mumbled words turn

2011-08-26T14:57:00.000-07:00

I’ve been yelling,

trying to get your attention

but

your new phone whispers

text messages

So, I’ve reconstructed my communications

“you’re beautiful”

“touch me”

“I love you”

because there’s only a chance you’ll hear them

2010-05-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

fuck your good and bad hair days
I have good and bad body days

I’ve been told this is all in my head
but it isn’t

I see myself change daily
my skin roams freely
my fingers lengthen
my thighs become thicker
body moving,
muscles turning,
curves curling
my clothes constantly hang differently
and some days my breast look amazing

on those days
I’ll wait that little bit extra in the morning to find my bra
so I can act all surprised when you come back
to the bedroom

but this blush isn’t just from the wine
I’m erratic, neurotic and impulsive
an innocent alcoholic
one party away from an intervention

or maybe I’m caught up in a white knight/ damsel complex
where I create my own distress

does saying this out loud take the mystery away?

because I want to buy up all the real estate on your lower lip
take down the for sale sign and put up my name and address
I’ll trace the excesses of your expressions by licking your laugh lines
you’re bones are made of banana bread
and other stuff that I rescue from my freezer
I’ll write a letter of your name on each of my fingers
and think about what I can do with that hand

maybe trace that hand over your changing body
finding fault lines
that rock me against your dusty shores
you’re new to me every time we meet
and I half expect to find your freckles in different places
I want to go on an expedition with your nomadic belly button
to find the lost treasures hidden behind your knee caps

because you, you’re kind of mythical
someone I can’t quite believe in
you make me want to get drunk and take my clothes off
you make me want to order in always
so we can make out on my couch
and play crib
and set things on fire
you make me want to quit my job
and learn to fly airplanes
so when you look up at the sky I’ll distract you from the stars
let’s find where the wild things went and not go there
because I like it here with you

you’ve got this thing about you

that makes me release extra endorphins or something
something I explain away with poorly understood science
and poorly understood ideas of love

but I like it that way
living like I’m standing on a water bed
perpetually off balance

and ready to fall on my knees in surrender
at any moment

posty posey (re)vision

2009-04-24T00:49:00.000-07:00

hello to the lovely few that read this. I've posted a lot of poems that I've been working on (there are a lot of repeats I know!) and am looking for any feedback you can give me. I'm hoping to make this a chapbook but I still feel like many of these might need revision. Oh and because I am somewhat computer illiterate many of these don't have some of the spacing that they would have had I the know how.

a new view

2009-04-24T00:48:00.004-07:00

garbage in
g rb g out

looking for changing ways to find things

recent self renovations
have prompted a few walls to fall

a permanent “wet paint -
do not touch” sign
’s
been hanging round

my neck
scenery isn’t static
my beams aren’t beaming
foundation’s cracked

bitch tried to eat my sandwich

2009-04-24T00:48:00.003-07:00

yeah
bitch’s got no class

snapping jaws
hackles up
circle round
too drunk/stupid

brought only in
to hear
her
and
how much time
you two spend together
give it up

fading back going long longer
female solidarity always seems
to break down
when pretty tall blonds
with athletic builds come along

but the worst was
the worst was
when we were all at Denny’s
leaning over (still cuddling oh so close to him)

that bitch tried to eat my sandwich

C Heights

2009-04-24T00:48:00.001-07:00

mother’s maiden name crescent
is a lasting legacy
sheltered stability

do I tell the other poets I grew up in the burbs?
that it wasn’t that bad?

neither woodsy nor winter athletic
I prefer weather indoors

the north the north
they write
understanding tree rings

mine were long roads
in parents' mini vans
thinking we knew something
didn’t know down and out
or even up from down
or our ass from a hole in the ground

but I think maybe now
I have intimacy
with this city
knowing
I’m naïve

Miss Organized Religion

2009-04-24T00:47:00.003-07:00

ebb and flow
spirituality
looking for signs
to signify a
higher power

wonder why
my mind’s song
is the first one
when I turn on
on the radio

wonder why
lights dance in
the corners
of my eyes
in church

not pushing for
anything but
letting a water
sign current
flow

don’t tell anyone

2009-04-24T00:47:00.001-07:00

I wish for stream of consciousness
and publishable pieces of shit

fish hook

2009-04-24T00:44:00.002-07:00

not too worried about it
used to you catch and release
fisherman types
my mouth scars prove it
keep moving along
I’m looking for one
who wont throw me
back

not too
worried
about it
used
to you
catch and release
fisherman types
my mouth
scars
prove it
keep
moving
along
I’m looking for
one
who wont
throw me
back

not too

worried

about it

used

to you
catch and release
fisherman types
my mouth

scars

prove it

keep

moving
along
I’m looking for one
who wont
throw me

back

worried

used

scars

keep

back

for abby

2009-04-24T00:44:00.001-07:00

she’s getting better
at using public restrooms

she knows she shouldn’t
mix painkillers and beer
but it feels poetic

when she comes home
she always gropes
to find the door handle
in the darkness

doesn’t know when to
quit and go back

there are too many
unanswered questions
but maybe she’s just happy

little brown bird
won’t go home with men
she just meets
because the mornings after are
the most startling
taken in by an updraft
never finding a place to set down

