Five Ottawa Years (2006)

its just a power game of sorts

to allow or not, to accept or not

its’ been years since joan

and now we try to see

what love remains

i want to be fair, respectful

i think i want to be apart

i want, i think and want but i am not sure what

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad memories

but five years is five years

i have left her without knowing

i  have survived as necessary

should my love be eternal?- perhaps

time erodes feelings as a method of healing

the power game cares not

i’m timeless, there is no desire to quit

there is no desire to continue

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad moments

i like the power of my own decisions

i like the power to be with whomever

i like to go out for nothing

there was a time i wanted to disappear

i had the power to decide not to

there was a time i thought I didn’t matter

that thought is still there

i have friends i love to be with, there are friends i just love

It’s a dilemma with both good and sad times

i have drifted away for five years

i like being alone - at times

i like not having to think about relationships

i am not fazed at being called a loner

i don’t paint that much anymore

i do my job – i think that is enough

i like my colleagues - they are not invasive

they respect my distance

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad days

five ottawa years has changed me

my work has honed my outlook

i have become a bureaucrat

my painting has suffered, my writing almost died

my ties have become thin with those who i cared for

i have my first view of middles class

i can afford things for my sons, my grandchildren

yet, i have become distant to them all

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad realities

distance is like a veil

you only see through a haze of threads

my vision is unclear

five ottawa years is like being ill

everyone knows you are there

no one is sure how you are   

the relentless power game internalizes emotions

the illness becomes normal – yes and no mean the same

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad feelings

there is winning and losing within the power game

you win the life of your decision

you lose the life you remember

i could ease the dilemma if i would just decide

however i do have a soul

and i know about consequence

i would love to love like before

i think i would love for joan to decide

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad outcomes

the power game has no time period

it forces motion in my life

in the end there are only two choices - yes or no

words which have the power to change a life

my power is to decide responsibly

it may not be correct, or logical

its has got me this far in life with few scars

and those i have hurt have lived on –

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad choices

to the friends i love to be with

thanks for your ear

to the friends i just love

thanks for your beauty

the power games continue

life changes us and we change our lives

decisions are always made

regardless of our actions

it’s a dilemma with both good and sad endings

CREATING WORLDS

there is a world outside your window

out there, life rambles on and on and . . .

out there, i stand in front of our café

waiting

waiting to see you emerge from your world

so, we can sit together

to enjoy, out of world coffee

to exchange our internal world stories

like an international spy i desire information

information on the world you are creating

like your innocent prisoner i eagerly explain

the comings and goings in my world

like a scientist i gauge the weight of our creations

on a sensitivity scale between excitement and burden

we offer each other inspiration and condolence

i enjoy this connection

(for A. L.)

pussywillows

i walk along this highway

it's cold, gray

to her house

on the mi'kmaq reserve

just ahead

where i know it will be warmed

but still empty

i wonder if

i gave up too much

for this affair

can i ever balance

the loss, the gain, the hurt.

its weight

sinks deep into my heart

making it hard

to remember

the laughter of my children

and only reminds me

of their crying

the day i left

i'm hoping she is home

i need to feel

a welcoming

a simple gesture of assurance

to erase

the cold wind

of cars passing

the oder

of black diesel exhaust

from growling rigs

the pain of seeing

the miraculous effort

of roadside pussywillows

go so unnoticed

except by

hopless romantics like me

i hope she is home

Meanwhile I Was Dancing (1990)

i saw that there are youth in germany

raisin’ their arms again

just like their grandfathers

shouting 'deutschland für deutschen'

isn’t it ironic

that europe would protest it’s own colonization

and then i tremble with the thought

what could happen now

if world war two never occurred

meanwhile i was dancing

under the big top

hoping for an eagle whistle

under the scorching sun

and a haze of dust

erupting upwards from the feet

of a hundred dancers

and it dried my tongue out

making it feel like a strip of beef jerky

and my mom was saying

in vancouver

the whites are starting to call it

‘hongcouver’ because so many

have come to a new life there

on the news

they were talking about

the 25^th anniversary of the assassination

of martin luther king junior

and how the blacks are frustrated

angry and fed-up with trying

to escape

the poverty they inherit

meanwhile i was dancing

waltzing to leonard cohen

alone in my studio

where i paint about

perspectives and understanding

where i try to control feelings

of loss, despair and hatred

by disguising children with flowers

and g-d as an indian

then there was oka

and they compared it to wounded knee

and even to the riel resistance

and our children and women were crying

and lives changed forever

but everything remains the same

the 500 year war rages on

they still think they looked after us

at times i wonder how we survived

meanwhile i was dancing

i was rocking to the music of kashtin

that was playing on my car stereo

in the night and in a field covered with snow

cold, blue in moonlight

and there was the smell of whiskey on my breath

just as it was on my fathers

it puffed from my mouth

and swirled its way to heaven

to tell g-d all i have seen

i love my world (2005)

DESIRE (2007)
somewhere is the perfect verse

that will bring forth your desire like a gypsy’s curse

you know . . . the kind that you cannot reverse

you will find it just in time

. . . and tuck it away deep in your purse

someday it will ring forth its rhyme

deep within your spirit it will converse

and you will find me. . . not so much for worse

as i would be the one who wrote this perfect verse

HEAVEN (For Karen Brown) (2006)

my friend asked

what is heaven like

I looked at her

pale from months of chemo

desperate, scared but still with a sparkle in her eyes,

            remember the garden we walked through

            on those summer mornings

            the sun rays that streaked between tree and shrub

            revealing the dew that attached itself

to fragile petals belonging to assorted brilliant flowers

            and remember the scent of the days beginning

            with its hint of sea salt, fresh cut grass and warming roses

            that brought forth the clatter of small birds and buzzing insects

yes she whispered with a smile

            It is like that my love,

            like the garden of Gesethame,

            like the peaceful morning after they led the Him away

she replied its odd to think that he chose a garden

to leave us in since he also expelled us from it

but its perfect,

I can not think of any better place to be in the afterlife

            neither can I, I replied.

            I can see you are tired my love, my friend

            its been a long battle – I am sure you will win

            you are half way there – don’t turn around

            the garden we speak of will always be there

            you still have some living to do

            before you become a part of the garden 

             . . . and when you do,  I promise I will see you there soon

1946 -2007

VIDEO POEM - Montreal Road

poem 5

waltz me through the glory

of the past five centuries

seduce me with your reasons

for a thousand wounded knees

take me to your bedroom

papered with broken treaties

i know you won't be satisfied

till you have all of me

dine with our leaders

drink them till they give

you know what you've come for

you know how to live

bribe them with promises

entice them with even more

tease them from their reason

but remember whose the whore

photograph our elders

ignore children

film our reservation

for the time of 'remember when'

walk amongst our graveyards

walk upon our lands

crucify our mother

then go and wash your hands

waltz me through the glory

of the next five centuries

seduce me with your reasons

for a thousand wounded knees

take me to your bedroom

papered with broken treaties

i know you won't be satisfied

till you have all of me

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