Monthly Archives: January 2013

The Sun Also Rises

“When the sun rises, it rises for everyone”

The sun may rise everyone,
But it certainly doesn’t SHINE on every one,
That is a lie that we tell our children, and ourselves
With whitewashed histories,
Lies written by the victor,
As a spoil of war,
They contradictions of what is right and just,
The most disgusting part of which,
You all know is true..

The sun may rise on everyone,
But for those who live in the shadows,
Those tortured souls that have no place,
No meaning,
No consideration in our lives,
Not in our backyard,
No shine for them,
Only scraps and cast offs,
And only if fortunate,
News flash,
There is no such thing as my backyard anymore,
Globalization ensures that.

African Americans on slave ships,
Millions sold,
Billions made,
Bought and sold by Europeans,
Brought to the Americas and the world around by force,
To till the fields of the white aristocracy,
To work the mines of gold, iron, coal and diamonds,
You may say that this is the past,
But is it really?
What of the Congo and Blood Diamonds? (just one example)

What of the millions we stood by and allowed to die,
Despite heroic efforts by a great Canadian General Romeo Dallaire,
Who witnessed and reported daily,
To his United Nations masters,
In Rwanda,
Afraid of using a word,
Genocide because of the international implications,
After promising,
Never again.
Did the sun rise on them?
Did it rise on their bodies laying in the streets,
The make shift gutters,
Running rivers of blood.
Did it shine? For them?

Every day,
In every city,
All around the world,
The under class that no one speaks of,
Whether in India or Africa,
Suffers from indignation to their plight,
The dreams of visionaries like Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr,
Malcolm X, Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman,
Have now become legacies of nightmares,
That the underclass lives daily,
Its current name,
Foreclosure and unemployment,
Food insecurity and indifference.

The sun may rise on everyone,
But what of Africa and India,
Though the ‘Trade’ companies owned by foreign governments are gone,
Unaccountable transnational corporations have replaced them,
Those that only answer to the shareholder and the bottom line,
Bhopal comes to mind.

What of the subjugation that did not end with colonialism,
It still exists,
Apartheid may be over,
But to those in the townships has life improved,
Where is their education,
And I don’t mean the one commanding,
That a uniform be bought,
A uniform that few can afford,
Such as the standard operating procedures of the World Bank and IMF,
Colonialism has become capitalism,
And capitalism is the new enslavement,
Which may prove,
As time goes on to be far more deadly,
And treacherous than slavery every was.

The sun may rise on everyone,
But it rises more brilliantly,
For those privileged few,
The thousand or so that control 98 percent of all wealth
Those who do not suffer from this current economic crisis,
Some earning more in a minute,
Than entire villages collectively in a lifetime,
In fact the rich got richer,
While the under classes lost their homes and their dignity,
A true depression that no one wants to call,
The impact of which is yet to be felt,
Did you hear that,
The impact of which is yet to be felt,
And believe me,
It is going to be painful.

I cry out to the heavens,
Please, please return to us,
Visionaries that can guide us to a new paradigm,
A leader,
A true leader,
That every day,
Instead of the status quo,
In spite of it,
The special interests and corporate masters,
The rich getting richer,
Allows and pushes for a true redefinition of the distribution of wealth,
This must be addressed,
Before the masses rise up,
We the people,
Demand it,
And believe me they will.

So yes,
When the sun rises, it rises on everyone…

It just doesn’t shine on us all.

I have a dream today,
That we,
As a people,
Stand up and demand what is right and just,
I have a dream today,
That as technology progresses,
That the promised impact on our lives,
Be given us,
I have a dream today,
That your children, you and I,
Can do what we desire,
Free from worry of poverty, shelter, food or clothing,
I have a dream today,
That we allow the younger generation to follow its passions,
Rather than comfort and pay cheques,
For embracing those passions is the answer to all the worlds’ problems,
I have a dream today,
That we embrace each other as one people,
Without regard to race, colour or creed,
We are the human race,
And we are in a fight for our lives,
I have a dream today,
That we the people demand that our governments stop building weapons,
Start building;
Affordable housing, schools, hospitals,
Community centers, Libraries, parks and more,
Liberate our minds and the rest will follow,
I have a dream today,
That we finally realize our full potential,
Right iniquity,
And embrace a better future,
By starting today.



