Monthly Archives: January 2013

Rising Above The Sun

The morning rips the sunrise to bloody pieces

like a shark devouring a seal

and still the sun continues her ascent above the heavens

while the water gets wet with blood

deep red tie dyes fade to white sheets of waves

above the city of Atlantis

waiting to be rediscovered

by light salted with infrared

letting the morning see through the night

still, the sun is rising

till like Icarus

it shall fall

splattering the sky with its unstaunched remains

red and dead and

the sunset becomes the rose that gives fragrance to the hand that crushed it.

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Two Miles To Metaphor

Why when a pen doesn’t work do we try it on another piece of paper

thinking it’s not the pen that’s out of ink, it’s the paper that’s broken?

We’re broken

thinking we need another to put us back together

still, sometimes

the pen spills its guts on that second sheet

sometimes we need another to reach us

to give us a hand

like the moon gives the sun land

to be seen through the trees at midnight

the bodies of trees

give these inky shadow puppets space to breathe

to shape and air our words

to define us by their abstract meanings

defining our dreams

turned upside down like a Rorschach set of stars

seen eyes closed

dreaming of dream catchers in cars

knowing the one place you don’t need to be catching zzzzzs

is driving

I see the metaphor

but the reality is

you really should be watching the road.

Dreaming in Haiku

Such oppressive cold

makes me miss summer’s sun burn

when bit by frost bite.

****

There’s nothing left now

except the now that never was

now is the new then.

****

Spring is impatient

this seasonal alchemy

turns snow into rain.

****

Time as an abstract

four seasons fall in one day

rewrite calendars.

****

I awoke today

so sure it was tomorrow

dreaming yesterday.

Promise of an Afterlife

We can see but not touch the sun

this is Toronto in January

further from paradise than purgatory

this is a metaphor for more than I can understand

still I live here

suffering through this winter

with only the hope of summer

to keep me warm

when I can see the sun

but I cannot feel her

a mere rumor

spread by light and the excess of sight

that she will return

eventually.

Somewhere Between Bombing and Dying

Mamdouh told the acting class a funny story

without realizing he was doing a bit of comedy

by the time he’d finished the story he had the whole class laughing

his teacher told him: that’s your first comedy bit!

“What’s a bit?” asked Mamdouh seeing as English wasn’t his first language

the teacher explained and then asked him to do it again, this time on his feet

Mamdouh got up and walked to the front of the class and immediately stopped smiling.

He was nervous

cause suddenly he had to perform the story with the expectation that it is going to be

funny

taking the leap from story telling to stand up comedy

and he bombed

his retelling of the story got no laughs

his delivery completely changed when he was on his feet

“What changed?” the teacher asked him. “It’s the same story. Why not the same you?”

Lost Light

The world’s been mapped

satellites circumnavigate this sphere a thousand times a day

so we can read license plates a thousand miles away

and still

street lights are oblivious to the traffic flow

and stop me even though I’m the only one on the street at 4 a.m

late getting to the airport

thank God the heart is left to program itself

so I can fall out of the sky

a rusted, busted satellite

fall

crashing

and having the good sense to ignore sense

artists of all breeds

the painters, the poets, the musicians have all proved themselves illiterate trying to design

bisect and dissect love

in works they produced by themselves at lonely desks

through lonely canvasses and carcasses

while we fly above them all with that first kiss

which sparked electronic tectonic tidal waves

splashing like fingers of fire

sweeping across the water’s skin

brighter than the fingernail of God

playing in the waves

of the oceans of the heavens

that came crashing out of the sky

like the Ganges

as the river chases itself

round and round

as satellites follow themselves round fixed in ruts in space

I pull up to the airport parking lot

jump out of the car

and spirit through automatic sliding doors

to find you

returned to me.

Comedians Need To Kill

The whole world is right outside my window

and I choose to do this

write away to this fictional world

with the hope it will write back

the future is now just but later

here it comes

and there it goes

again

here it comes

weren’t you just here, future?

What are you doing back?

Did you forget something?

I remember this hint of chill

in June

then you think you’re immune

to summer’s last sunset

cause if you knew this was the last laugh

before you were the past

it would kill the punch.