long term planning
only something she thought about
philosophically

when she was young she
scraped her knee after
taking a jump
off a swing
still doesn’t approve
of dismantling playgrounds

for the first time
she decided to get changed
at the gym in
the general area
didn’t feel the eyes
of others over her limbs
but couldn’t stop staring
to see if she recognized
other shapely figures

for cloe

2009-04-24T00:43:00.004-07:00

she’s tired of going to church
watching things dance
at the corners of her eyes

she knows she shouldn’t do it
it’s a recurring theme in her life

she always falls for men
who have coloured hair
an anomaly in a northern climate

sometimes she finds prizes
in 12-grain cereal

waiting too late
she keeps going back to
particular places that
meant something
at some point

like the parking lot
she fooled around in
while a concert was getting out
in the building across the street
streams of people walking by
only partially covered
mind taken away from the act at hand
in hand
looking through the crowd for
people who could identify her

for Jude

2009-04-24T00:43:00.003-07:00

named after the patron saint of lost causes
she always follows through
especially when it’s not in her best interest

cars follow her home
until they turn off
five streets before hers

feeling constricted
by her home situation
she stops wearing underwear

drops herself off
at points that couldn’t connect to
previous destinations
never brings a map or directions

hands of a wanderer
picking up discarded plays
that could re-enact the act of being
on the road

For Lenny

2009-04-24T00:43:00.001-07:00

don’t take it the wrong way

its good

slightly abashed she’ll remind you
that she’s nothing you’ve heard of before

fetal position curls
tumble across her forehead
she spells it HOPe
say’s “fuck all y’all”
isn’t southern

social boundaries don’t come around
ask her to play
create cages

her potential lies in wait to
destroy
well-made weakness

next time watch while
you move your hands
where they fall across her

having had a hand at this
she’ll pull at the strings and
edit it all

for poetry

2009-04-24T00:42:00.002-07:00

read this and take it
in.

for the fist time:
proactive poetry
rhythm and rhyme wants you.

caress and a kiss.
take a quick breath.
forget
that this is a bad idea.

keep saying out loud

“wow, poetry, you’re a good kisser.”

you shouldn’t be surprised.

found poem

2009-04-24T00:42:00.001-07:00

little lamb
whose fleece
not white as snow
too many big bad wolves

break neck speed
constant state of
controlled panic
leaving you tired

alone, lonely,
for a long time
chronically single
once, one ounce
better
make it a baker’s dozen

found poem

2009-04-24T00:41:00.003-07:00

speak louder than words

might as well write if I can’t sleep
(with you)

I have a typewriter in my basement
in case there’s an apocalypse

yeah it hurt but it made me feel like a rockstar

hazel mud

2009-04-24T00:41:00.001-07:00

grip dash
breath catch / release

rain slick with a chance for more
showers / in this beat up old truck with
you / mix tape set to repeat / telling
you we can’t go on / it’s much more
than we can handle

but your hands on the wheel
I’ll trust
small town
know-how
of back roads and benders

grip
catch

just a little bit

2009-04-24T00:40:00.001-07:00

I want to take you on a driving tour of my life
limited to a suburb it wouldn’t take long
winding roads would curve around a childhood
of hide and go seek and mission impossible
as I listen to your voice on my stereo
I forget that you haven’t traveled here yet

your words have wound around me
shift from first to second, third
back down again to take a corner
imaging the lines could be
should be?
written for me

winters bend roads
warping concrete
creating contours in
the body of prince george

our different gods with a
difference of opinion on how
a child should be raised
soft fuzzy bunny of my childhood compared
to the spikes and glass shards of yours

I’ll curl around you
a mother cat cuddling her kitten
create cow licks in you hair
my steady breathing
rhythmic heartbeat
will lull you to sleep

peek oil

2009-04-24T00:39:00.001-07:00

sexual frustration is
driving down the price of oil
a new kind of kinetic energy

I’m not saving myself
for you

I’m saving myself.

taking matters into
my own hands

so to speak

People Walk Downtown

2009-04-24T00:38:00.004-07:00

Prince George

snow thickens sidewalks

feet press down as if in sand

Victoria Street is January’s beach

walk when it’s warm enough

bring self conscious smiles

find place

poop

2009-04-24T00:38:00.003-07:00

there
I said it out loud

reflected

2009-04-24T00:38:00.001-07:00

take pride in mediocrity
because two months of acting like an angel
just means they
have to start making up the rumours

no competition for affection
this cigarette is burning a hole in my pocket

if you’re not buying
I’ll start selling
at a reduced rate

tomorrow

taste buds will rise up
to tell me what should have been said
tasted
ripe fruit from your bitter tongue
wont be enough

this celibacy means something

your new lover’s pillow reminds me
to put pen to paper again

speaking of love tokens

2009-04-24T00:37:00.002-07:00

I want to send you an icicle
down to your southern home
but it would just
be a soggy box
by the time it got to you

the kindness of strangers

2009-04-24T00:37:00.001-07:00

(It was funny when I realized
my own innocence)

not saying you’re a
big bad wolf
or anything
but I know enough to know
you’re a wolf
all the same
I’m a little lamb

