining like God's cavity and everything is ok
until the next wave takes the nuggets away.
Life is weighted.
Even in death, they weigh your name with stones
which is forgotten by the weight of time-
In time your name fades away
into the cool blue shadow of forgotten.
Life and living are heavily weighted.
pact fusion hath brewed
welds cauldron spewed spit fiery
sparse talents biformed renowned
oddity affair
ardent youth pose statuesque
fragile innards touch grotesque
bursts end aggression
severs espousal rapport
guilt aspires realist soars
He welds and melts, pours and molds
In his "Conversations with My Soul"
He smooths the rough steel of syllables
Into a "Portrait" graced by his "Play on Words"
Unrolling "Scenes from a Countryside" to "That Starry Night"
Whether "October Skies" or "In November" "Moonlight"
So, "If Ever I Don't Know"
which way my adjectives should go
when wandering "A Starry Galaxy"
I follow the "Sinuous Melody"
To cross the river and climb the boulder
While tapping "Gently on the Shoulder"
He finds summer in "A Piece of Winter"
As a friend, brother and mentor
He is welcoming, and when reading your poem
His comments are "To You Alone"
And if you come to say
"I Needed Wings Today"
He will weave lines in a "Distinct Ballet"
As if "It Came Upon a Prophecy"
And not from some stifled "Academy"
Dear John, please continue to "Compose"
Even when "Getting Old is Getting Old"
Without your gift
We are "Too Soon Bereft"
The "Verbal Miracles" you perform
Show how "All of Life is a Poem"
You have been my friend
my artistry sibling,
"And I Am Grateful".
12/20/23
She strains to find her footing in orthopedic shoes
my grandmother's clop-clop walk to me
unbalanced
steadied by a backbone of faith
She bears a tattered, red carpet bag,
solid wooden handles, worn like her marbled hands
Grandma removes jam tarts and her Bible (smell enticing)
to tutor me for my Sunday School verses,
Psalm 23, that welds to memory
Her diligence that I adhere to the lines
despite my craven pull to tarts (a riveting obsession)
Unfussy delight when I learn the verses
Her glow, free floating,
a small harp ovation
Grandmother's carpet bag, stitched by history
brimming with the sweet lure of baking
upheld by her faith, like a pulse that hums devotion
in a drawn body softly folding into itself
Nothing can be swept aside
when a grandma voices validation
when generosity extends itself
when her walk thaws the ground
when words embroider love
ensuring preservation
Poem revised: April 25, 2021
hellfire burst forth this night
flaming embers burned red
grey pallid ashes ignite
crimson conflagration devoured
a browning dying earth
an exploding tomb
a fiery furnace
the Phoenix of death
is born
the pitch of night
flares blinding light
without pretext
the greatest smite
won’t paint with stain
my covenant without constrain
man welds a holy bond
with his maker to respond
and makes no error to take
the golden calf or Pharaoh's snake
dusk darkened
travelled footpaths
in repent
I struck those paths
understood his pledge un-blurred
epiphany this night conferred
Why do men work themselves to death I asked
It is but a mindless task
Like a drone he labored on
Through the night into the dawn
Man is not a machine I said
But thinking is what he dread
He made more welds that required
For fear that he be fired
David you'll not make your retirement day
No incentive no increase in pay
Larry why to you run at work
My days are filled never to shirk
Georgie you work like two men everyday
Broken back he earned his pay
Like mindless machines they toiled in the sun
Working working till the day was done
I implored them save some for another day
Now their family remember them when they pray
A warship she is, this ship of gray,
Underway, underway, making way.
The decks vibrate, the tone, the sound,
Un-der-way-un-der-way, the pistons pound.
On the horizon stands a singular mast,
Un-der-way-un-der-way, make her fast.
Increase her speed, begin the turn,
Un-der-way-UN-DER-WAY, prop and churn!
Balanced and deadly the guns do slew,
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, the radars too.
Fire first one, then pour on the rounds,
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, competing sounds!
Blast and shards upon the bow,
Into the waves strike and plow,
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, welds and steel.
