Only slowly, the wind moves.
The house remains the same.
Only slowly, the rain swirls.
The house remains the same.
Only slowly the dark clouds crawl.
The house remains the same.
Poem
Front of the Rain
The house where I spent my teenage years
Was perched on top of a hill.
You could see the front of the rain
Move across the horizon, and sometimes in the house too.
St George’s Day poem (a day too late due to delivery limitations caused by Brexit)
Dear England
You grim, unpleasant land
Thanks for voting brexit
We’ve never had it better
Love, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland
Eric the Jouster
Eric was a loner
He liked drive by fights
He studied martial arts
He wore kung-fu tights
You’d see him in the car park
In his Renault Clio
Jousting for the people’s hearts
Or to win a trip to Rio
(He jousted a man in a Vauxhall Nova
His little Renault Clio tumbled the fuck over)
And yes he knows that jousting ain’t a martial art
But Eric doesn’t give a fuck, he knew that from the start
Eric was a loner
He liked drive by fights
He makes good money every night
The jousting little shite
Oh, Charlie Parker
Oh, Charlie Parker
Slow blow Cool
You Bebop
Warm understanding
Weird time signatures
Ruminations and my glass of wine
Charlie Parker
Your brass noise is midnight and I’m underneath a tree
Charlie Parker
Yer saunter is endemic
And I am Charlie
And You play Summertime
Even my teeth stand to attention
Master of the blowing sadness
Charlie Parker died once
Charlie Parker lives.
The Arse End of the Air
The arse end of the air
Bites at the skin unprotected
But smiles still swirl in the red reclining autumn
IN THE DREAM MACHINE [CLIP]
Mingling and that and discussing
CLIP
When the table got upturned someone threw a punch and
CLIP
The discussion got quite heated and the speaker quoted
CLIP
Everyone seemed quite agitated and looked at each other like bewildered
CLIP
but the rules and regulations of the situation dictated that they should
CLIP
She said something really interesting to the gathered and they hung on her words and she reiterated, she said
CLIP
the cheers grew and the agitation grew and they didn’t know so they
CLIP
It was raining (…and a crow…)
It was raining really heavily and I just had a t-shirt on… He was grey! He had grey feathers… distinguished old crow, man I’m glad I saw you. Tail feather so cool… up, angled… diplomatic groove… but old and ratty of feather…. in the rain I bend down and went into one of my bags… ripped a piece of bagel and threw it to the curmudgeon in the rain and grass with graceful grey age-scar feathers. Smile blunt lip sharp eye heaven angel black gorgeous sweetness. He flipped up the bread and flew with no thanks. It was brilliant in the rain of the heavy slow warm summer thunder storm sky.
Seeds Whirlwind in the Breeze
Seeds whirlwind in the breeze
Trees’ tips stretch and with tender fingers play the day
And not being part of it, the winding path stays silent.
Painter and Model
I’m deeply in love with John Marok’s work.
I can hear sexy sinewy tapestry poetry pouring from every morsel of pigment. A zig-zag floor that should never exist… a clock that has no time… the path in the central painting (or is it a window) mirrors the curve of her chair’s arms. She plays her mysterious instrument for him and he paints his unseeable portrait with his blue shadowed face and rolled up sleeve that I have when I play my guitar so that the buttons don’t clank off of the soundboard… and why does the chair have wheels? Anyway… outside that window on the top left… a hollow moon hangs… or is it a painting? And I love her somnolent face serene. I love her headscarf and tilt of her head.
The easel is so low it must hurt his back
An upright chair and paint on his flares
Pointed shoes and pink socks
And she, long oboe blows.
Painter and Model
John F Marok
66″ x 84″
Oil on canvas
Available at Orange Art Gallery, Ottawa.
Shoving Words 