you see
under a lucky star
I have a guardian angel
with rabbit’s feet
and four leaf clovers
stuck in her teeth
she’s always been able
to get me outta shit
I get myself into

never learn my lesson
so it’s harder to see sheep’s clothing

what large teeth you have
my dear

treading lightly lately

2009-04-24T00:36:00.002-07:00

treading lightly lately
my womb
is a can of pasta sauce
still and heavy
hold the can in two hands
feel weight
roll the dry label
back and forth

treading lightly lately
my womb
is an empty cheerio box
purse lips
inhale/blow out
knock over

treading lightly lately
my womb
is a one-bedroom apartment
with a little man
constantly painting
putting up wallpaper
rearranging the furniture

treading lightly lately

weight

2009-04-24T00:36:00.001-07:00

inversely proportional
size
socially acceptable
neuroses

start running

you should watch me play parcheesi

2009-04-24T00:32:00.000-07:00

my passive aggressive nature
means I only play games I win

not sure I’ve won you yet
so you’re not gonna play me

treading lightly lately

2008-11-26T15:06:00.000-08:00

treading lightly lately
my womb is a can of tomato sauce
still and heavy

I want to hold the can in my two hands
feel the weight
roll the dry label between them
back and forth

treading lightly
my womb is an empty cheerio box

I purse my lips
inhale
blow out
and knock it over

treading lightly
my womb is a tiny one-bedroom house

with a little man inside
constantly painting, putting up wallpaper
taking it down again
rearranging the furniture

treading lightly lately

reflected

2008-11-18T16:51:00.001-08:00

take pride in mediocrity
because two months of acting like an angel
just means they have to start making up the rumours

no competition for affection
this cigarette is burning a hole in my pocket

you’re not buying
so I started selling at a reduced rate

tomorrow

taste buds will rise up
to tell me what should have been said
tasted
this celibacy means something

your new lover’s pillow reminds me
to put pen to paper again

ripe fruit from your bitter tongue
wont be enough

if its all for you

2008-11-18T16:50:00.001-08:00

don’t tell anyone

2008-11-18T16:49:00.002-08:00

I don’t floss

I write all my assignments the night before

I have a secret love of handle bar mustaches

I kissed my best friend. He was startled.

I couldn’t actually fight her – no matter what I might say when intoxicated

I stopped eating

I didn’t quit smoking

I never read the labels when I do the laundry

I only fart when I’m alone

I was a bitch in grade four

I shouldn’t have slept with him, but you know what? It was really good.

I shouldn’t have slept with her, but you know what? It was really good.

don’t tell anyone

2008-11-18T16:49:00.001-08:00

I wish for stream of consciousness
and publishable pieces of shit

weight

2008-11-18T16:48:00.003-08:00

your size and
how neurotic you are socially allowed to be
are inversely proportional

I had to start running

write till you’re sober

2008-11-18T16:48:00.001-08:00

People Walk Downtown

2008-11-18T16:47:00.001-08:00

people walk downtown Prince George
snow thickens the sidewalks
feet press down as if in sand
Victoria Street is January’s beach

walk when it’s warm enough
quiet solitude amongst the other denizens
brings about self conscious smile
of overly analytical musings
finding place amongst crowd
I feel the ownership of

hometown

For Lenny

2008-11-18T16:43:00.002-08:00

don’t take it the wrong way

its good

tell her she’s a good kisser

slightly abashed she’ll remind you
that she’s nothing you’ve heard of before

curled into the fetal position
her hair tumbles from her forehead
thin selfish
she spells it HOPe
say’s “fuck all y’all”
isn’t southern

social boundaries don’t come around
knock at her door - ask her to play
she creates her own cages

her potential lies in wait to
destroy

well-made weakness

next time watch while
you move your hands
where they fall across her

having had a hand at this
she’ll pull at the strings and
edit it all

bitch tried to eat my sandwich

2008-11-18T16:43:00.001-08:00

bitch tried to eat my sandwich

yeah
bitch’s got no class

snapping her jaws
hackles up
I tried to make my way in
circle around
I was too drunk / too stupid to give up

melting when I saw you
not just figuratively
I forgot all pre-rehearsed conversations
of mirth and merit

brought only in
to hear
her
and
how much you two spend time together
I’ll just have to forget it all
you’re too pretty

fading back going long longer
female solidarity always seems
to break down
when pretty tall blonds
with athletic builds come along

flattened me
pancake thin

but the worst was
the worst was
when we were all at Denny’s
leaning over (still cuddling oh so close to him)

that bitch tried to eat my sandwich

a new view

2008-11-18T16:41:00.000-08:00

a new view

garbage in
g rb g out

looking for changing ways to find things
recent self renovations
have prompted a few walls to fall
paint and a little bit of spackle worked wonders

but

even better scenery isn’t static
should have thought of that before I fell head first into excess

overheard

2008-02-13T11:27:00.000-08:00

yeah it hurt but it made me feel like a rock star

i’m in the mood for a mercy killing

2008-02-13T11:25:00.001-08:00

let’s do it
let’s kill the hope

we can start a fire in the yard
throw in feelings
phone calls
things i “accidentally” forgot at your house

how bout some JD
really make it spark
it was always the easiest way
into your bed

i’m in the mood for a mercy killing
because along with the headache and hangover

you always dump me in the morning

but cuddle up close the next time we watch a movie

its just too bad that you’re so cute
your voice is so soft
and that i like to trace the line of your freckled back
every time you turn away from me and go to sleep

heather larson is

2008-02-13T01:07:00.001-08:00

pretty sure you're not supposed to bring your mom along on a one night stand. even if you are with the band.