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Punch Drunk

May I, will you allow, these words,
To enter your mind in one simple action,
Directing your thought away from the negative,
To embrace the incredibly positive,
May I?
May I love you as Astaire’s Body loved Music?
Picasso’s hand loved art? Shakespeare words and Galileo the sky?
May I,
Will you see that this love reaches into the depths of the soul,
Opening the window on an emotion,
This time, our time, unconditional;
May I love you as a baker bread, a teacher teaching, a doctor healing and assuredly a writer writing?
May I entreat you love lover,
To read these words,
Trying to express what God (He/She/It/They) so often have shown us right,
This night,
Despite the ominous tone in the air,
May I love you,

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Mistress Fate

Mistress Fate,
Cruel companion of my ill fated destiny,
My disdain for you obvious,
Only now,
As when you, Mistress Fate,
Place a kind finger upon my soul,
I soar,
It seems Mistress Fate that you are,
Leading me down a garden path,
Each day further and indeed farther,
From where it was intended,
I was intended,
To emerge,
Forms complete of the ashes of my own disquiet,
Sullen pages of reckless torment,
And how am I now screaming,
At the universe,
With all I have,
Please rain down on me,
A star that will shine for me alone,
Beacon to that spot where you,
Mistress Fate intends,
For I can no longer portend,
I will not portend,
With loving missives,
Though I crave those words above all else,
And haunting tomes,
Those that purge this soul’s toxic sludge as Stalin once did,
Passion the same for each,
One toward the light,
The other to the dark,
Divided as I am,
Tormented ,
Beguiled and betwixt,
By two extremes,
That led me even further down the garden path,
Reach out for me Mistress Fate,
Extend your courtesy,
Let me lay at the feet of your mindful grace,
Take me by the hand,
As if I were a child,
Your child,
Though do not scorn me,
Instead embrace me,
That I may begin the journey,
Seemingly a marathon,
To where you doth command,
As I feel like a slave though would prefer to honour you,
As humble servant,
To your every whim,
One moment on top of the world,
The next,
Sent to deal with Virgil and Dante,
Cerberus at the Gates of my personal Hell,
Though the Devil kept at bay,
The plague that threatens my life,
With wayward thoughts,
Those not of my creation,
Though clearly of my submission,
Though not an overt omission,
Some things are better left unsaid,
Even to you,
Mistress Fate,
To the forces at work,
Your forces at work,
Savage taskmaster,
School yard bully,
How can this be,
Is this a just reward,
Shall there be a just reward,
Mistress Fate,
Yet to find your way,
Back to me as Angel
Rather than as Loki ,
I have grown tired of the sharp attack of the fallen,
My contempt growing by the minute,
As I realize that your fickle finger,
Is poking me,
Prodding me,
Rather than directing me,
I scream to you,
My marathon yet run,
I beseech you,
I beg of you,
I plead for the sake of all that is right and just in the universe,
Mistress Fate,
Unlock the insane gestures,
Of this tired mind,
Let me ascend to the starry heights,
That I may be closer to your will,
Reveal to me,
A new beginning,
Where all I crave,
All I deserve,
All I’ve ever wanted to know,
Can be mine,
Please Mistress Fate,
Let me know my destiny,
As intended,
From the day I was born.

And so it shall be,
So it now is
By your fickle finger,
That now I arise,
Awoken giant no longer sleeping,
Shining for those who need it most to see
And I am left humbled
By your grace,
I am,


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Canadian Boy

The young Canadian boy,
A natural inquisitor,
Sitting on his grandfather’s lap asked;
“Why is history important Gramps?”

The weary body yet excited mind,
At first reeled at the question,
Posed so poignantly by one so young,
Scratching at his beard,
Looking tenderly at the boy,
He explained;
“History is important for a great many reasons,
It reveals the mistakes of our past,
It broadens our understanding of what has been,
So we can work towards what must be.
Hopefully history can illuminate a path to which we can aspire.”

The young boy,
Lovingly looked into the old mans eyes,
“What did you learn from history?”

Again the old man’s mind raced,
“Well, I learned that there are times that we must do things,
We must act,
Even though such action costs us dearly.
I believe I learned that while history can be our guide.
I learned a lot of darkness in history, from the moral imperative,
Meaning that we had to act no matter the cost to our society.
It is necessary, when appropriate, for us to live in the present,
Acknowledging our past while,
Carving out a future that improves the lives of everyone.”

The boy was becoming agitated, slightly,
Mimicking the way that he had first learned the word,
“What is socialism?

The grandfather chuckled full and broad,
Not at the question, rather at the inquisitor,
“Socialism is a form of government.”

“Well if government is good, why is socialism bad?”

Again a chuckle.

“Who said that socialism is bad?”

The boy looked up,
“I hear it on the news.”

“Well, that is part of the problem then.” He replied.

“Why is that Grandpa?”

“You can’t believe everything you hear on the news.
Socialism, at its core, is a system that believes that,
The government should be the controller of the products of society,
That such control should be used to improve the lives of everyone.”

“Is Canada socialism?” The young boy asked.

“No, Canada is not socialism, but it is socialist.
We have a system of government,
That provides for its citizens,
We have healthcare and a safety net,
That takes care of those that cannot take care of themselves.”

