Amphibian Bags

How are the two alike?
Certainly not in age,
Sixteen years separate these heroes,
Both struggling with a rage,

One 'gainst a world that kills nature for fun,
'Sif humans ain't an'mals,
Whose dad left him, and he'll never know why,
Smart to infin'ty, but bullied by Lyle,

Th'other was bullied, too, but years ago,
Thrashing 'gainst ev'ryone,
Joins the masses by attacking the few,
In a revolution,

Then there's the...what?
I guess that's all there is,
Phin finds there was naught wrong with his world view,
While Buster had to change to find his bliss.

My Dad's Pillars

I'm hearing a cricket,
Like when I was younger,
Sitting on this front porch, like I am now,
What my heart has sung for,

I look at the pillars,
Twisted bottom to top, ninety degrees,
Each brick laid by my dad,
Like ev'ry brick one sees,

From the first course to the thirty-sixth one,
Each offset is equal,
The math done before the mortar was mixed,
The corners plumb, as well.

Of this he's proud,
More than of how it looks,
The beauty's in the math that gives its shape,
A truth that can't live in pillars or books.

Watch Out

I've never seen a snake,
That could bite me to death,
Still, there are places where this is common,
And a thought with each breath,

Where you must be careful moving at night,
Lest you rouse a serpent,
Who only wished find someplace warm to sleep,
But will still strike to protect itself, yet,

Will leap into your car, under the hood,
Then when you open it,
Will uncoil and bite 'fore you know what's what,
Their aim is competent,

I don't worry,
Snakes are no threat for me,
The kind in my world that will lie in wait,
Share a strong resemblance to human'ty.

Good Night

Do you sleep through the night?
Would you know if you did?
Technology's told me my sleep's fitful,
The bar graph looked fluted,

Which is not what you want your sleep to be,
It should be a coma,
A gradual slide into the abyss,
A mental departure from your soma,

Where your mind has freedom to sort things out,
Defrag and create space,
Reinforcing your view of how things are,
So the world's a safe place,

What you wish it,
So you are always right,
That is the purpose of a good night's sleep,
Dig trenches at dark to battle at light.

There's Power In A Factory

Atwood, two thousand, ten,
Ondaatje, double 'O',
Can't Canada's Writers' Union site,
Keep up with the bios?

Is it up to the writer to update?
These two don't seem to care,
Other famous ones ain't even members,
Like Monro, Mistry, Toews, Urquhart, Lemire.

There're five thousand writers in Canada,
Professional, that is,
Writers' union's got nineteen hundred,
Where's the power in this?

Guess strikes are hard,
When mostly self-employed,
Still, 'magine all writers refused to write,
What would we pay to not live in that void?

An Enquiry Concerning the Nature of Feeling

I'm just not feeling it,
There's something, but not it,
There is a hot pepper point on my thigh,
Don't know where I caught it,

My eyes are a little morning sticky,
Should prob'ly wash my face,
A bubble of gas pushes up my throat,
But it is not strong enough to escape,

Is my brain over-warm or is that stress?
Maybe it's just swollen,
Won't e'en conjecture on my intestines,
Hope I've a clear colon,

Then there's my heart,
The seat of all feeling,
P'haps because there's no spot blood does not touch,
And touch is all with which we are dealing.

Onward

It is not over, yet,
There's still more work to do,
More research and more letters of query,
And then more waiting, too,

It hasn't e'en been that long, if you ask,
Many have waited months,
For just an acknowledgment of the ask,
Then their manuscript's shelved like balls for moths,

The key, so I've read, is keep on writing,
They're no breaks for waiting,
You'll get rusty and dried out while you do,
There's no sense debating,

So let it go,
If it loves you, well then...
If it don't, you'll've given birth to new loves,
In the end, at least you'll have a harem.

Part Two

It's time to begin 'gain,
To let go of what's past,
Let it live the life it was meant to live,
However long it lasts,

It may have outlived itself already,
I just missed the memo,
Destined to be only a memory,
Like the billions who have and yet will go,

A blip on th'blip of this blip of a life,
Not e'en a blip of thought,
You do realize there are worlds we'll ne'er know,
Like a blip on a dot.

Then there is you,
Bigger than the un'verse,
With you will die everything that you know,
As does all consciousness share in this curse.