a house named vegas

2008-01-26T20:11:00.000-08:00

fuck me cheek bones
carpe diem

lines from other pommes i didn’t write
are written on the walls
what to do with jam hands
and sticky fingers?
how bout

we drink whiskey
instead of tea
take off our tops
paint a found canvas
that we hang
permanently in the living room

as a warning to everyone of what can happen in vegas

where we’re killing brain cells
while growing dendrites

i’ll have to move to the basement
so i can use

gravity to promote

abstinence against the excess

blogging and drinking don't mix

2008-01-11T00:51:00.000-08:00

as proven by the following.

fuck cock balls

2008-01-11T00:48:00.000-08:00

why do i do this again and again.

well who would want a healthy relationship anyway?

from my understanding they are completely overrated. but she's so pretty and so I wont go home with him.

dreams and fiction

2008-01-05T23:46:00.000-08:00

i'm trying to write more so i decided it would be important to learn how to develop other characters. i like the name abby so she is now born and will be a new feature to the blog. hahaha, i know there are many metaphors that make writers gods, but just now i did want to say "behold, and so it was and so it shall be or something." I also have decided to start writing about dreams i have. they are strange as most dreams are, but i figure it would be a good exercise. just thought I would let you know.

2008-01-05T23:39:00.000-08:00

abby pulled the tight fitting blue shirt on and looked in her full length mirror. she liked how it was a little bit short and didn't quite meet the boxers she was wearing to bed. she looked hot and in Bren's clothes no less. They made great pajamas but part of her kept wondering if she was wearing them for the right reasons. what if this was some lame attempt at some intimacy that she knew she wasn't going to get from Bren? pulling the shirt down a little bit and then smoothing it across her chest, she realized she didn't care about her motives. borrowing clothes from someone she was romantically interested in wasn't a big deal and she was being good. respecting the distance that they both needed. that she couldn't help thinking about her was only natural and if anything, each day she didn't call Bren was another day she felt a little bit more free. that she curled up inside something of hers each night was simply a bit of a consolation prize for being so good at being alone.

a dream

2008-01-05T22:58:00.000-08:00

i originally wrote this one out in note form on an old envelope because i was house sitting and couldn't find my journal. that helped me remember it until i could write the whole thing out in full.

I'm in my parent's old house on Bernard. It is their house but at the same time it is also work. I'm in the kitchen looking through the fridge. looking for something to eat. All the food is for a function at work but I ask one of my coworkers if there is anything I can have. I ask her first if I can have the crackers but she says no. I move on to asking for the veggies and then some of the cheese platter. She tells me "no" again and again. Since I started with the foods that I thought I would be allowed to eat, even though they weren't the ones that I really wanted, I move on to the ones that I thought were less likely, but were more desired. After having asked about almost all of the contents of the fridge I finally ask about a white cheese cake topped with blue berries, and find out that I am allowed a piece of that.

Happy with my persistence, because that was what I wanted most, I go to take a piece but before i do, am interrupted by a friend of mine. She takes me aside because she is confused and needs me. She leads me into a large room around the corner. The room is spacious and well lit because of a large skylight showing the blue of perfect weather. The room has a huge built in platform that is covered by an equally large paisley futon. My friend has brought me here because she's wondering about her sexuality, and wondering if I'd help her out with that (I mean sleep with her.) She's confused and for some reason i think this will help so i agree. But it turns out that a bunch of people have heard about what we're going to do and want to join us.

The futon is then taken up by a bunch of other people and we all lay down together. Everyone is still fully clothed but about to start getting serious when a different friend of mine gets up and speaks out. She's leaving and then we all realize how awkward and public this is. The situation breaks apart and everyone is suddenly gone, even me.

I'm now walking down a busy city street where my thoughts can finally catch up with me, and i start thinking about my first friend again. It's not that I am romantically interested in her but i care. and i'm worried about how this may have pushed her even farther into her confusion. I realize that i've walked into the neighbourhood where she works and go to the cafe. She is just leaving. At first she pretends not to see me but I hurry. there is a large dark grey face to the side of us, about the hight of two stories, and we can see it but don't at the same time. we're moving faster along the pavement and just at the curb i catch up to her. I take her arm and turn her towards me. Cupping her cheeks in my hands I carefully put my lips to hers and kiss her very gently. I tell her that everything will be all right. When I wake up I remember how full and soft her cheeks were in my hands.

i decided to start recording my dreams so i would remember them

2008-01-05T22:49:00.000-08:00

so i started sleeping with a journal in my bed. the first night i woke up and wrote in it twice. when i looked at it the next morning though, it was blank. i feel like my inner self is fighting with reality.

you know Plato's ideal? where you imagine something and that is the ideal; the first, the unattainable, and everything that happens from that is a step away. my teacher always used an example of a chair when she talked about the ideal and so for each time she talked about it - i was in her class several times because she's hot - every time that she talked about it, i would faithfully imagine the chair. it wasn't until a few classes later that I realized that the chair i was imagining was from a painting. it was the chair in van gough's room. what is my ideal if it is from someone else's interpretation?

