Elegant Lady

If I were to ever envision 
     your aura as a dragon 
          it would house scales 
             that simultaneously 
      shapeshift 
  to reflect 
     their emotions

Accompanied 
    with a hue of a softened gunmetal 
        deep dark gray with highlights 
  of glitter -- glitter wouldn’t be cascaded 
        from everywhere, it would be sporadic 
          throughout essential parts 
              of your entire magnificent dragon form

       Various dragons are afforded 
              special gifts, some have an ice or fire lung 
                   yours is glitter 
              your glitter lung represents 
                      the enthusiasm which is fortified 
               within your core 

         I don’t know if you were made aware 
  however, your dragon is afforded the proclivity 
         for prophecy which transcends 
                far into the future 
                        past or present 

            Although the present 
               is only 20 to 30 seconds 
           say the present is now 
   slowly move towards the past 

       The iridescence 
          which comes from you 
               is in its purest state
                   as is your essence 

Part I: Arousal From Words

There is no grand Area 51 secret 
     the majority of Freud’s postulated 
          juxtaposition steeped 
   in tender and bodily contact 
        dependent upon severity

    Sophie, adopted at the very tender 
        age of three days old 
              abandoned at the local grocery store 
       concealed in a fruit basket 
      
     Sophie was left after closing 
         asleep in the produce section 
            abandoned 

    It was not until the 6:00 am 
        bakers enter the bakery 
            to begin their prep for the day 
  a range of desserts which are simultaneously 
     as fancy as an éclair, crème brûlée, or mille feuille
        to the simplest red velvet cupcake 
    adorned with the perfect amount 
         of sprinkles (the secret is to dip 
            the iced cupcake in the sprinkles
     to ensure every single section of icing 
       is furnished with a little whimsy) 

   The produce department 
        was beside the bakery 
           the moment the gun-metal 
                industrial sized KitchenAid mixer 
           was turned on 
     a VERY LOUD cry ensued

  Electra stopped immediately 
     even though the sound of the mixer 
          penetrated the room 
      the cries punched Electra as though 
          a manticore shattered every bone 
        in her tiny body

Electra: “Everyone, PLEASE STOP!”

Electra closed her icy blue ocean eyes 
   and waited about 10 seconds 
         before a blood curdling scream echoed 
  from its source, Sophies perfectly shaped 
    lips in the fashion 
          of Michelangelo’s cherubs 

       Electra ran with immediacy 
 literally as she’d never felt throughout 
      her lived years, this emotion was  
       recognised in just this one moment

     Sophie’s basket had been placed 
        in the space in between 
    the peaches and the strawberries 
 at the top of the display 
  
 Which does show 
      whoever surrendered her 
   wanted her to be found alive 

    Although Sophie was out in the open 
       all the staff entered that morning via 
   the back entrance – not a soul would 
      have entered from the front until 
             8:30 am prior to the 9:00 am opening

     Desire of a heart that yearns for a child 
        that is not even hers 

 A lover’s embrace 
      is different from a mother’s

         Electra‘s wife, the other head baker 
 was half a step behind her -- Persephone 
      raced to her side instantly 

               These two women 
          where smitten 
  with this child... 

      To be continued... 

Id

The earth feels
    so delightful 
 against my waterlogged 
and bloody crimson skin

Granules of Mother
     terra firma 

As I writhe in pain 
     I can feel the soil 
   as it absorbs 
  my plasma 

Why did I make this decision? 

Water below the bridge 
      genuinely invited me 

Blue waves 
   beckon my spirit 
 it was the only way 
   surrender the who, in me
       that should have never existed 
    this climb had already 
   ruined my perfect 
French, gel-tips

Earth below my nails 
   crusted on my cuticles 

“I’d given up!”
 
A current 
   of sweet release 
my body shattered
        the leap was swift 
   and determined 

At that exact moment 
    in the present 
         that is exactly 
  what I wanted to do 

And, now, 
   I’m in a mass grave
on the grounds of the insane asylum 

Do you know what it feels like 
    to be surrounded by dead bodies? 

I suppose it wouldn’t matter 
as I am juxtaposed 

The question,  
    what to do with that position

        YOU FIGHT! 

See the wild passionflower 
that grows below my open palms 
   which fuels my enchantments 

   Life as beautiful 
        as it is ugly 

 Although for now, 
   the cool earth is my home 

Follow-up, to the follow-up of the original interview with Punk Poet Scott Laudati!

