Friday, November 23, 2007

hidden fires...

"What is it?
The particularly poetic way of envisioning and crafting life has to do with firing
the world through carefully maintained inner flames, with witnessing in image,
memory, and language to the luminosity, the hidden fires in things.
-eileen gregory (summoning the familiar)

Monday, November 12, 2007

chocolate and coffee...

Drag your wagon and your plow
Over the bones of the dead
Out among the roses and the weeds
You can never go back
And the answer is no
And wishing for it only
Makes it bleed

When l was a kid, grade 4 l think, living in Port Hardy and running through the bush
playing "Gunsmoke" l had a toy deringer and wanted to be Marshall Matt Dillon.
One day me and the neighbor girls tried smoking a piece of straw. It was
hot but not great. My dad use to smoke sportsman plain, l loved the yellow package
and they always came with a little card inside, fishing flys or something.

I smoked cigarettes for years. They were great for meeting people on the street,
offer a cigarette and l was in. Alot of guys spend all day looking for cigarettes,
collecting butts off the streets and out of ashtrays, putting them in little dirty baggies
and re-rolling the tobacco. They taste awful.

Then l started rolling my smokes, bought drum tobacco because "tailor-mades"
seemed so deceitful. And when l worked at the homeless shelter, everyone wanted
a smoke, "got a smoke, got a smoke", well Drum tobacco could last longer.

now if your mama saw you smokin why she'd kick your ass
put it out you little juvenile and put it out fast

I went to a pipe ten years ago, l loved the wood, the feel of digging into a leather
bag for a pinch of tobacco, it felt so good. And of course the smell, no not the
smelly fragrant kind, but Erinmore from Ireland, smelling of chocolate and coffee.

I have decided to give it up, well gave it up Nov 1st. It is sort of hard,
the pipe was like a friend and foolish as l may sound, it felt like a power of sorts.
If l think about it, l can imagine it very clearly, filling the pipe and drawing
in the smoke. It is still very clear and probably will be for a long time.
I will do it...but l feel sad about it.

You'll soon forget the
Tune that you play
For that is the part
You throw away
Ah, that is the part
You throw away

Friday, November 02, 2007

the moon is down...

What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?

He has subscriptions to those magazines.
He never waves when he goes by.
He's hiding something from the rest of us.
He's all to himself. I think I know why.



...well, from that blog post a couple of columns down, one week, a pile of rusty metal
and here it is, my little sailor boy.

ps. ...if your in Parksville, go see the "Assemblage" show at the parksville arts council