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, man on keel.
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, oil n’ fire.
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, smoke n’ ire.
On the horizon the mast a tilting,
Over the side the splashes wilting.
Now all alone is this warship’s sound.
Un-der-way-un-der-way, the pistons pound.
Turn hard then steady, away from home.
Underway, underway, my ocean to roam.
Caught up, dragged, pulled,
Between silence and word.
Now a loser, next a winner,
Now a winner, next a loser.
Beyond the shields,
Beneath the welds,
Tossing, catching, musing,
What is said, what is unsaid.
Above the prick,
Below the trick,
Trying, thinking, guessing,
What is fair, what is unfair.
Over the pride,
Across the stride,
Sliding, gliding, toiling,
What is heard, what is unheard.
From layers of strain,
To veneer of restraint,
Fighting, yielding, throwing,
What is seen, what is unseen.
Tugged, torn, ripped,
Between silence and word.
Now a winner, next a loser,
Now a loser, next a winner.
The holes aren't equidistant
and the spot welds aren't spot-on,
the varnish on the handle over sixty years has gone.
It lies with all the modern stuff,
their plastic and brushed steel
but for all it's vintage shabbiness
it has a pleasing feel
and does the job time and again
as it's supposed to do,
no reason after all this time to swap
for something new.
Dad made it in his lunch breaks,
such tinkering fulfilled him,
sadly in an environment
that eventually killed him.
Some show their love to their fair wives
with flowers, which is nice,
but true love comes from lasting gifts
like my late Mum's fish slice.
The Dragonfly
I saw this monstrosity of a dragonfly
Swiftly take flight from a grassy field
By its wings, the wind was quite high
Trees and tall grasses bowed in yield
Strangely it flew with such a loud roar
Even the lions, if nearby would scurry
It could hover and in some winds soar
Leaving loose dirt and leaves in a flurry
Of sheets, plates, tubulars and struts
Coupled into a sturdy, rigid frame
By welds, rivets and bolts and nuts
Into the unusual insect it became
The skin, well beaten and burnished
At times painted in hues dull or bright
With flapping wings, it wasn’t furnished
But with opaque, rotary wings for flight
Curiously, not some insect you can swat
With a newspaper, and of it make a smear
Its creation, a leap in conveyance brought
Easing our crossing of every frontier
May 27, 2017
Whispering echoes magic dust
soul's mate breathless wonder aired
peace within an eternal halo promise sings
Until time itself ends inside forever loved
circling trust colours salt of the sands
running out pure golden time captured
Holding precious memories sparked together
warmly lighting gems behind a veil
pink blushing fire spells cast enchanting
One shooting star that always welds kisses
unto your diamond treasured heart's lip's
dining under the candlelight of night
unrhymed tercets
Now that love's hands have lifted from my searching eyes, I have begun to see. I look at the faces of those who love has captured, and my misanthropic vision clouds their joy. Don't they know what love will do to them? It will consume them, body and soul. It will control their minds and make them do things they swore they would never do. And once love's soft touch wraps around your finger, you can never let it go. Like a child, it grows. It then holds your hand, and demands to be carried, even when it has grown too big. Love wraps its legs around your waist and its arms tightly around your neck. You can still breathe, but only when love lets you.
My love has become hopefully vulnerable. It sees those that it has loved before, and those who have loved me and it tugs me along as it tries to pursue them. I trip over my own feet, I feel awkward and unwanted. But love doesn't understand that. It is blissfully ignorant, and it does not realize the destruction it causes within my heart and soul. It welds, twists, and mangles the metal of my strong heart. It entices my soul, then disappoints with flawed morale.
But through all this, I hold on.
It's hell trying to think,
the welds do distract.
As the train travels over the seams of it's track.
In my head Howard swears, that he'll never be back!
My eyes follow a vagrant,
seeking the change that he lacks.
Another desperate attempt,
at another desperate attempt.
To save another days worth of memories,
I'll never get back.
I'm not too sure if I want them.
But I'm scared to forget,
so I pressure my pen,
to avoid the regret.
Thursday on the Bloor line
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