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Public Notes
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Public Poets die younger
then our long winded
counter parts.
It's a fact
when spoken between
friends over pie.
Is that really a shame
or a testament to
inherent desires?
make it tight.
make it nice.
as sweet as this pie
we eat
while laughing,
"I'm going to die."Fire Eagle: Burnaby, British Columbia CASep 21st Reply! Forward
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Public Standing, Smoking, and the swinging porch.
Old creeks and pops to fix like dry skin;
the smell of Mint says it's working.
Serene, Strange, the city to my back.
Before me framed in tress a Potter picture,
what must be massive mites to the plow.
Walking slowly, up and down the crops — weeding.
Taking their fill and putting the rest in baskets,
Take-Home meals for later with the children.Fire Eagle: Burnaby, British Columbia CASep 10th Reply! Forward
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Public Today I'll portray a God
Ganesh with arms & tusk wide
Grasping tight
In trunk a soul
In hand the sky holding
Over another with the world
Leaving two
Two alone to do things daily
Cleaning, dressing, eating
Two alone with no guarded task
No mission
Today I'll portray a ManFire Eagle: Burnaby, British Columbia CASep 4th Reply! Forward
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Public A landscape of white desert
Nothing but howling of the wind
being torn by sleeping claws of trees
Each wooden stump a tombstone
engraved “2005 A devoted Mother”
But in this time of rest and death
the sun conspires with
the moon, the sky and stars
And with wiccan like chants
and native tribal dance
they splatter the ground with
a concoction of love
so powerful to wake the infinite ...
continue reading...Fire Eagle: Burnaby, British Columbia CASep 2nd Reply! Forward
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Public Once in a while,
just in a while,
Not every day
I mean, this isn't a regular
It's never really happened to me.
Um, I don't know
Maybe I just need a night off?
I've just got so many things
In my mind. Distractions.
You know
Creative impotence.Fire Eagle: Burnaby, British Columbia CAAug 30th Reply! Forward
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Public People like city poets
their references to places they’ve been
I can do that:
Crack dance at Pigeon Park
Walk down toitie Robson
Up to trip Commercial
Pleasing that a street named after
money makers and ad men
should revolt against
Walk to Uncle Fatih’s for a slice
of Pizza. Then on the Skytrain
Home.
Not that hard.
To bad my eggs are scrambled.
This is not my ...
continue reading...Aug 21st Reply! Forward
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Public No words to write
and yet the tip of my pen still scratches
fibered remains of great groves of trees
The fiery brother stains with liquid charcoal
embered remains of lost ideas
hollow, empty, directionless
encompassing the pen, the hand
the arm, and mind
the creator of papered burning death.Aug 17th Reply! Forward
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Public This is my temper tantrum
my hissy fit
my don’t wanna
not gonna do it
jump up and down
bouncing in an invisible jolly jumper
red face
fire siren
moment.
Wait
Numb to the noise
the ritual of it
constant
no escaping
walled in brick by brick
frost bit
from finger tip
and toes
midnight sweats from day lit burns
twitch from fix
blind from sun spit.
Embrace
This ...
continue reading...Aug 15th Reply! Forward
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Public an old desk
thrown against the wall
and shattered like the child
that once sat in it with glory
in an old house
stained with fear and hate
that singes the senses
with secrets stored
in stairways and carpets
down in it’s belly
a den of education
with others now piled up
and forgotten in a corner
like the children in their glory
shattered against the wallAug 13th Reply! Forward
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Public Wake up caged amongst the lost
Walking through their world.
Look at the posters pointing
The way not traveled has
been traveled too much
This world rich with illusion
You think you’re found?
You think it’s wise?
To walk amongst the found
is not traveling at all
On a pedestal looking up
In your caged Freedom
I’m alive and drenched in
the lonely
The Lonely we areAug 11th Reply! Forward
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Public What would it be like to see the sun?
I don’t mean to look up at the sky
and see a ball of light
staring at us from heaven.
I mean to see the sun.
A raging ball of fire
that’s so powerful to send
heat across the milky way.
It decides who lives or dies.
And if we aren’t worthy of walking
on this one planet ...
continue reading...Aug 4th Reply! Forward
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Public No vision to guide a weary hand that strokes aimlessly to the sky.
With fists of white they curse above.
A blinding light responds.
Dissembled, tattered, encased by polared rock, not pointing to a compass
but, round it pivots and spirals so
to add confusion to this travel woe.
Adrift and alone. Only flights of fancy that catch an eye and paralyze
till burning tips of painted wings
cause a ...
continue reading...Aug 3rd Reply! Forward