Unwarranted Ford-Bashing

There's really not much else,
Except for Wallin's costs,
Oh, and various protests 'round the world,
Making the news like Rob,

Walking Bloor with a thousand other drunks,
Still nice to everyone,
He should have had a person with him,
That was the mayor's real aberration,

Because he was just having a good time,
He is a normal guy,
No more problems, too, than a normal guy,
Though, much harder to hide.

I take issue,
With the idea that,
He was wrong to enjoy the city fest,
Or that there's a way a mayor should act.

Morning By The Lake (7:30am)

The water's so calm now,
It is shimmering glass,
Random fish kisses visit from below,
Eas'ly missed, they're so fast,

My shadow's long, even sitting down low,
Warmth on my other side,
Few are awake to see this other lake,
Still, too many to proclaim it as mine.

There is one resting there in a dinghy,
Shirt off, hands behind head,
More walk the shore as I write what I see,
Others listen from bed,

For what's not there,
Like the roar of the waves.
Oh, what's missed by those who participate,
Just in the bustl-ing part of the day!

An Ode To The Wind

I really like the wind,
Espesh'lly at the beach,
Or with my head stuck out of the window,
Driving at a fast speed,

I remember one time feeling the wind,
It pressed against my skin,
The sensation became a part of me,
As if the feeling had come from within,

Since that exper'ence, I've wanted it back,
Though many years have past.
What was it about me in that moment,
That my mind could surpass,

Reality?
Or maybe it was real,
The air stopped moving for those few seconds,
So my body could know what it can feel

To Be Seen

Does there come a moment,
Singular from the rest,
In a life that seems to repeat itself,
As the least glamorous,

After which, you can def'nitely look back,
And thank your lucky stars,
That the universe had mercy on you,
Allowing you to define who you are,

Giving you power over people's eyes,
Letting them see your mind,
Recognizing in it what's in themselves?
That's all for which we pine!

To be open,
For others to enter,
To feel that others actu'lly exist,
And that we're all in this together.

The Life of Rod Zimmer

Liberal Rod Zimmer,
Born nineteen forty-two,
Joined the senate in two thousand and five,
Was a fundraiser, too,

Almost Manitoba's Lieutenant Gov,
A business man at core,
Known for his wife, born nineteen eighty-nine,
Has battled throat cancer and now much more,

So that he's quit, leaving a senate seat,
Most prized of gov'ment posts,
Little to do and much money to make,
A party's 'thanks', at most,

Which begs the ask,
What will the P.M. do?
He who has paraded senate reform,
Who has some 'thank-you's to offer out, too.

Who Is The Enemy?

Where the fuck is Yemen,
And what 'bout Pakistan?
Isn't Iraq still in the Middle East,
Was''t Bin Laden the man?

Now there's al-Qaeda's al-Zawahiri,
A name I'll have to learn,
Breaking out soldiers from foreign prisons,
To start a new campaign of slash and burn.

U.S. drones are causing their own havoc,
A war we never see,
Until the enemy is so pissed off,
Everyone must flee.

Can someone please,
Explain who the foe is?
I'm pretty sure Iran's now moderate,
Should I be worried 'bout Mauritius?

Russia's Isolation

Snowden's now in Russia,
Protected by Putin,
A country once known to help Amer'cans,
Wanted by Pres. Truman,

Now discrimination against those gays,
Those who would support them,
And anyone who thinks it is alright,
Is written into Russian leg'slation,

Months before the world will visit Suchi,
For the Olympic games,
Though Putin told the I-O Committee,
Athletes aren't the same,

They will be safe,
Because there's a curtain,
Between what normal Russians must believe,
And what others know's at the rainbow's end.

Goodbye Nonna, July 31, 2013

You'd always get a smile,
Commenting on her skin,
Telling her how young and healthy it was,
Like it glowed from within.

We were never very good at talking,
Because of the language,
My Italian was never very good,
And she never tried too hard at English,

Still, I always liked to visit nonna,
Whenever I was home,
We'd sit and play Scopa and Briscola,
Having homemade cookies and espresso.

So now she's gone,
No surprise, still a shock,
I'll miss that woman named Italia,
And a world where she would answer my knock.

Intimacy

What's intimacy mean,
In the context of mind,
When even if you entered another,
You couldn't tell the line,

Of when you crossed from your own real'ty,
'Cause all you ever know,
Is what you're experiencing right now,
The only data by which you've to go?

Like anything true Faith is required,
The only route outside,
The only way to gain a deeper look,
At life before you die.

And where to place,
This most precious virtue?
It must be with someone who understands,
The presuppositions that define you.

When Death Knocks

She can't get over it,
These conditions of life,
That will not change until death visits her,
With old age or the knife,

So most waking hours are now occupied,
And I bet sleeping, too,
Going over the same old arguments,
Of why the world should be structured anew,

But nothing will change 'cause it only does,
Once everything's embraced,
And you recognize how you fit in it,
Managing just with faith,

But she will not,
And things will never change,
She's built a prison up around herself,
Filled with self-pity, angst, regret and blame.