2008-01-05T22:48:00.000-08:00

its funny how if you just pretend that something didn't happen how many people will play along with you.

2008-01-05T22:47:00.001-08:00

were you pulling away or was i?

good

2007-12-29T17:24:00.000-08:00

having just come back in from outside i feel the cold on the edge of my skin falling away from me. with the lingering taste of spicy soup on my lips and tongue i sip my chilled beer and then hot tea.

i'm so pleasantly alone.

the couch beckons me and i curl with my copy of the kappa child. at the part where she first purchases her pajamas, i am content to read for the rest of the night. the sound track for the royal tenenbaums plays quietly in the background and i think of my mantra "my life is so good." but really it is simply that life is good.

life is good.

i wont focus on how i want to get away from this city. i wont focus on how i should return calls i don't want to. i wont focus on the fact i desperately want to press my eyes into her neck and let her hold me. i wont focus on the dirty dishes in the sink. i wont focus on and on.

i'll let everything become hazy like the over cooked dinner light in the kitchen. the edges of old relationships and new ones will blend together and fall away from now like the cold. i'll tuck this blanket up closer and let hazy possibilities play in my peripheries.

don't sleep with poets

2007-12-06T20:40:00.001-08:00

we'll write about you. (unless of course you like that.)

i finally put a chapbook together

2007-12-06T20:36:00.001-08:00

let me know if you want a copy.

i just held you the other night, but i don't know if I can do that again.

2007-12-06T20:18:00.000-08:00

i'm on to you
when your voice gets
all soft
it keeps me
from keeping up
this act
back steps forward
are wearing my dancing shoes thin

you're too cute
too cute by far
but not just that
you're too damn sexy
I like it when you push your hair
over to the side like that and
that tight blue shirt you wear

so this space in between is
starting to get to me and
I can't stay here that long, not
when you look at me like that

might as well write if i can't sleep

2007-12-06T20:02:00.000-08:00

(with you)

2007-11-28T11:05:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in my little red pickup waiting for the ice to thaw. The ice on the inside. If i scrape it, it feels like that scene from edward scissor hands where he is carving the ice sculptures. Little bits of snow would fall franticaly onto my seat and dash. Today i'm not going to bother.

Instead I try to read my Jacobean tragicomedy, damn that's pretentious. But that's why i took english. or was it because of that one prof with the short skirts and tall black boots.

Either way, I can't keep my mind on this blurring pentametre so i slip back to that night and morning where you told me to keep my tie on and then much later I kissed you in that barely pre-morning light. We'd slept together in your tent and then I'd walked you to work with your hand on my swaying hip. The part i keep replaying in my head is that gentle kiss on that street corner where we parted.

written by someone else.

2007-11-05T02:00:00.001-08:00

My eyes feel like oatmeal and as i stretch out my arm i tip over empties. your absence is noticed and noted. but i don't care because i can fall back into these empty sex sheets and go right back to a dream about kissing someone else.

why do you always leave like that? so quiet. sometimes i tell myself that i'll wake up just in time to catch you sneaking out and i'll yell something obcene.

you might as well leave instead of being like some of those lovers that want to cuddle in the morning even though i have kitten breath and try to only breath through my nose. I don't want to cuddle. My stomach makes weird noises and i just want to get up, make myself a mini deep dish pizza from costco and get right back into my bed, alone, so that i can sleep in an L shape.

you don't know about my blog

2007-11-05T01:14:00.001-08:00

i love superstitions
especially knocking on wood
my little red truck has a soul
my horoscopes are way too accurate
it seems like it is always 1:11 when i look at my clock
but the wishes wont come true anymore
since you said

"we need to talk"

B2200

2007-07-28T00:06:00.000-07:00

i like to pretend that the cars driving behind my truck are following me. i drive quickly taking wide turns, check my review mirror often but become disappointed when they turn into the Walmart parking lot.

2007-07-24T00:30:00.001-07:00

"Do you ever get sayings stuck in your head? Turn left just up there."

"You mean like songs?" you ask while turning your green van up the gravel road.

"Kind of, but you know, just a phrase. For instance I've had the saying 'its time for humpin' stuck in my head for days now."

"Is that why you keep saying things like 'its time for campin' with a weird rhythm and then chuckling to yourself."

"Maybe..."

"Yeah, I don't think that happens to me."

"Hey we're here!" I say as I look out over the lake, "its time for hiking... and drinkin vodka with lemon aid powder. Oh yeah."

"Maybe this 'it's time for humping' is your subconscious trying to tell you something... like you need to get laid."

"Whoa... hey. I don't need my subconscious to tell me that my friend. Now lets get going so I can drown my sorrows in alcohol, sugary crystals, and deet."

15 more mins

2007-07-18T23:27:00.000-07:00

on the way home the lights turned yellow
i tapped my dash as i went through them all

hoped it was a sign
that you were going to call

HC: Examined

2007-07-18T01:57:00.000-07:00

"You know, you're much better in my head than in real life."

