| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 3:46:02 AM | Where Men Build Homes
Before rest
I worked there
Like a community
Where men build homes
I dreamed between leaves
When blue became, Sunday
She brings her garden there
Wooden bowls, cloth
Prints for a love-in
I have mallets, too
Gentle persuaders
Warm timber
Wood for the fire
The trees are always friendly
But these winters
Cold footsteps to a half century barn
I work there
Like a community
Where men build homes | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 3:54:37 AM | Out Of The Sun
Plugged into the sun
He drops poems from his cloud
Like little messages from god
Gold-glowing yellow post-its
Each one a little winged dream
Mesmerizing, as they fall
Into mind | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 3:57:45 AM | To Touch You, When You Are Young
I reach out to touch you
And you retreat into the nocturnal day
Like a scared boy hiding behind trees
Thinned by the night
You hide behind burlap bags of coffee bean
And peek out between slats of wooden crates
Down by the docks
You are the boy that runs in the twilight
Shape-shifting like girls shape-shift
When they want to be noticed
But you fold around corners like paper
And avoid light
As if it were
An unfriendly face
Night is your home
Night is when you talk with the owls
And alley cats
And the rats that tell you where to find a good meal
And night is the quiet that shines you your moon
And whispers you dreams
When you are young | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:02:07 AM | Face Lift
Face lift tummy tuck liposuc
All stretched out tied to a frame
Ready to be sun-dried, again
And the limo truck's waiting
Slider’in boys
Hit the heat lamps
And shut the doors
This ones gonna be a keeper. | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:11:40 AM | To a Fragment of Time
How quickly we slid
Into the poem
The tired me-me’s
Back-packing time
The Amish
The Monk
The Professor
The Blind Heart
Leading the Blind
We shared food
Laughter
And recoil
Drank dream
Hope
And joy
Like kids on a baseball field
But those days are gone now
And I
The sensitive creature I am
Will always look upon
This hush
As if it were
Love | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:22:49 AM | There Is a House
There is a house
In my dream
Where sex
Quietly waits;
And when I drive by that mansion
White gown eyes
By the shore
Whispers
I feel its dark powers
Taunting
Wanting to show me
Where lust and desire
Have a room
In the basement
And that mansion
Beckons me
Every time
I drive by
That house
In my dream. | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:28:26 AM | The Holy Dream-Walk 2
You have to do the work
Or the pure of day
Dies in the mist
It’s called
The Holy Dream-Walk
You have to stand like a tree
Walk like a tree
Breathe like a tree
And let them know you mean it
Or the pure of day dies in the mist
Can you feel it?
That breathe in action
The one that fills both lungs with thirst
It’s a death walk
A Holy death walk
It levitates a torso
Through air
Through smoke
Through dream
Satisfied
When days
Come to an end
You have to do the work!
Or the pure of day
Dies in the mist
And the pure of day
Will die
In the mist | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:31:54 AM | September Man
This evening
I heard a man read a poem
It was a beautiful poem
Full of green pasture
Country fences
Painted like a landscaped quilt
It was a lovely poem
But it wasn’t only the poem, that caught my attention this evening
It was also the man reading it
Old, grey bearded, scholarly and humble he was
Like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes in those ancient eyes
I didn’t get a chance to tell him, how much I liked his poem
But quietly blurting-out, before the applause, Beautiful!
I know he heard me
His ancient eyes gleamed at me later, through the chatter
And said
“It was meant for you”
I quietly left that town-folk café
Drove home, quietly thinking
What a nice man he is
Telling poems of quilted landscapes
And translated poems from the far east
Told with such ease and humour
Like he's told them a thousand times before
I went straight to the mirror when I got home
And searched for my ancient eyes
Like a boy looking for his wisdom
But all I saw was Jesus
A middle-aged lonely carpenter
Marking his days
Holding on to an old worn-out thought
That tomorrow
I have to get cutting
Tomorrow. | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:35:12 AM | Building a Drill Rig on a Cloud
It’s been a long and silent dry build
Trying to weave time through smoke and caffeine
Not the healthiest work by some well builders
Digging through clouds by their own means
And yes, the laws of nature, myth, build in time
The way Romulus and Remus built Rome
Or the battles Jacob and Esau fought
To see who comes through first
Perhaps I am the dreamer more than the dream
Or the excluded genes from the genius
Fooling the heart through winter
And cooling summers by jovial dips
In the idiot fountain
Another not so healthy focus
By the other well drillers
But I’ve always tried to find the right tools, materials
Play around with ideas, omit waste
With as little damage as possible
Not an easy milieu
When you’re dealing with material
That doesn’t hold firm
To cloud | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:39:20 AM | Silent winter
winter silence
back-lights
my landscape
open fields
white
abandoned
lying mute
on stillness
hillside clusters of green Pine
hush together
tall slim Poplars
slimming themselves
to the cold
my eyes are the canvas
painting trees in wait
while spring waters
my heart | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:44:35 AM | Old Spice Returns
I smell Old-Spice!
Family fresh father perhaps?
Remember camping outside in the sixties?
I use to admire your hands
The way they touched the air
When you sat chewing shrapnel, silently
Spooning life with those leather mitts
The Independent Order of Foresters
What ever they were?
