Birch Peel

Birch Bark Walk

 

the curl

it comes to us
without any effort,
our day.

it comes to us,
little discoveries
that make us ask more.

it comes the day,
discovers us
without effort
never asks for more.

Orgiastic drone rhythm,

A neural net

Of temporary answers

Ameba in size float through

Our every day of

Temporary truths

By the second.


A catch all of change

In bone surrounded by blood

Enclosed in skin

Of contradiction.

Three Walls Black and White

The fallow times
Breathe through
Windstorm minds
Arid fields of furrow
Deep rows up and back.
Thinking endless days
Without rain throat thoughts
Of sleepers dark nest
Along interstate truck stops.

I wanted it hard,
The bite of eyes
Taunting me to love.

When she came into the room
Toweled and clean but for the scars left
From the cutting years. I wanted that too. The constant pain of
Tattoos.
Endurance for
The fallow times.

Erin Leigh

Dormer

Three Walls Times Two

Plumbing

Light and Texture

Frescoes

Paint and Light

Massey Trip North Series IV

Massey Trip North Series III

the full world of floofties,
brightly coloured questions
and fast footfall's on the stairs.

yes, floofties,
things that show up
under sofas and in thoughts
during a day hectic
calmed a moment sky
open and coffee has the effect
of calm coffee,
yes.

race with cloud days
not enough time until when?
we die or bed ridden
or now, to love and be.
now, with the feel of hands
not quite touching but
knowing they can.

she had pasties on her floofties
as she came from the pantry
the doorway clear
the aroma so dear near and sincere.
a "HA!" from her voice
that was her choice
to live and to learn
love and to burn
the past slow and easy
pushing coals together
with soft tongues and kisses
this day our daily bread
of nourished the
conversation excite
moments of flooftie delight
and laughter.

between spaces
of serifs, white
the light of both sides
meet in cosmos
thoughts combined
together, worlds
we gather
in the porosity of bone
streams entwined
strings the thread from then
and then to now
day to night
rock and ice
thaw stone
to sand beaches
undertow
of surf and stars
inhale each
exhale continuous mirror(cles)
saxophone of
tone modal breath
illusion(?)

become the change

“We must become the change we want to see.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

We travel the roads to old houses, and when we walk on the properties of these abandon buildings there is sometimes a feeling you get. Hard to pinpoint but sometimes you get something. This old house was well used after the last dwellers departed. The graffiti everywhere blends with the old nicely. The period wallpaper left is torn and the paint on the walls and moldings have long sense cracked and peeled. We see the conversion of history here.

There is a quote carved into the wall in the dining room. I looked it up just to see if it was an original by the carver’s knife. It is interesting how it has landed here, on this wall in northern Ontario, how it is mixed with ’tags’ and maybe even a derogatory comment to the quote. The layers from plaster to final wallpaper then stripped down again to plaster through time and assaults, this quote remains.

Massey Foothold

the town,
small enough to let the stars in at night.
small enough the eleven o'clock train passes through,
whistle blowing significant like the promise
of everything you could leave.

morning gulls
sleek,
the slender
scoundrels
pillage dumpsters
behind the chinese food place
yet to open for the season.
What do they find?

crisp the air morning
frost weeds surround
labour cars
knuckle link
couple together waiting,
waiting months
the next contract.

souls here yield, hug the ground
during rush hour
lasting fifteen minutes.
the day slips by.
the joy it brings.
the days slip by.

Massey Trip North Series II

DELIVER ME