I have every single book published by Scott Laudati the, first two that basically began my obsession with his work were Hawaiian Shirts In The Electric Chair, and Play The Devil. My first introduction to Scott’s poetry had been during a time when I was writing reviews for the UK Punk blog, The Punk Archive. I honestly NEVER thought in a million years that I would be reviewing a poetry book for a punk music blog. I am one of the fussiest readers EVER, if I do not enjoy a book it remains on my bookcase with a page marker — basically left to die a literary death. This is NOT the case with Scott’s work, his writing comes from an extremely visceral and impactful place. I would strongly recommend picking up all of Scott’s books, I have ALL of them, either in print or on my Kindle. I find Scott’s poetry to be comforting to my soul, his darker pieces move my essence in the fashion of being possessed by a siren. He genuinely has such a PHENOMENAL body of work.

RMMW: I was so happy to see the second edition release of Play The Devil, and Hawaiian Shirts In The Electric Chair, are there any sneak peeks or clues you could perhaps give my audience as to a few changes from the original version to this one?

SL: I never felt like either of them were “done”, but for whatever reason, when the invite came to publish them I didn’t think asking the publisher to wait a few more months while I polished them was an option. The world seemed to be moving much faster back then, like we were racing to some sort of human conclusion, and I figured it better to have a book that was 95% done out in the world. Now that we’ve entered this endless slog, and both books had been out of print for years, I thought it was the right time to go back and fix them up, flesh out the scenes, etc. The bones of both are still the same but I think especially with Play The Devil you get a real story now that is almost packaged with a bow on it.

RMMW: What are you currently working on? Still, planning the perfect bank robbery?

SL: I’m a direct descendant of Jesse James; I think I would be doing my family a great disservice if I didn’t at least try. I want to wait until my writing is part of the American canon, though. This way, if I get caught and they ask, “Why?”, I can say, “It wasn’t about the money, I just thought it would be fun.” Hopefully, it will inspire other people to create mayhem for mayhem’s sake.

Scott Laudati, Poet

RMMW: When I first reviewed Hawaiian Shirts In The Electric Chair, it was your first published body of work. Now, your repertoire houses 4 books, which include Play The Devil, Hawaiian Shirts In The Electric Chair, Camp Winapooka, and Bone House. All of which I have read, and they are all brilliant. Which one is your favourite & which one was the most challenging to write and why?

SL: Thank you, Rania, wow it’s been a long time now, hasn’t it? Writing isn’t the hard part, the hard part is time. Your parents pounding the idea of a “Plan B” in your head so you go to college, then work a stupid job to pay rent, then go back to college to actually get a job, then getting a “real” job, it’s too much. Suddenly you’re on the wrong end of your 30’s and you’ve only spent 2% of your time on the stuff you actually care about. And all your rich friends start succeeding because they didn’t have to work and they can write without “the fear” of failure. I go to work every day and think about killing myself. It’s such a stupid life. There are all kinds of prisons, and most of them are created by the people who tell you they love you.

RMMW: What music do you have on your current playlist when you write?

SL: I don’t really listen to music when I write. The lyrics create too much disturbance. I’ll listen to blues music because 1. It’s my favorite, and 2. The words are really simple and it’s mostly guitar. If I’m feeling really stupid that day I’ll listen to Bartok or something classical and hope it replenishes some brain cells.

RMMW: Do you still use your grandfather’s old Underwood and that you received after he died to type your drafts on?

SL: No, I haven’t done that in a long time. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was concerned about “looking like a writer” back then. I thought acting the part would make me better. Now I don’t care about anything.

RMMW: What is on your current reading list?

SL: Charles Bowden. He was a really fantastic writer, one of the best. He writes a lot about the destruction of the natural world. He also writes a lot about drug cartels. That’s a topic I’m always very interested in because so many people I loved died of heroin and oxy. His journalistic work should have won him a Nobel Prize. Time and again, he proves the link between a drug laboratory in Mexico to the United States government to multinational banks laundering all the money. I don’t know why he’s not more well known. Probably because a lot of rich people have a lot to lose if people start reading him.

RMMW: Of all the poetry readings that you have attended over the years, is there one event that sticks out the most to you, and why?