"Yeah, I've decided to ignore that. I think addressing it would just lead to trouble."

"It's really too bad."

"That just depends on how you look at it," you say sounding slightly affronted. I wonder if it's because I'm insulting your real self or taking away from your fake self's validity. Either way it gives me a perverse sense of pleasure.

HC: Thanks for your support.

2007-07-18T01:49:00.000-07:00

“I’ve been reading Jacqueline Baldwin,” I tell you as we watch the credits from a movie roll past the screen of your TV. “She’s a local writer,” I add this on because I know you don’t keep up on the literary scene. I don’t hold it against you (very much. I do think you should at least know who Jacqueline Baldwin and Ken Belford are for chris'sake.)

“Oh yeah? How’s that going for you?” you ask shifting slightly on your love seat so you can look at me directly.

“Confusing. She writes about abuse and family in a way that I will never understand. It makes me want to go out and do something but at the same time I don’t know what to do. I begin to doubt if I truly can feel for these women… It’s rather depressing.”

“Mmmmm, its ok,” you say and put your arm around my shoulder.

“And after reading these this is all I want, just to be held a little bit.”

“Some kind of feminist you are.”

“Fuck you.”

hmmmm, i realized "head conversations" sound really crazy

2007-07-17T17:23:00.000-07:00

I don't think it is. these aren't real "voices." I just think about what people might say in a conversation and play it through in my head. Is that crazy? I don't think so. Its just imagination at work.

what these head conversations are all about

2007-07-17T14:21:00.000-07:00

I frequently carry on long conversations with people in my head (both fictional and real people). I thought that I would start writing them down so this is going to be a new series that I am working on.

more head conversations

2007-07-17T14:16:00.000-07:00

“What’s your favorite part of summer?” you ask me, your head turning so your cheek rests on the grass.

“Not having to wear a bra,” I answer without hesitation. I look up at the sky past the trees on Connaught Hill, and enjoy the cool feeling of lying stretched out on the grass.

“Pardon?” you ask rising onto your elbow.

“Well they make a lot of tank tops with built in ‘shelf’ bras that are ridiculously comfortable, and I am rather proud of my breast so I’m more than willing to wear something rather unstructured.”

“And you’re really not afraid to talk about them, eh?”

“Definitely not. Actually I’ve been thinking about my strange compulsion to talk about my breasts. I think it is because people don’t really know what a woman’s breasts are going to look like. With the miracles of modern support systems all women can attain the illusion of having perfect breasts.”

“That is true I guess,” you smile down at me in a humoring way that I choose to ignore and keep on with my serious tone.

“So for the people with fantastic breast, such as myself, I feel a little ripped off. No one will know what I have (unless of course I show them and I am not that kind of girl) so I feel the need to tell people about them. These tank tops kind of give it away but still.”

“Women are strange creatures.”

“Whoa! Now hold on there mister high and mighty pants. Men are just as crazy. What really tipped me off and made the whole thing understandable was that men do the same thing… but about their penises.”

“Ok…?”

“I’ve noticed that short guys especially, feel the need to mention that certain things aren’t necessarily proportionate. I guess they feel the need to combat the stereotype. See you’re tall. So you don’t need to worry because the stereotype is in your favor. If anything you might want to keep hush about the whole thing because the opposite might be true.”

“Whoa! Hey now that is uncalled for. I thought we were friends.”

“We are. Hey that cloud looks like a bunny!”

head conversations

2007-07-17T01:32:00.000-07:00

i fell for the guy in the movie

he reminded me of you
soulful & european

i had to defend
my strong position
explain why i was happy when
you/he killed the snake

a new friend

2007-06-29T00:15:00.000-07:00

“Yeah, it was nice meeting her,” I tell him, pushing the scrub brush around a plate. Bits of the salad and pasta dish I didn’t finish get caught up in the bristles. “You guys are good together. You have the same… aftertaste.”

“Aftertaste? That can’t be good.”

“No, its not necessarily ‘good’ or ‘bad’” I turn around, brush in hand, enjoying the dramatic gestures I can make with it. Looking past his shoulder I try to explain, “You know after someone has said something? It’s then, while they are waiting for a response. That is when they have an aftertaste. Does this make sense?”

“No.”

“Bah,” I say spraying a little bit of suds in his kitchen, “It's the after that follows a person putting themselves ‘out there.’”

“Mmmmmmm, sure.”

I give up explaining to him, especially after I realize that he might ask more questions, like “what's my aftertaste?” How would I explain his taste? Especially when it’s not a particularly good one - a nice wine’s contrasting vinegar follow up. A possible sign of shoddy craftsmanship. Makes the taster want smoked gouda to cleans the palate or failing that more wine so she can find the place where “taste” doesn’t matter anymore.

a children story

2007-05-22T23:26:00.000-07:00

As loud as a beetle, beetling along on a bit of Astroturf at the edge of your garden. Then I’m on your plate, and from there my sure feet find your thumb. They fall between the wrinkles of your knuckle, but I can’t hold onto your too well moisturized skin. Falling back into your salad I march towards the incline of the bowl amongst varying shades of greens and purples.

silk stockings

2007-03-16T18:37:00.000-07:00

caught in whiteknight/damsel complex
i create my own distress

****

2007-03-16T18:35:00.000-07:00

drew a letter of your name
on each of my fingers

thought about what i could do
with that hand

i took a break from blogging

2007-03-12T01:59:00.000-07:00

so here is a bunch of stuff that i have been writing in no particular order. who am i to stop the blog machine?