New Roads

It is never too late,
To in some way evolve,
It is not like humans have reached the peak,
Or have nothing to solve,

If we did, our brains would surely just die,
Our bodies would just go,
Doing what needs to be done to survive,
Desiring nothing further to know,

Which is not the case with anyone,
No matter what you think,
Despite how some people choose to behave,
We all live on the brink,

Of learning more,
About why we are here,
And just like nations choose new ways to be,
We all can be more, if we conquer fear.

Congratulations to the House of Windsor!

The whole world's now talking,
'Bout Will and Kate's new son,
Born July twenty-two, two-oh-one-three,
Six ounces and eight pounds.

Now this one's third in line to become king,
(Thank god he's not a girl),
With no power other than symbolic,
Oh, and enough money to buy the world,

Born of a tradition marked by incest,
Though, granted, not lately,
The Monarchy has had no juice since the,
Seventeenth century.

But they're still loved,
By most those of England,
Still an excuse to stay within in one's class,
And avoid excessive revolution.

Good-Bye Honest Eds

Everyone in T.O.,
Knows that bright, dazzling sign,
Dollar store wares and Walmart-savvy staff,
It is one of a kind.

Now sixty-five years old, it's up for sale,
And it won't stay a store,
Probably hasn't made a penny in years,
Free birds given at Thanksgiving no more,

Instead this hallmark of the Mirvish clan,
Becomes prime real estate,
Another piece of land to develop,
Lots of money to make.

It's always been,
A symbol against greed,
A reminder that things can just exist,
Without making it something that you need.

TR - The Relativity of Simultaneity

Einstein had a theory,
'Bout the nature of time,
And how simultaneity's a joke,
Perpetrated by mind,

For how could two things be said to happen,
In two places at once,
If light couldn't even travel from one,
Before the other attained completion?

'Cause nothing exists that we can't observe,
Rather, that's all we got,
So, you can't say anything about things,
Whose proof cannot be sought.

But what happens,
If we all become blind,
Do we measure things by the speed of sound?
Why can't we judge by the sight of our mind?

Why Carry On?

It's not really easy,
Anything that you try,
Everything demands some kind of movement,
And effort from the mind,

Not that it's necessarily easy,
To sit and do nothing,
You'd have to pump most people full of drugs,
Not to accept what life is offering.

So here you have life's greatest conundrum,
The drive to continue,
Against the forces constantly pushing,
From every side of you.

What is this force,
That makes us carry on?
Is it the love we carry for others,
Or the need for self-preservation?

If My Dreams Were Reality

How real's the real'ty,
Of the dreams when you sleep?
We already know that nothing happens,
Outside of what we see,

Of course you can't cut yourself in a dream,
And find blood when you wake,
And you could never fly in the real world,
Like in the world your sleeping body makes,

But if you slept for the rest of your life,
And only had your dreams,
With no access to the world outside you,
What does real'ty mean?

It means you're free,
To make it what you want,
No one's yet been able to say for sure,
What's really reality and what's not.

Wake Up

If you are really tired,
And cannot really think,
You want to finish what you are doing,
To let your mind just sink,

You have nothing left in you to get done,
Even the simplest task,
Because the body was never designed,
To exceed the limitations of facts,

You do not feel responsibility,
For the things that you should,
And no longer wish to do anything,
You once wished that you could,

Then take a break,
You're doing something bad,
You're not being what you were meant to be,
And trying to use things you never had.

Writing in Bryant Park

I'm in a big city,
About eight million strong,
Sitting in a park surrounded by trees,
Surrounding a green lawn,

I'm plugged into the garden's free power,
Riding the free wi-fi,
The sound of traffic mixes with the birds,
Mingling with the scent of that homeless guy,

Sweat beads on my knees like Neanderthal,
Resting beneath the trees,
Contemplating how I fit in this world,
Versed just by what I see.

And what I think,
Was thought by him also,
This is the wor-ld that was left to me,
What will I leave to others when I go?

Too Late

It's been far, far too long,
And yet, not long enough,
Sometimes missing something until you cry,
Teaches you about love,

And it can also give you perspective,
On what is important,
The one way to triangulate yourself,
Is to walk towards where you once pointed,

Like when I pointed at that little kid,
Smiling at the big dog,
His parents telling him to be careful,
Him, living in a fog,

And here I am,
Sitting drunk and alone,
Thinking of all the things I could've been,
If I wasn't taught to fear the unknown.

To Succeed At Life

What does it really mean,
To be living your dream?
I've been alive for almost forty years,
And I've still yet to glean,

What I'd want if I could have anything,
And maybe that's just fear,
Of actually getting it, and then what?
Or of never actually getting near.

There's always quotes from folks like Roosevelt:
"It is hard to fail, but,
"It's worse never to have tried to succeed."
Here's the hard to crack nut:

You take one path,
Amidst infinite more,
Or you keep your options open for life,
And live with hope you'll find out what it's for.