SL: I did a reading in Chicago a few years ago that was sold out and I blabbed for over 30 minutes telling stories, reading poems, etc. And it was awesome. I felt no fear and the crowd sat there and cheered everything I said. Afterward, the Chicago writer Christopher Andrews took me out and we drank everything in Chicago and had a real rock n’ roll night. That was the best, and every show after that I’ve been hit with unbelievable stage fright and get overtaken by this voice that says, “Everything you’re saying is stupid. Get off the stage now.” So since then, I’ve hated giving readings, because I’m terrified and everyone in the crowd can feel it.

The best part about any reading is the other writers you meet. No matter how bad you do they are always very supportive. Thom Young, Josh Dale, TJ McGowan, Glen Binger, Tohm Bakelas, are a few people I’ve read with many times who are all awesome, great performers, people I’d much rather watch than myself.

RMMW: What does the perfect writing day look like for you?

SL: Waking up after 8 hours of sleep, drinking a cup of black slow-drip Ethiopian coffee, putting the perfect felt brimmed hat on my head, locking the door of my mansion, getting into my Maserati, calling Emma Roberts to see if she likes my new book, driving down the 101, eating a bunch of mushrooms on Miley Cyrus’s horse farm, watching the dolphins do backflips under the Malibu sunset.

JK

Going to a punk show in Tompkins Square Park, getting inspired by the energy, then going home and finishing the thing I’ve been procrastinating all week.

RMMW: Of all the journals that have published you, and there have been A LOT! Which one are you most proud of?

SL: When The Columbia Journal (Columbia University) published my essay The Trail To Marfa about a trip Thom Young and I took through Texas, I finally felt like I’d really done something. One of the most elite universities on earth deemed my writing good enough to spend the rest of eternity in their library. Sometimes still, when everything looks so hopeless I say to myself, you did that. And they can never take it away. That’s about as good as it gets.

“(you know I’ll let you do whatever you like)”

Ego: “Listen, we have to work together
in concert if, you want us to survive.”

Id: “Don’t be a moron! You should just grant
me permission to take over. Would you not want
to live out every single desire falling at your feet?

Superego: “Ego, you need to seriously shut
the **** up! Do you know what
that would do to us? It would completely
annihilate us. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos
will not only sever our fabric thread;
they would completely be eviscerated
from a firey Excalibur.”

Ego: “Yeah, I get it! Not too drastic and not too easy,
there must be balance. Although, it is essential to
inhabit a profound yearn encased in a proclivity
to pursue the intense blaze inside our core.
We need MORE passion!

Superego: “Seriously! Do you have any idea how
passionate we truly are? WE ARE ONE
PHENOMENAL MASSIVE HEART THAT
HAS CAUGHT ON FIRE BABY!!”

Id: “I have an idea, if you are willing to listen. If we
have the capacity for bliss minus insanity — you
are going to need to help, I mean superego is cool
and all but, ego you specifically need some of Lizzie’s
intercontinental glitter. You need to believe in yourself
more! Don’t you think you have suffered enough? I mean
really — how about a life absent of pain — of ache, one
where ADORATION reigns?”

Ego & Superego: “Hell yeah!”

Ego: “Actually, wait, I have a contingency plan.”

Superego: “We are going to bust –”

Ego eagerly interrupts: “Bust out of the asylum…”

Id: “What? That plan is completely BONKERS even for me!”

Ego: “I know, however, reality exists for a reason.
Although we are an intimate triad, we must discover
ways to execute plans cohesively. We require each other
because, if I am to be completely honest some adventures
are worthy of flames; others vulnerability. Which burns in my
chest, the emotion I used to think was anxiety — it is not.
It is my time to go for the jugular and the dipped in cold
water feeling when I make an error; I realised exhiliration
once everything settles.

Id & Superego: “WOW!”

Ego: “Yeah, we need each other to breathe. I PROMISE to never
attempt a termination ever again. We are enmeshed and
it is time to level up!”

Possession


there are emotions
I abhor the expression 
possession is one of them 
when I feel this type of cage
around my essence 
it propels
to feel my whole 
body being submerged 
in frigid water 

the waves rise 
from the base of my feet 
flow through a heightened body
that do not desire this 

humans are supposed 
to be emancipated riddled beings 
there is space for all to prosper 
this, I genuinely believe

fabrication of drama
requires relinquishment 

it is now indifference!

This piece is written in the voice of a child who was abused at a tender age. Please note, the content warning…

I HATED YOU – for so long
you were the human being who was supposed
to be there, regardless of outcome
you did not try your best
how could you? 

