Wednesday, April 23, 2008

PaD #21

going home now.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

PaD #20

i looked for you
in the winter
and found you
laying between 
crisp white sheets.

Monday, April 21, 2008

PaD #19

you can see me,
but have stopped 

PaD #18

i've allowed my posts
to fall by the way,
but now I am back 
with my poem a day.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

PaD #17

there is no one there
today to tell you something.
you are beautiful. 

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

PaD #16

I like to pretend that
Alec Baldwin is in my head.

Narrating my events like
getting up and going to bed.

"With a little bit of bluster,"
"with a calm disguise he went about his day."
These are the words that
Alec Baldwin in my head would say.

But here I am the only voice in my skull
is mine alone - there's no trace of
Alec Baldwin at all.

No "The thing about..."
or "He felt this way."
said by Alec Baldwin in his
Alec Baldwin way.

Alas, my inner voice
is no where near as neat.

I'm hoping Alec Baldwin's becomes
that truly would be a treat.

From Schweaty Balls to GlenGarry, to
Describing Tennebaum's strife,

If Alec Baldwin narrated me,
It would be a wonderful life.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

PaD #15

i can't have you here.
the line he crossed was her line.
you have to go back.

Monday, April 14, 2008

PaD #14

and in the end
nothing was broken
except for a few
casualties of war.

PaD #13

the sun is out,
the grass is green,
winter is almost dead.
it's warm outside
yet cold indoors,
for I am sick in bed.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

PaD #12

hands on body.
skin on skin. 
on and off

PaD #11

the crisp, clean white shirt
makes the very best impression.
a knight in armour.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

PaD #10

a bit of self pity. 

a writer writes
just as cuts must bleed.
just as day will be night
and grass is from seed.
but this writer here,
doesn't write anymore
his down is up
and his pen is a bore. 

PaD #9

lay down on the grass
with me and run your fingers 
through my fresh cut hair. 

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

PaD #8

mouth to mouth,
toe to toe,
hand on back,
nose to nose.
eyes open,
we're together.
we're alone.

lips to lips
loin to loin.

resist if you wish but
you know where this is going. 

Monday, April 7, 2008

PaD #7


gravity gets us all 
a part of me remains
when you wear your
favourite shirt. 

Sunday, April 6, 2008

PaD #6

 Tulips, Daffodils and Dirt

Spring is here, spring is here.
Tulips and daffodils and dirt.
Blessed are the sightings of
the short and flowing skirt.

Spring is here, spring is here.
Tulips daffodils and dirt. 
It also means the taking off 
of my neighbour's blasted shirt. 


Saturday, April 5, 2008

PaD #5

will be spent

Friday, April 4, 2008

PaD #4


Thursday, April 3, 2008

10 Things Wrong

Excerpt from Dean Wareham's memoir "Black Postcards: A Rock n Roll Romance" 

I can see why they were so upset with me. How could a friend do such a thing? But I would counter that we were not quite friends at that point. We were bandmates. Our friendship didn't go down the drain in a minute flat. Our friendship had been trickling down the drain for a couple of years now.

Was there something wrong with Damon and Naomi? Or course there was—my therapist says there are ten things wrong with every person. There are plenty of things wrong with me, too.

Some of my best friends are crazy. But that's okay, because I don't have to ride in a van with them for five weeks. We're just friends. Damon and Naomi were lovely people, brilliant and artistic and likable. I loved Damon's fluid, jazzy style on the drums, and Naomi's simple and melodic bass parts. I like Damon's poetry and Naomi's miniature paintings. But they were driving me crazy.

10 things huh? 


Wednesday, April 2, 2008

PaD #3


a fantastic thought
passed through me
while we were speaking.

but i refuse to tell you.
this one is mine.

Theology from a Four-Year-Old

"I guess God must be the last number." 


Poem a Day #2

oh the joy in writing a poem a day,
and delighting in the trickiness of 
tricky word play. 
i'll pile the words high 
with a metaphorical shovel,
anything to put off
writing that dammed 

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Poem a Day # 1

Some need
a kiss upon the forehead.

Some need
a kiss against a wall.

Some need
to be left to their lonesome,

Without any kisses at all.