DRUNKASSHIT

2007-03-12T01:54:00.000-07:00

if you were evr going to say something to me
you would
hve missd your chNCE

downstream

2007-03-12T01:45:00.001-07:00

born under a water sign
sexuality is fluid
but i wont flow back into her

News/Bruise or all the guys i've been involved with since i broke up with my girlfriend

2007-03-12T01:34:00.000-07:00

bar drunk isn’t special. special enough. double doubles. i don’t drink just pop. what’s the point? it isn’t enough. the doctor said cock/tails could lengthen life. long enough. when you tell a drunk boy to kiss you he will. he’ll walk you home. kiss you on street corners, in snow banks and alleyways. and try to get invited in. but tell him you’re a good girl. good enough. little red. riding. you don’t do that. you’re small town. small enough. he’s tall enough. tell him to call, to wait, to have faith. he won’t.
enough.

fine taste with a bitter tongue. follow me on your fingers instead. i’ll come quicker. thicker. put circled thoughts away. strong types are silent. you’re not an asshole all the time. i wish i didn’t know. hours spent on a therapist couch. not listening. watching. lips. hips. hands. you have nice hands. gesture. gesticulate. i thought girls were supposed to be the big talkers. it’s ok. you don’t listen to me. either. patience is a virgin.

dance crazy. knee brace slowed. didn’t slow him down on me. down. party spectacle. spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch. he kissed like he danced. shirt off but fewer spins. i need a little faith. woke up the next morning, ready to call the neck doctor. dr. dr. give me the news/bruise. looked in the mirror. realized i just needed a scarf. neck should be spelt with a silent k at the beginning. kneck.

kiss without courage. splurge, purge, bourgeon, on a bottle of Chianti or colt 45. kiss courage. quick-peck-quicker-escape. googly eyes are good stare with a side of you're-still-in-love-with-your-ex-girlfriend but let’s play checkers. smile. giggle. hug. handshake. your shadow puppet elephant is pretty good but your goat sucks. you give great hugs. cook another curry please. lets cuddle on your couch. argue about artichoke and asiago while watching whatever passes the time.

find something

2007-03-12T01:26:00.000-07:00

When you're a poet
and you only write about love
and you're not in love,
you're not even out of love,
you pause.

Everyone else is always in love
and they feel the need to tell you about it
- all the time -

The worst, the very worst,
are your friends in new love.
Puppy dog sickness.
They always tell you
"you'd really like her"
- which is bullshit -
and the more they talk about how great she is
the more you doubt the instant connection.

These people need to find their own kind.
- the new love kind -
Not because they'd listen to each other.
Nobody wants to listen to that
rainbow hearts flowers shit.
But they'd be willing
because then they can spew
that verbal sunshine
right back.
(Its a give and take sort of gross.)

just as long as they all know to leave me alone. in lonely.

hometown change

2007-03-12T01:23:00.001-07:00

get out
find a better mood
walk into it

bar-drunk isn't special
isn't consequential consensual sex

try a blue-collar-white-picket
fix
idyllic settling

or move to the prairies
find the flat cold that writers come out of
flat cold is cheap
flat cold is farm
boys

B twenty-two hundred
little red, eighty-nine
Mazda pick-up
- zero to sixty in a weekend -

wont make it far
wont make it far enough
wont make it far enough to find
the expectant contentment of change

visiting my mom's grade two class

2007-03-12T01:18:00.000-07:00

Later she tells me that one girl said i was pretty
another countered with "she's not pretty - she's beautiful"
I love little kids. That kind of attention is so warming.

It would be nice if someone closer to my age would say that.
Other than the wonderful little kids, i get
the old men that hit on me at work.
They seem to linger on the second part of customer service.

"Do you like to go out dancing?"
(a 49 year old's pick up line)

Another "gentleman" (customerservicespeak)
has asked out at least four of us.
why does this man think he has the right to solicit us

While we are at our place of employment?

We're not at a bar.
We haven't placed a personal add.
We're not even picking out melons at the grocery store.

But he wouldn't have done that if we were outside of work.
We aren’t “serving” him there.

Now I am careful.
Cautious.

I can pick out the regular offenders
- avoid eye contact
- pretend to be busy
- always feel uncomfortable and on my guard

or
the next time that happens say
"that's inappropriate."
Its so simple i don't know why i never thought of it in the first place.

Don’t rock the boat.
Don't rock the boat baby.

Radio show for Wed. Jan. 31/07

2007-01-29T16:29:00.000-08:00

So we have an amazing group of writers coming onto our show for this week! Laura Bell, Carly Stewart, and Denielle Weibe. Hmmmm, there is so much great talent that I wish we could run for the full hour... maybe we will have to do that for next semester. Anyway, make sure you tune in and remember you can tune in online at www.cfur.ca. The following week, justin and I will be reading some of our own stuff again and will be talking about some other issues surrounding writing in the north.

ok, it turns out i lied

2007-01-19T19:03:00.000-08:00

We have to wait a little while before our show is rebroadcast. But you can still hear it live at 6 on wednesdays! I'll keep you posted on when it can be heard again.

