If a Relationship is a Bus

Folf Fest (2)

if a relationship is a bus
why then sometimes
does the bus leave the paved road,
the beaten track,
the path most trodden,
and bump off across
a corrugated desert
complete with tumble weeds
and plural cacti
(the wind is howling
at least, it sounds like the wind)
and that bus keeps bumping along
until it runs out of gas,
coughs, sputters to a stop,
then the occupants step out
onto the desert floor
which is really an ancient ocean bed
strewn with the fossils
of forgotten fish
like the backlot
of some prehistoric sushi bar
they step out
breathe the bone dry air
and ask themselves how,
how the hell
did we end up
in this fucking bus metaphor?

I Often ask Myself the Question ( James Comey and other imponderables)

 

148

1

I often ask myself the question:
Is James Comey a bit of a wanker
a self-aggrandizing prima donna
who only looks honourable
when compared to Donald Trump?
I often ask myself that question.

2

I often ask myself the question:
can a man
mansplain to a man
or can a man
only mansplain
to a woman, and if so
if one explains something
in a condescending manner
to a member
of one’s own gender
is one, in effect,
cisplaining?
I often ask myself that question.

 

All Bubbles Burst ( 4 haiku)

IMG_1054 (2)

 

All Bubbles Burst

1
white Lexus on lease
new suit, shoes, two day stubble
bubble? what bubble?

2
cherry blossoms bloom
well-dressed ladies from Beijing
pose with hand on hip.

3
cherry blossoms bloom
the air is sticky with greed
houses, for sale, sold.

4
cherry blossoms bloom
the wrecking ball’s lazy swing
petals, debris, spring.

 

Three of these haiku appeared in previous posts at the height of the recent real estate boom in Vancouver; a boom that was driven by speculation, primarily by foreign buyers. Real estate became a commodity. Houses that had been around since the 1920’s were demolished and replaced by larger houses, some with an architectural style that had no context in the Pacific North West (white tiled French Colonial). Around where I live there was constant disruption: dump trucks, concrete trucks, agents knocking on my door, white Lexus’ (Lexi ?) driving up and down in front of the house every weekend, neighbours cashing in and leaving. Then like all bubbles, it burst or to be more exact, floated off to Toronto.

 

 

Luminescence (counter-intelligence)

via Daily Prompt: Luminescent 

Luminescence

The stars are out
luminescence rises
from the surface of the pond
I think of Tommy
Tommy Tumescent and the Hard-ons
yes you could say
they were big in the fifties
yes you could say
they rose to stardom in the fifties
all pompadour and pointy toe
and to counter this puerile nonsense
I also think of iridescence
finesse
obsolescence.

sunrise-4

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/luminescent/

Why did Yeats need Nine Bean Rows? (update with photos)

Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee

IMG_0409

Why did Yeats need Nine Bean Rows? (a slimverse)

he could have

had five to

rhyme with hive

contrived? Wha?

 

What brought this on?

A friend of mine told me recently that he had no recollection of studying Yeats at school. When he said this, the above lines from The Lake Isle of Inisfree, sprang in to my head along with “clay and wattles made” and “bee-loud glade” and of course  the opening line “I will arise and go now, and go to Inisfree” which I have heard  so often that it has now taken on an orotund, stage Irish plumminess.

Our  English teacher, Mr Courtney, loved that “bee-loud glade”.

(of course, nine, bean, honey is more musical)

Slim invents a Word / A simple desultory haiku

via Daily Prompt: Frantic 

I’m sitting in front of a pitcher of Blue Buck Ale in The Post Coital Beetle when Slim bursts through the door wearing a lime green cycling jacket, black spandex pants and a maroon cycling helmet balanced on the balding boulder that is his head. Little red and green lights wink on and off on his helmet and shoes; strips of high vis luminous tape decorate his spandex legs.

“Slim”, I say, “you look like a fucking Christmas tree.”
“Safety is job one.”
“All the world needs is another slogan”

Slim ignores this and announces that he has invented a new word.

“I know”, I say, “tumultaneous.”

“No”, he says, “a new one – chillacrity.”

Slim takes off his jacket; he’s wearing a tangerine fleece unzipped at the neck to reveal a tuft of ginger hair. His gut is putting a strain on the fabric; he looks like a soccer player who has stuffed a ball up his shirt in celebration of a goal and a pregnancy. I get a whiff of rising damp and realize that Slim is not wearing a tee-shirt – fleece on bare sweaty skin, a warm pub, this does not augur well. He is as close to animated as Slim gets.