ALL YOU CARED ABOUT WAS YOU.

I am done, I am done allowing your darkness
to impact what I have grown 
despite your best efforts 
to place your bile riddled spiked boot
upon my raw neck 

         you hear that...

those are the dreams you tried to crush
your legacy is not born of adoration
your legacy is one that is housed 
on a path that would put the cruelest 
villain to shame

  you can have it back
       your self-deprecation 
           your shame
              your disappointment 

I never wanted  it 
    I have done exactly 
       what I wanted 
 absent of your cruelty 

you could have selected 
different choices 

you did not 
and with the last stroke 
of my fingertips 
clicks this key 
I will NEVER think about you

EVER AGAIN!

Resources 

Sick Kids Hospital SCAN Program https://www.sickkids.ca/en/care-services/clinical-departments/scan/

insert and turn ¾ of the way counter-clockwise

 When humans use the phrase
    “unlock your mind” a reference 
is being made to an experience 
    with the aid of a 
             synthetic or 
                       organic psychedelic 
         or just illumination 

there is no capacity 
          too impacted 
            even the deepest crevice 
                 will level up to enter the light 
          regardless of pitch riddled 
  venues -- an equal amount of vibrancy

      pitch requires iridescence 
               and vice versa 
                      absent of balance 

                 purpose remains obsolete 
          unforeseen activation
within our mind 

some 
      resonate 
            at the prospect 
of infinite possibilities  
        within an uncertain path 
             trust can be difficult to attain 

   who will accept? 
         who will cower?

        photographic exposure 
    houses the proclivity 
         to capture anything 

       moments of dismay 
               moments of bliss 
 
          it’s difficult to achieve 
                  on our own 

         one must learn how to fall 
               how to fall, of all things 
                      affords a natural execution 
               as it pertains to demise 
                   at one point everyone 
             holds bloody fingernails 
     literally with the aim 

       of a sloth or eyeballs 
               extracted from the unaware visage 

                      an opportunity exists 
                            to foster the optics 
                  who not only dream   
 in the presentence of enlightenment 
   also aware of a core with spikey 
        terrain for the potential for more

Intellectual Submission!

a significant dreamy quality
to life survives if optics are furnished
with intellectual enchantment

bones hold the secret to destiny
plasma is the liquid sanguine

is there a distinct possibility
that amour genuinely
is the force that propels our earth
synchronicity exists

which genuinely holds not only one
but a myriad of skeleton keys
wilful ignorance postulates
within itself the ideology
that a blind eye does not afford
an adequate way to survive
on this planet

self-mental annihilation
is not only worthy of exploration
one that requires abandonment
society becomes extremely
uncomfortable with quirky individuals
mirrors do not echo characteristics
of amusement

magique reflection amplifies
the surrender

My thoughts on The Rebirth! 🦋

With a desire to be heard we continued to do and act accordingly, because we’re always told that actions speak louder than words, and it’s true. With years prepping an idea, and months putting it together the actions spoke loudly on Thursday, October 21st as La Vie Events and She. joined forces to create the first ever Rebirth Gala. Though not as we originally envisioned, it far exceeded our expectations as we used an array of art forms to create and shine a light on trauma, abuse and healing. We provided a platform to share our stories and created healing together. We stood with our friends, families, and allies to raise awareness on the rising domestic violence issues. While fundraising in support of two incredible woman’s shelters: The Denise House and The Herizon House. We took a step in the right direction and we will continue to do so each and every year with our annual Rebirth Gala. Thankful, grateful and blessed to have had so much love and support around us. Here’s to continuing to spread love and light in the world we live in.

Lakeisha Jones, La Vie Events

Exactly a week and a day ago today, I attended La Vie Events Founders: Lakeisha & Tianna’s, The Rebirth Gala. Actually, I did a little more than simply attend, I was invited to read a few of my poems from my first book Cement Covered Ink Quills & Rarities, something I am usually extremely apprehensive about.  However, when the call is echoed one must respond in a manner conducive to liget, it sounds so corny to say, however, steeped in the truth.  There is a humanitarian duty to be able to rise when advocating for extremely important social issues. This dedication to rise was exhibited in so many elegant forms during the ReBirth Gala, in the name of two organisations that strongly support survivors of domestic violence: The Denise House & Horizon House both located in Durham Region.