Radio Show!

2007-01-18T14:12:00.000-08:00

we had our first radio show, ink spot meridian, and it was great! If anyone wants to tune in my wonderful co-host, jutsin foster, and I will be back next week at 6pm on Wednesday. Our first show will also be rebroadcast tonight at 1am, and then again at 7am on Sunday. You can even listen online!!

we read our own poetry for the first show and asked each other questions. I always get so nervous reading in front of a crowd but on the radio you can't see anyone! Yay! Instead of just trying to read my poems without going crazy I also made witty banter. Witty banter people!

I think next week we will try and get a local poet on. Who will it be you ask? You will just have to tune in to find out! And if you ever want to be on the show just let us know.

meanwhile check out www.cfur.ca because then you can listen to us online!!

2007-01-07T15:22:00.000-08:00

when you spell check "womanizer" the suggested replacement is "homemaker"

i went back

2007-01-07T15:10:00.000-08:00

i just changed some of the poems around, so feel free to read them again. "winter in prince" is less of a piece now.

new grocery list

2007-01-04T17:42:00.000-08:00

toilet paper, beer and brie.

there we go

2007-01-04T00:09:00.000-08:00

here's some more... kind of raw. feedback is welcome.

2007-01-04T00:02:00.000-08:00

unlike sex and drinking

smoking can be done alone

it's so sweet

what one womanizer said about another - "you should fuck him"

2007-01-03T23:47:00.000-08:00

i am

soft easy
unconditional

ego stroke

dirty dishes
americano morals
3 am phone calls
husky voice

hmmm
mmmm

i understand

i am

bed warmth
just enough

not quite

shot gun laugh
pressed
pulled back

incense
sweet burnt

i am

pre orgasmic
ego stroke

post coital
quiet

winter in prince

2007-01-03T23:18:00.000-08:00

snow flurries
backdrop
my breakdown

solitary
brought on by drink
screams are muffled
by a hometown

past
future

are no consolation
for the bullshit
of now

i'm gonna get red and never get back

2006-12-06T06:42:00.000-08:00

i feel you
reach for me
in my sleep

your hand slowly follows my side
i trace soft skin
from wrist to shoulder to you
eyes pressed against neck
i feel how good you could be to me

forget you, remember me

pile my hair high in pieces and pins
slip into running water and lavender soap
cover modesty with foam
listen to static sound of small bubbles pop

but i've kept the phone close

we go to a spot overlooking the city
shotgun a few beers
so we can fool around in the back of your car
you tell me you're gonna leave me
and i say that's fine

i know you will

call me tomorrow

i hope

you wont

love songs make me wish i was in love

2006-11-29T05:19:00.000-08:00

I saw you the other day
our silence was full of hand gestures and conjured tones

but

I did learn that a pissing contest had moved into the rent controlled apartment
where our communication skills and consideration had stayed
that self justification is the new landlord

and

that your new job has lots of perks
fringe benefits that swing above her thigh high boots

so

I made sure that you knew how fast my wheels were spinning

and

I only alluded to the flashy new car I'm driving
because too much detail would be in bad taste
besides, he's probably going to break down on me at any minute

on holiday from all the good things

2006-11-26T12:27:00.000-08:00

Ok, I have some stuff that I am working on but nothing ready to post now. Damn you school! Well my essays will be over soon, and then.. then I will be able to post again.

we are gross

2006-11-07T12:18:00.000-08:00

we make plans to speak softly, wear green, and grow tomatoes
you question my mascara so i lick your dimples
we argue about grammar while spending whole days in bed
and spend nights in a tree house going over the best Dylan lines

you are flash and pomp in your substance
i am excessive, neurotic, impulsive
we never turn the lights off

i get up at 6am just to hide your underwear and kick you out at 8
you make me buy you breakfast because i don't cook
i find you copies of old dirty magazines
and you make me mix cd's with themes, like "stop"

the drink

2006-11-07T12:16:00.000-08:00

you're a glass giver's addiction

following through on a hard kiss

is a spare bedroom proposition

slide turn stop

then

crossed room encounters

leave hands in pockets

cough choke spit

2006-11-07T07:52:00.000-08:00

I keep going back and editing... how do you leave a poem alone?

2006-11-05T20:55:00.000-08:00

Thanks Denielle

2006-11-05T20:52:00.000-08:00

my grocery list: toilet paper, beer and goldfish crackers

2006-11-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

My brother-in-law is the one who took the previous photos of me. This is my favourite photo of his right now.

if you want to check out more of his work you can go to

http://gomiboy.sasktelwebsite.net/

leaving

2006-11-03T23:04:00.000-08:00

we should have fucked

i had a headache

you were too tired

we should have fumbled around in the dark

came

to a half hearted climax

because half hearted still has some heart

2006-11-03T23:01:00.000-08:00

in a world of emotionally available men,

she needs the physical.

all she can think about is you,

silent

and naked in the dark.

2006-11-03T22:53:00.000-08:00