Saturday, November 7, 2015

Bag and Queue

October 6-15
Reaching all the way to the bottom of the paper bag, all the way down to the unpopped kernels, the top serrated bag edge is snaring and tugging the middle of my arm.
Eyes fixed to the big movie screen while thunderous sound  and furious  advertising images chase each other and compete for our attention.  A hypnotic state. I don’t pay attention consciously. What is my unconscious picking up. Eventually I wake up to wonder restlessly, where is the main feature? Is all this to encourage us to finish the bag of popcorn before the feature and go get another? Fingers jonessing for any morsal of remaining popped corn; just because.
I wake up even more to remember I’m with a beautiful woman who enjoys my company. I find her hand in the half dark. I half turn to her and I see her smile. A warm blanket of cellular pleasure.

October 7-15
The queue in the bank is tight and slow as a snake in January. I can feel the rough wool coat behind me. Well, I think it’s wool, it certainly is tangible. That customer is really in my space.  Don’t dare turn around. Don’t know what I will find. I’m itching inside, as if the wool coat is getting to me. “Come on, turn around to see what’s up” I tell myself, “what’s the worse that could happen?” Turning slowly, like a bolt in a thread, around with an open mind. 

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Velvet Blessing

October 5-15

Feeling snug (smug?).
Single seat by the window,
On the streetcar.
I wonder,
How folk,
Who might be larger,
Would feel in this seat?
Head one way and my torso another,
Sun smashes my eyes,
Soft fist with universal power,
Stinging tears.
Hit me by surprise.
Eye lids wet and clamped shut,
“Have this; hope it helps”,
A velvet voice offered a blessing,
Blind hand reaching up, 
Velvet paper tissue.
Glued shut eyes turning up,
“Thank you “,
Welcome cloth, wipes gently,
Soaking up the waters of plenty,
Then a nose blow.
I could see, now.
Looking in the voice’s direction;
Stare for a nano-second;
Standing next to my seat,
Long, straight, dark hair,
Wonderfully high cheeks,
Big friendly mouth,
“Thank you so much, again”
This time I could take in the natural beauty,
And count

My blessings.

Sneaker & Glove

October 13-15


There was the tiniest shriek. A cheap sneaker on old hardwood floors. Well, the old hardwood floor is certain, the value of the sneakers is not. 

Balancing on the ball of his feet, walking in slow motion might work on the moon. Not with the gravity of this situation.  Not in this neighbourhood of  eldery stately houses, learning into each other for comfort. That’s what it looks like when looking up from the sidewalk.

What time is it anyway? Late night, early morning? Depends, I guess. Maybe it doesn’t matter, at this point. 

Out with the boys or a clandestine woman? The excitement of the night deludes him into thinking he can walk on the moon. 

He forgets he has elbows. OOOPS. Caught that before it hit the floor. The buzz in his head is so loud he’s afraid it will wake his wife. 

What was he thinking, he thinks to himself. Too late now. And this has been a long time coming, not a new sensation. Suddenly a light goes on and it’s not his enlightenment. 

The overhead blinds him with the contrast. Off balance his arms reach for the floor as his moon walk crashes.

October 14-15


The roar, the roar, what a thunderous roar!
Ten thousand or more or 
Whatever fills the stadium,
Is going wild! 
What a baseball crowd for the home team. 
Third base is occupied, 
So are first and second. 
A four shot revolver 
Waiting for the next hitter
To slam the hammer down. 
CRACK- the shot – 
The hammer connects.
Ball sailing high to left field, 
Still in play. 
Outfielder is a pro.
He’s prepared. 
Eye laser locked on the ball,
Running backwards so skillfully and fast,
Back of his hair is pushed up. 
Tiny white comet  - incoming.
Arms and glove in place,
 “The Force is with him”. 
Glove is yelling “come me, Baby!!!”.  
Third is home, 
Pushing the score to the black. 
The outfielder has a job,
Catch a throw. 
He does,
On instinct built on skill. 
The little white dot makes it home.
After second base cleared. 
These guys are fast.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Happy Thanksgiving!