“So, here it is, say you’re walking down a suburban street and you hear the frantic screams of a young girl. You look around, the screams appear to be coming from a house across the road. The door is open. What to do you do? Sprint across the road and into the house? No,…… you look right and left and slowly cross the road taking out your cell phone at the same time and phoning 911. You give the operator the address and note the snow shovel on the porch of the house. The screaming continues, you step over some broken glass, grab the snow shovel and slowly enter the house shovel first….you’re moving with chillacrity”.

The evening has just started and already I’m wondering if it will ever end.

Haiku written sitting in a pub in Toronto killing time

fish tacos, pale ale
menu says pico gallo
what the fuck is that?

Drive / The One and Only Quartet

 

 

Drive

On a strange day

in a life that’s becoming stranger

Myron is driving north of Kona

on a road bisecting the black lava landscape

when Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

comes on the radio,

and in no time at all

he’s picturing himself

on a boat on a river

and marveling for the first time

at that rhyme between

marmalade skies and kaleidoscope eyes

not the skies and eyes

but the lade and leid

and just when his head

is filling with technicolor

the black cloud that’s sitting

on the mountains to the right

moves across the sun

that’s shining

on the blue ocean to the left,

and the black asphalt road

and the jumbled chunks

of frozen black lava

that cover the landscape

suck the remaining light

from the air

leaving everywhere

a dull monochrome.

 

This poem was published in The Galway Review some time back and also previously published here.

Daily Prompt : Quartet

The Toddler King Part (1)

 

IMG_0269 (10)     IMG_0269 (8)    IMG_0269 (9) 

    Orange is the New Bleak 1 (3)

The Toddler King Part (1)

5 am in America

the toddler king
checks his Twitter feed

a five hundred pound ball
of carbohydrate and grease
rolls across the parking lot
of a big box store,
no one notices

assault rifles take stock

the second amendment
thinks about making amends

the founding fathers
find themselves wanting.

 

Identical (In Praise of Extended Benefits)

via Daily Prompt: Identical 

In Praise of Extended Benefits

born identical twins,
they became indentured servants
to Lord Denton,
a wealthy landowner
who believed passionately
in the benefits
of dental care,
consequently
the identical twins
lived a long
indentured life
and never endured
the indignity of dentures.

Provoke (Haiku for Donald/ Trumputin)

via Daily Prompt: Provoke  

These poems were originally written as an attempt to provoke. That didn’t happen, and nothing changed as a result of writing them but at least I had some fun doing it. The second poem appeared in the magazine Anti_Heroin Chic 

IMG_0269 (8)

 

Haiku for Donald

petulant pillock

postcranial curmudgeon

bombastic buffoon.

 

IMG_0269 (9)

 

Trumputin (a romance)

Don loves Vlad
Vlad loves Don
Love as big as
A nuclear bomb.

Front door, back door,
Kremlin, tower
Nuclear love
Nuclear power.

 

Heavy Metal Heaven

Heavy Metal Heaven

Slim plugs in his guitar
sets the dial on his amp
to “heavy metal”
hits an E minor seven
walks out of the room
takes a leak
makes a cup of coffee
drinks a cup of coffee
checks the football results
texts his brother in England:
what the fuck’s up, mate
his brother doesn’t answer
he starts writing a novel:
Like every Saturday that Summer
they are lying behind a log on the beach
at English Bay, up to no good. The sun –
a red ball of anger on the horizon –
shouts through the brown chemical haze:
“that’s it, I’m getting the fuck outta here”.
Then, and only then, they hear a baby cry.
That’s all he’s got
Slim returns to the room
that E minor seven
is still going
but faint now
like a rustle of paper
like the distant chatter
of dead drummers
in heavy metal heaven
he picks up his guitar
hits an A minor seven
walks out of the room
starts his taxes……

 

innocent

Tree (woman with stroller)- 2

 

Nature Poem (a slim verse)

you call your

self a tree

my bank has

more branches.

 

tree-6-2

 

plus a bonus poem in which Slim escapes the 3 syllable shackles of slimverse and displays an uncharacteristic lightness of being.

 

The Low November Sun

The low November sun
hits the silver birches
and the cherry tree
sending the bush tits
and the black-capped
chickadees
into a flitting frenzy
Who pulled the alarm?
Which one is my nest?
Where did I leave that worm?

Both poems have appeared in other posts, this combination was prompted by the Daily Prompt – ‘branch’.