Benjibopper

White caps on black sand
on the northern California coast
where I learned how to drive with my thumbs

Green trees on sharp turns
on the way down to Big Sur
where Seeley gave his Thanks to Gravity

Foggy memories on monarch shore
on a timeout from the cause
where I learned destiny was following me

Condor dots on blind sun
on a moment to myself
where I learned how big the world could be

X spot on blue line
in between San Fran and Crescent City
where I earned a single moment of free

Closed eyes on rhythm waves
on the northern California coast
where I wondered what home would be

Labels: 2008, America, philosophy, Poetry

Your mouth tasted like a train
but you were the only place to go
when I needed a little sin
so please don’t ask me where I’ve been

I stood up in the underground
put pretty red paint over crumbling mould
cranked the treble through a whammy bar
sipped an overpriced cheap whiskey
called it a den of creative energy
for new talents to get our heads bobbing
but every morning I had to emerge
blinking against the dawn
every morning I had to come home
and report everything I’d done wrong

Your skin felt like a carnival
complete with games of chance
there was a good chance I’d lose
so just don’t ask me where I’ve been

You hit me in the knees
with that falsetto melody
hammered me with a violin
until I couldn’t think straight
it was all images of nudity
feminine forms dancing just for me
on each note your eyes shot at me
It was like controlling your dreams
I could get away with anything
and it would all be erased in the morning

Your chest pounded like a marching band
but the big game was cancelled
any remaining routines
left no trace of where I’d been

Labels: 2008, love junk, nova scotia, Poetry

"I ain't a communist necessarily, but I have been in the red all my life."
--Woody Guthrie


I’m sorry.
On behalf of the world
I apologize.

I don’t blame the sweat-soaked man
who pulled the black market trigger.
His scar was constant danger,
bloated by a leaden bulge
and an itch
to be the man society demands,
a drive-by saviour.

I don't blame you.
You wanted a mother to shield you
from the ones who have it all
and the others like you
who have nothing,
your competition
for the trickle-down leftovers.

I don’t blame your mother,
who escaped on her own,
left you alone.
It's hard to blame a Third-World woman.
Blame is a masculine fist,
another uninvited seed.
What choice did your mother have?
No more than you.

Where can I, a faraway foreigner
place my scuffed steel-toes?
Whose ass do I kick here?
Where shall I stand for you
with all this money?
It’s available now;
you are already fallen.

I’m sorry
on behalf of my world.
We feared your lyrical science,
stole your books and bricks,
gave you machetes and guns and glue,
and a place in the ground.
The only shield left for you
is the mother of us all.



ps. I made the news! This time not as a journalist but as a subject, in the Books section, for my contest win. Click here to read it.

Labels: 2005, Canada, Poetry, politics