Lakeisha & Tianna, genuinely left no stone unturned to ensure a well-rounded gala not only were various artists of diverse mediums present – they were also BEYOND PHENOMENAL – each one of them in their own right. I do not think that it would be a fair piece if I did not introduce to you all of the human beings who made the Rebirth Gala a genuine success. 

Now, for the fun part, my review (insert pure giggle of joy)

Katrina Anastasia

Singer/Songwriter Katrina Anastasia is not only stunning and a talented artist, but she is also equally adorable (said in the most respectful tone).  For some reason, the microphone stand did not fit the microphone, which prompted Lakeisha to hold the microphone.  I was so delighted to see this beautiful act of women being there for each other.  Katrina has such a subtle yet powerful timber that I so appreciate in Singers.  I might also like to add as someone who has dabbled a little bit in singing, Katrina did not hold back and unleashed her full talent when she sang: Girls Wanna Have Fun, Wavin’ Flag as her covers and a few originals, the first being Soba, and the second entitled Far Away. Let me tell you this woman can definitely scribe lyrics as well as she can sing.

What is a gala in the absence of dancers? Dancers bring me so much joy, the manner in which they create, if you take the time to genuinely look at dancers you will see the story emerge as they move across the stage.  This evening’s dancers were: Dani, Krista & Cierra; Cierra also choreographed both the group performance and her solo as well. The power in movement is something that has left me in awe since I was a child, each one of these exquisite dancers housed clean lines and motion.  The only tool a dancer has is their body, nothing else is required to behold the purity in movement. After the lovely trifecta, Cierra took the stage with a solo performance as mentioned earlier.  If I am to be completely honest this was my favourite performance of the evening to witness. Oh, and before I forget to note, toward the end of the first choreographed piece Artist Ren (LOVE THE NAME) emerged and began to sketch a canvas while these tremendous women dance around him.  It was such a lovely collaboration, the fluidity from the movement of the dancers in partnership with an artist. MAGNIFICO!

Can we also appreciate for a moment how truly difficult it is to dance in heels!

Metamorphosis, via the tool of live art & body paint, is one that is built on pure trust, I was so delighted that Lakeisha and Tianna specifically added the segment of Ren & Aly.  Touch in art is one of the most impactful things that we can share as human beings. Ren paid such careful attention to how he painted Aly’s body.  Aly began her journey as a blank canvas that Ren was able to transform into an exquisite art piece.  I honestly do not think that body paint as an art form is given the proper respect that it deserves.  It is an art style that does not only require sensitivity but an appreciation of the canvas that is worked on. When I saw Aly at the end of the gala my jaw completely dropped, the sheer confidence and pride on her face genuinely enhanced Ren’s delicate and elegant work. 


This is the first time, I shared a portion of the stage, different acts of course with my friend Singer/Songwriter Tony Moore. Tony performed an original song entitled I Believe In You, this song is such a testament to not only belief in those who are dear to us but also as it relates to our own personal journeys and love. It is remarkable how those simple words could transform a broken human soul into an attitude that propels empowerment. Our world is riddled with beings who are so emotionally bankrupt and destitute, who perhaps may feel that there is a lack of hope and belief in the world. I Believe in You is not a foreign song to my repertoire, it is one that will forever be fastened to my iTunes over those last few years, it always sets in me in the perfect mood to embrace myself and exorcise my demons.


Founder of Keep Your Hands 2 Yourself, Karrie Lynn Dymond, gave a phenomenal talk about her experience and the tenacity it took for her to literally claw herself out of a horrific situation. The stigma attached to being a domestic abuse survivor genuinely needs to go to hell.  Women should be able to speak in absence of fear of their experiences, it is when social issues such as domestic abuse against women are dusted under the rug that NOTHING gets done.  Advocates such as Karrie Lynn who rose against their ill-treatment are humans who house so much courage in their bodies.  It takes brass balls to be able to discuss your personal experience in front of others, and even more so to emerge from the cocoon not only a butterfly but, one with a purpose to assist in the eradication of domestic violence via the tool of education. 

The youngest performance of the night was Aniyah, at the age of 11 she wrote such a beautiful poem specifically for The Rebirth.  This elegant little girl read her poem Powerful Me as her mother held the microphone, I can not imagine a prouder moment for Lakeisha. 

That night, Aniyah, stood tall and proud on her own with her work that I am sure will end up giving Lakeisha’s literary work a run for her money. (Aniyah, my wish for you as someone who started writing poetry so young is that you keep going!)

