Our '86

i used to live resided
resigned to a single bed
a life the same
solo
enough to always be looking up
but resigned.
you as well had lived resigned
resided single on the couch blankets held close
cocoon the warmth you protected
cherished
from what was left
of you.

and as we travel
the back roads on our
dirty bench seat watching tv through
the bug splat windshield of our '86  Ford
we are most comfortable
and eager.
the scenery passes and we speak
stop
get out and love
love who we are and where we have come:
to the Bailey
or that stand of pine
that took us underwater
we breathe fresh and clear of
now and tomorrow.

together the couch and single bed
have been fucked out the door
along with our resignations that had allowed us
to only exist.

Moments with Iris

O iris,

this sunday morning rendezvous

gentle before sun changes us once again

i find you here.

even as we move with each other
we change in moments of red.

and just before i leave

i am struck again by your beauty

and the nature of your being

the why and how in this moment you have

enamored me so.

Bailey 33

The Iris And The Forest

The iris changes overnight
With leaf and flower bloom come sunrise.

And when we found this spot along the dirt road
The light in the forest called us. It wasn’t a bright light
Casting shadows, but a flat full light, an even light.
We stepped in, the world changed.
Underwater or on some other planet the iridescence
Of green to pine needle red floor was not of this world.
The rows of trees wet from an early rain, the spongy floor
And the air thick with water transported us in that
Moment. In that moment we changed because
We had never witnessed such a thing
And in that same moment we grew
For we allowed the moment to change us.

In the morning the iris will have changed again,
On its way to dying with new growth all around it.
We will grow on our way to dying changing every moment
Of every day left to us here
On planet space and time.

Bailey 3

Shy

Miles, along branches to spring.

solo Miles
Concierto de Aranjuez
trumpet flow along branch
pause to budding spring
without red
three notes send chills
along my arm

pause elbow continue

like pictures here and there

the flow again 

and influence we have on others

along branches of connection.

Wait Here

treeline in Cape Breton.
May 24th. 09.

Draw the curtains

day in the life

she took the kids to school and
we talked over coffee, about everything,
from art to sex and the art of sex. we spoke of
the weather and moments and truths that changed by the second,
and death. she was fearless.

she was all
lilac spring perfume
powder blue T-shirt,
red hair from a box,
topped off with some of
the nicest torn faded jeans
you could ever want your lover in.
she swore like a trooper
and loved like her life depended on it.
fuck she loved. she loved hard,
then sweet and hard again.

she slams down her hand on the counter over late movie charges,
"...a Will Ferrell movie too! thirteen dollar charge, can you imagine!!"

now as my head reels in these memories
i recall that this was my day.

Ground Level

When the choir sang.

The sky opened
and one million clouds hit the earth.
One million people carried clouds that day
draped around their halos. These good people tried
to see over and through the now fog but the mist stung their eyes
and they all sat down at once torn with trouble.
Some of them sat in the middle of busy urban streets,
others in fields and in super markets. Things slowed to a grinding halt. But what happened next was extraordinary - others gathered around them and sang. Great choirs with angel voices reached the heavens and ten million souls were set free.

Night Leaves

Translucent Wall

thought after
thought and again
the change of mind
alter direction and view
we,  and then again we
open to change now.


i looked up just in time to see a sparrow
pass by the window as i was focused on a spot
of dirt on the my glasses.
then with blurred vision to the contours
of your breasts encased in
the moment
my mind races
just ahead of my hands as yours retraces
the rhythms of my pulse
quickened by your eyes.

moments from the past discovered again through
letters or pictures, some trigger set off a chain of events
rapid fired
to no conclusion,
for why is there a finality?

moment to moment
i will change my mind
to the many truths
around me.

Radiate

Crystal Entrance

Leading Upstairs

Living On The [L]edge

The Bailey

we drive the back road
soft gravel cushion
to the Bailey bridge.

naked against belonging
here you
carry me
down stream over rocks
into deep pools of trout.

the world looks so much prettier looking up through the cold rush of water to tree top birch green when out of town we fit better the woods wrapped around us.


the woods quiet sound
of bird and heaven ring
out  footfalls  animal near
the Bailey butt naked dusk
of surprise pale skin soft
as lean into me the flesh of this earth
you.

soft steps the gravel light
tree top white splash
slash and spring birch green
and formidable pine
at the turn of the road
stops, reminds us
of small
and beauty.
we stand at the Bailey.

Mr Labrona

Mr Labrona was a traveller. I went to see him once when he stopped on a layover just outside of town. In a quiet voice he told me stories of how many cities and ports he had been to. He told me of his hard working life and how now he was just a tired hobo. We shared a flask together and he warmed on this cold day. The clang clang coupling began, clang clang, and it was time for him to move on. I bid him a safe journey and as he was pulling away I think he smiled.

Letters By Rail

Dolly At The Window

Dolly At The Symphony

When love imprints its scent:

Changing body odor of physical location draws
the sour from our body’s deep core and leaves behind
a fragrant day lily horizon, pale yellow.
Were we calling for each other all those years?
Was our eager DNA requesting compatibility,
or just a place to hang out
at the lake you couldn‘t find?
Somehow, over some cosmic terrain of body mass,
of slackened muscles and forgetfulness,
was there a search going on?
My body crawling to your body?
Your body raised like a stamin attracting me,
a bolder finally curtailing my movement?

In the ambrosial underarm change the scenery runs deep
to laughter and light hearted truck driving back roads over Bailey bridges,
as river’s edge rises to meet your naked thighs opened by cock’s rapid flood.
Both of us wash pasts down stream diluted by a deep purple
heather mixture, Calluna vulgaris;
aromatic breathing collects in deep tongue’s kiss
as day’s end meets morning’s bird songs.

Chair And Yellow

PUSH/PULL...WHERE?

Chain

I went back to have a look at these photographs taken April 29th. of this year and recalled the joy I had taking this little series. The area in which the pictures came from was no more then maybe four foot square yet what was happening there was so amazing. The light casting shadows, the colour and the metal joining together by bolts and weld all tied together more with paint made this very special.

I like the idea of looking at an image and seeing first the colour and texture, composition. Then on a second look the 'afterimage' appears, a bolt, the shadow of a handrail or weld joints. You think of history and travel, and weather conditions, how many people have grabbed onto these handrail's in what province and country.

Trestle

untitled

postcard