October 12-15

Blue; what shade of blue is the sky this morning? “Sky Blue” can man so many things. Deep space blue that penetrates the soul; blue velvet that could be a soft ceiling. Blue and cream; wispy white from the barista in the sky. Overhead was the deep space blue and the horizon was a whipped up concoction.

Short fingers of rock and trees form the palm of the secluded sandy beach. Slow clapping of the water and the sand anticipating the main act that never shows. Perhaps the water does not realize the sky and the distant autumn colours are the only act in town, right now.

Off the main path a single rut emerges saying “follow if you are”. I do. The overhanging bushes make it difficult to see around curves. I go slowly on my bike. I’m not an experienced rider (last time was forty years ago) and want to be cautious.

That’s how I ended here.

A couple of well placed logs to sit and observe the cityscape across the water. A quiet place to meditate and take in nature on the unusually hot October day. Thanksgiving day.

A woman, her two pre-teen daughters and a rambunctious puppy German Sheppard (or an approximation) amble into the scene. They ae loudly playing with the dog.  The woman asks me if I would move my bike (it was resting on the log) so she could sit down, not too close. Her two daughters take to the water. We talk about the water quality, the swimmers on the other side of the island, the unusually warm weather.

No eye contact through dark sunglasses. She gathers her crew and from a distance calls out “Happy Thanksgiving”

Friday, October 16, 2015


October 8-15
The first thing I noticed in the lower level food court table that was in front of me was a pile of cookies on a napkin. Then the soft layered grey white hair slightly bobbing above the soft fuchsia sweater. Parkinson’s perhaps? How would I know. Sad and inspiring at the same time. Immediately I though she deserves all the cookies she can eat. Then another woman, could be her sister with the similar colour and more severe cut hair, sat in front of her. Two paper cups and a white paper bag. She said in a barely hearable high, whisper type of voice, “Tea”. Quietly and clumsily the white paper bag was opened by the well woman. Food court sandwich already cut in two. They each took a side. I wasn’t sure if the soft haired woman was talking. I could not hear anything because of the ambient boisterousness of much younger folks. Add to that screaming chairs dragged against the tile floor and beeps and whines from vendors machinery keeps private conversations private. The thought rolled through my mind that they were on their own, no men in their life. What a stereotyping. I didn’t feel sad, I felt inspired that no matter what the circumstance, they were enjoying some time together. The softhaired woman seemed more focused in her animation, her friend, opposite was chuckling. Good sign of a good conversation. Then I could hear the soft-haired woman speaking in a solid present voice. Her bobbing was pointed and seemed to accent her points she was making. A good sing, I guess.

October 9-15
The windows are vast eyes to the forest outside. Hard to tell when green and glass end and begin. I’m told the floor is bamboo. I wouldn’t know. It’s smothe, pleasant brown and feels good on the bare feet.

Thursday, October 15, 2015


Sept. 30-15

Helicopter eyes going where they wan, dizzy making, Whirling CD emits Gillespie’s crazy horn. Vision of grapefruit cheeks. Where does that combination of musical notes come from? What spaceship was his parents? The cool breeze raised by the whirlwind from the horn, bass, piano and drums fans the heat in the head. At the same time the heart hears the marching orders of the up beat and tells the legs, “move and dance”, “ well, at least tap your feet or your fingers, OK?” Exercise the  open space of freedom in this mortal coil, take hold of another to join the celebration – make air waves.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Meadow Pond

Sept. 29-15

Rocking walk on the uneven gravel road, the open sky above was limitless blue ceiling. Dust kicked up was  the sandman at bedtime; eyelids having a hard time staying open in the sun and dust. A spot of blue through the overripe green tree leaves was not the sky. It was a meadow pond. Pushing my hot, dusty and sleepy body towards it stopped at the edge. There was no bank, just brown green and blue green. Grass and water. First the shoes and socks off, then the shirt, and finally the jeans. Why this ritual, unknown. First the toes and feet, Water not cold, just refreshingly wet. Calves, thighs, waist then dunk the head. Wet and fresh! Cold drink for my thirsty skin! Underwater, raising my tow periscope hands playing with the sun and the air above.