Never did pay your policies.
The fifties desk you built is still walking
The legs are weak, but all the drawers
Slide with the seasons
And the formidable brown wood-grain formica
Still has its foolhardy business sheen
I’m wearing your brown pullover sweater now
The one I bought you from the second hand store
The one you wouldn’t wear because you said
“someone else wore that”
I knew you were right
All the 8 mm’s are on VHS now
And changing the oil at the campground is well saved
Thanks for that hint of Old-Spice
I like the after-shave | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:48:35 AM | Hands
Hands, secretes of my other life
Two leather tools manning the days
Two friends assisting one another
Ten children learning to take turns
The rest of me seems less impressed
All wanting their say in things
Always mocking, complaining
Giving me headaches
My feet are trouble makers
They’re the jealous low-lifes
The stubborn bunch
And always cross at each other
But they all know for certain
Whose been doing the feeding around here
So they’ve learned to respect the family
Especially penis, the lazy sod
Hands, so full of secretes
Two buddies in arms
Two actors applauding one another
Ten kids nailed
To the reaches of life | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:52:56 AM | Meant For the Wank
Space
The final front tear
These are the voyeurs of the car-hip center-guys
Their 5 year submission
To implore strange new girls
To seek out new wife or new realizations
To boldly blow where no man has spawned before | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 4:56:31 AM | Tree Trade
I use to go to bed trouble-shooting
How to put trees together
Close my eyes, wake up
Knowing the lengths
It was magic
Years of cutting days
When endings became
Grain-colour starts
There was always measure
Just having them ,let be
Walloped the two together
It’s age, stress
And cell movement
But trees have slowed
Pine-ink to paper
(It’s a funky adhesive )
Mill’s running slow
Nightshifts to days
Canada’s being absorbed
World demand
Free trade I suppose
Trees dying together
On their own | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:03:09 AM | The Fragrance of Weather
I have a passage into deadline
between the believed and unbelieved
It follows nothing
approved by
a worry-free God
I'm promised the green button
that'll split vastness
and open up
to a field of flowers
and so I fly my black light
into the myth
and breathe
the fragrance of weather | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:22:37 AM | Taking Stock
I’m not the naïve Jesus I was before
Now I’m the whore Jesus
Drunk on planets unfastened
By heaven and hell themselves
You see, it’s these smaller galaxies
That have taught me to dream past hard core
To peel shadow from body
Rip through sky like a thirsty dragon
Strung out on bravado
And weakness
It’s not the ancient ones
Or the skulls in the basements
Or even the diamonds in the field next to my house
That explains night shifts
But the little fat Buddha’s with needles in their eyes
And tiny school girl tarts
Fingering themselves through the day
Or the other Jesus whores down on 49th and main
Eating flowers and cutting tin cans into works of art
That liberates me from warehouse
But even with all this wealth
I’m still the son that builds the cross
And still the father that shows the son
How to die a sad death | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:24:38 AM | She passed through me
One summer minute
Leaving her
Power red
On my senses
Not something
I can easily
Wash off | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:27:41 AM | Oh Canadawh
One a day
Or every other day
Or when the mood strikes
Is an excellent template
To lie down
In the middle of a field
And dream out a thought
If I can only get this Ram
Off my back
And persuade that lazy sun Fish
To cut through the days
Cause somewhere
Somewhere there’s a balance
Deep in the heart of Africa
Or India
Or even
A Canadian winter | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:31:14 AM | love your new thread om. just wow wow wow | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:31:58 AM | Entitled 2
When I want to say something
I look through your poems
Like the time I wanted to tell her
How sudden she was
I hold them up
Long enough to see
How long they take
Like a discovery
A building
Or new found equation
I never use them
Never want to expose
How brilliant I am
Then lay them down
Pleased
Knowing
These were the words
Of my hands
```````````````````````````
Thanks blitz..a years compilation of the more enjoyable ones..;-) | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:47:17 AM | She’s Always There
You make me laugh at the irony
The absurd foreplay
Just before dawn
Our mornings filled with laughter
Birds reminding us to
Get up later
The days becoming stretched
Thoughts of each other
Linking the hours
I come home
Meditate at top speed
You’re always there
And always
In the mornings | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:53:23 AM | Ill Remembered
Much is forgotten
Inside
Questions sleep
Light years dissolve
Tonight
Length has no meaning
No language
And no bone
In a world
For closure
And you
Die beside me
Poised
In tension | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:58:44 AM | An Ode to Women Poets
you are proof
love exists
you die upon page
and bring death to his knees
you are the birds
that fly truth
into cause
the owl
the hawk
the sparrows that sing
in numbers
and you grow
through gospel
through film
through medieval felon
and sing
in the nature
of proof | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 6:01:15 AM | | I recognized many of them. good to see them centered an artistic anchor in a way, very inspiring | |
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| om's palms
Posted: 6/6/2007 6:06:01 AM | Poetry Night
It was poetry night
In the classical section
I saw you sitting there
Like Liona Boyd sits
You were teasing the tiny winged post-its
Flying around you, giggling
Glowing in the warmth
Of your up-draft
It was your turn to read
It was poetry night
And you didn’t know
They were my hands
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an artistic anchor in a way well said blitz! | |
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