Rated E

Sometimes you're a zombie,

Sometimes you are a plant,

Either way you are fighting with strangers,

Not the life I had planned,

Listening to my son lament plasma peas,

P'haps I'll be a cactus,

Spew out a clump of dirt that will explode,

When a zombie stops to see what it is,

And I just sit here in my underwear,

Wond'ring is this ok,

Sure, the game's all 'bout killing enemies,

But they use veggie rays,

That's the balance,

Can't take guns out of boys,

So you keep it as cartoon as poss'ble,

Hoping the focus isn't death, but toys. 

Mind's Wandering

What's really important,
When you clear out your mind,
Let thoughts slowly tumble back in again,
Noting the first you find?

Do they wonder about the universe,
And the secrets it hides,
The very first moment that ever was,
Where the key to everything resides?

They about you and your reason to be?
How to maximize life?
P'haps they cry as they peruse the world's pain,
Hunger, war, debt and strife.

Maybe there's naught,
Just peaceful, empty space,
The ultimate goal of all kinds of minds,
Blissfully ignorant in every case.

The Tremor

A tremor in my chest,
Like muscles shorting out,
If this ends before stanza number four,
Give nine one one a shout,

Though it feels like it just moved from my leg,
I'd think it was my phone,
Reach into the left pocket of my pants,
Realize it's in my right, hand's all alone,

Maybe it's a tiny beast on a tour,
Where will it end up next?
If I were it, I would check out my butt,
I'd be sure that's no text.

Maybe the brain,
It'd be scary, I know,
Make you think, I'm sure, about life and death,
But a thrilling place for that beast to go!

This Lamp

This lamp has three settings,
Well, four, if you count 'off',
The switch is a small knob for two fingers,
Turn 'til it clicks 'senough,

The knob is on the round, chrome, raised, flat base,
Stem tapered to socket,
The bulb's incandescent, surprising me,
California's like so green, isn't it?

The shade's simple, black trim top and bottom,
Hard for it to contrast,
Not quite a wallflower, 'cause it's not shy,
With the light that it casts,

It brightens me,
At least on my one side,
On th'other, I'm aware it's no effect,
As if it can't reach what I want to hide.

Here I Am

I'm looking at four screens,
Well, fifty if I count,
My hair is washed and breakfast in my mouth,
Music is my ear's sound,

Chewing, too, as I watch people walk by,
All, waiting for a plane,
Or running for one, e'er one or other,
In either case, there is no one to blame,

Ev'ry once in a while, I meet an eye,
That's when I try to smile,
Proof that I acknowledge that they are there,
As they me for a while,

Naught more needed,
They can board at their gate,
I know they are out there and know I'm here,
With screens and food, neither early nor late.

Attempt Two

I'd just about finished,

P'haps the greatest Wath, yet,

Put down my phone and picked it up again,

Swiped up, the rest is shit,

Makes you wonder how often that happens,

When you don't realize it,

The least interaction with anyone,

Can wipe away the grandest of prizes,

It's much too much to absorb in your mind,

Unless mind means instinct,

Follow that and bet it all will work out,

You don't need all the links,

Just ride along,

Observe, don't try to drive,

Because when you do, it is just for show,

Driving's naught to do with being alive. 

There You Go

There is not much to say,
Just writing just to write,
My record lately hasn't been that good,
With no excuse in sight,

Instead, let's look at all the rain, today,
Washing streets and minds,
Keeping people enclosed within four walls,
Watching the window for rain-ending signs,

So they can open the door once again,
Blink their eyes to the sun,
Nothing stopping them going anywhere,
In their imag'nation,

Except to home,
That's where they just left from,
Staying in place isn't going some place,
Not that progress is e'er marked by motion.

She Reads To Me

Siri reads books to me,
She does it all the time,
Usually with an Irish accent,
Though she will not read mine,

Fast or slow, depending on how I feel,
From where we last had paused,
Unless someone calls, then she just resets,
Greeting friends n'er know the havoc they caused,

I just slide my two fingers down her face,
Once the settings are right,
She has trouble with some words like live/live,
'Cause to context she's blind,

A simple gal,
She don't know what she's read,
But if my mind wanders and stops list'ning,
She's happy to read the same spot again.