“So socialism is good?”

“In the sense that Canada practices it, yes.
We are a socialist democracy.”

“Is that what makes us such a great country?” The boy asked.

“Yes, it is one of the reasons that Canada is such a great country,
A thriving democracy that has stood the test of time,
Though we are a young country and have had problems with unity,
We have worked through those problems, relatively peacefully,
That truth is also what makes this country so great.
It is also what will ensure our longevity as one of the greatest countries,
In the history of the world.”

“Yes,” he answered,
“Thank you.”
“For what?” The grandfather asked,
“For what you did in history to make us so great today.”

With that the five year old jumped of his lap,
Ran to the backyard and started to play,
As a single tear,
Broke from the man, who was part of the greatest generation.


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Lunatic Fringe – A Departure from the Norm

Now examined! And LIVING!

Now examined! And LIVING!

Thoughts like a piano’s keys filter through both my conscious and subconscious, striking a chord that only the demons of my own creation can hear. Flittering fingers plucking the keys of my own discord, disquieted, frightened, the black and ebony reminiscent of an Icelandic tribe. In this case, ebony representing good memories and black representing bad. My black cup runneth over while the ebony is so difficult for me to enjoy as the darkness reigns.

Though I fear I am without control as they filter through me like blood, water, neurons firing and synapses attempting shock therapy. Temporary relief from memories that deviate from that thin line.

The deprivation of sleeps causing hallucinations of the most horrible originations. Apparitions that beckon me to death, a death I die a thousand times or more daily, as I struggle with the infinite and the quantum. It does not get easier, as I age, as more questions mount and the answers become more reticent.

A less than subtle requirement  for this fractured mind to put itself back together again only to discover that the final piece is missing. Where is that piece? What is that piece? As I throw my Black Dog a bone I am left to consider more than a poetic soul should have to bear. Though I do. I cry out to Apollo, God (He/She/It/They), Oracle, Prophets, where pray tell is my burning bush?

A nightmare, the nightmare, nightmares that harm my own personal recollection of self. Reflections on Reflections.

Mirror images of a life once lived but in the pursuit of the joy of others where now there is no joy that I can submit. For no longer will I subjugate my own self-preservation so that another may soar. It is my turn to allow these apparitions and nightmares to guide me, freeing me, to unleash a furious torment of words that dance across your eyeballs like Fred and Ginger. Those same words that handcuff me like an as yet prosecuted fool.

When at the witching hour, the stroke of midnight, I’m yet to become anew the pumpkin that cradles me and prevents the world from the stringy innards of a dastardly conviction to which you are not a party. No. The spirits of my ancestors and the voices in my head, press me forth, through dialogues that would confuse even the most wise of sage, unnerve even the most prolific of prophets and may in fact be the desecration of the godly appreciation of all that I hold dear.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is the lunatic fringe of my own self awareness as I trod ever closer to the demise of sanity, slipping into a world where I am no longer king but instead jester, holding court over my own self. I and I and I agree for once though my fingers will continue…

To flicker.

And flicker they have. Leading me back to life. Leading me to a land far, far away from home, to find a new home, a place where I belong, a place where I can truly live and not merely exist.

Freed now from the torment of pharmaceutical intervention and instead liberated by the triumphant power of requited love. Given back my life in the most unexpected of ways. By you, those children, those that have released me from a lifelong burden of sorrow.

While the bitch still barks, and is black as night, I have reason, meaning and purpose and this has given me back my life and I am living it. No longer afraid. No longer hiding in the corner but instead standing on a soap box teaching the most wonderful life lessons that I have learned to those that need it most. The next generation.

So while the night is long and the terror is real I am pleased beyond measure to admit that the fringe of this lunatic, while still intact, has harnessed his potential and found the will to carry on, at all costs, for those who hold me dear.


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As I am,
I would like to dress up,
In your essence,
So that I may better understand you,
As the intrigue of something new and wonderful,
Reveals that the human heart,
My heart,
Is consistent in its capacity for healing.

As I am,
Will you let me,
Dine at the table of your elegance,
Surely a banquet beyond words,
So that I may become a better man,
For you,
Your delectable poise as dessert,
May I dine,
With you?

As I am,
I would like to understand the worst of you,
As you do me,
Your darkest secrets,
So that I can have a deeper appreciation,
Of all that is wondrous,
All that attracts me to you,
Cultivate together our intellects,
So that I may have daily enticements,
WE may have them,
Conversations as easy as breathing,
And just as delightful as making love,
If not more so.

As I am,
My mind is like gibberish,
Searching for the perfect expression,
Of how you make me smile,
The very thought of you,
Your smile,
Your voice,
Your scent,
Make me once again dream,
Of the next time I get to hold you dear,
Near perfection,

As I am.


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