Now, for the reason that I was at The Rebirth in the first place, Lakeisha Jones.  The first time, I saw Lakeisha perform poems from her current collection Voices in her Head, had been during The Take Back The Night event that DRCC hosted back on September 23rd.  I have been reading and watching spoken verse videos for such a long time, the impact that Lakeisha imprinted onto me is something that is so pure and whole. Lakeisha gathered every bit of her pain, joy, and release inside of a collection that speaks of the testament of resilience. It was such an honour to watch her recite her poetry, the manner in which she evokes emotion that would render most powerless sets the stage not only for her tenacity but also extreme talent. Usually, it takes me some time to warm up to new poets, I was hooked on Lakeisha’s words from the first uttered syllable. 

To host an event of this magnitude under the best of circumstances is not only exhausting but also requires an INSANE amount of concentration to ensure nothing falls through the cracks.  La Vie Events did just that!

Here’s to The Rebirth organisers Lakeisha & Tianna.  Thank you for allowing me to play a small role in your evening. I will NEVER forget it!

isn’t that sacrilegious?

father ramsperger:
 
      “body of christ.”
 
marguerite:
 
      “amen.”
hmm, there’s something
a little off about this host
should probably ask
my teacher…
marguerite:
 
      “excuse me miss kyer
       these do not taste like
       hosts — normally do?”
 
miss kyer:
      “oh! I’m sorry! I forgot
       to tell the class, we had
       to substitute our regular
       church wafers with candy.
       I didn’t think any of you
      would mind!”
 
marguerite:
      “we wish you had warned
       us. i think too many of us
       feel a bit guilty eating
       candy instead of jesus’
       body.”
 
maria cara:
      “marguerite, wake up! I
       can’t believe you fell asleep
       during liturgy again.”
 
marguerite:
 
      “shh, you don\’t need to be
       so loud, i was having the
       best dream about CANDY!”  

Second hand pipe smoke & other things; stopped with the next generation…

I don’t care how horrible
your life is right now?
Liquorice Pipes
Photo credit, Oldest Sweet Shop
The operative words from
 
the sentence above are “right
now.” Mental confines
have not only weighed
 
down your physical
entity but, also your inner
most sacred sanctum.
 
Guilt is quite the devious
emotion, especially since
you’ve spent the majority
 
of your life — an enabler
to evil. That’s alright
your pipe is ready for your
 
daily escape dose. Where
do you think you will travel
to today? You are welcome
 
anywhere in the world
except perhaps — my home.   

The Rebirth 🦋

I am both delighted and humbled to have been asked to read a few poems during The Rebirth, Domestic Violence Awareness Fundraising Gala taking place this Thursday October 21, 2021 from 6-8 pm.

There are pockets within our community that no one ever discusses, as issues that relate to domestic violence are more prevalent post Covid. Someone has to be able to stand up for vulnerable demographics, something that The Rebirth Gala has established both fiercely and bravely. So many voices across the globe may feel their voices are stifled and dismissed, we are here to stand and bear witness that there are better days ahead.

Tickets can be purchased via Eventbrite here, I picked mine up last week. If you want to support the Gala and not attend you are of course welcome to make a donation; every bit helps.

The Rebirth –

A fundraising gala for domestic violence victims and survivors everywhere.

To educate and empower our community and raise funds to support two incredible women’s shelters: The Denise House and the Herizon House.

“…They slumber open-eyed and bright Dolly keeps a secret Safer than a friend Dolly’s silent sympathy Lasts without end No rush of action This is our doom To live a long life out In a dark room…”

when privacy is not afforded
one goes to extremes
to guard the cipher
of a convoluted cryptex
which must never escape
the pandora’s box
carried in one’s cavity

as observers inanimate objects
distinguish a stoic secret

unable to speak or even
utilize non verbal skills to communicate
simply sit as the stream of sunlight
comes through a slice in between
two curtains — you know, the type
of beam that exposes
all the dusty secrets
held close inside
an oubliette
no one dares
remember

concealed
silent
intricacies

*Title Quote: Possession, Script Written By Neil LaBute

weather labyrinth & kindness

summer inside of winter
winter twists into fall
spring lapses into summer
forever blanketed by all

heat brings forth a desire
for something with a little
bit of christmas joy
in the month of july

it\’s not only the weather
but if holiday jubilation
and compassion towards
our fellow man instead
of despicable idiosyncratic
characteristics could
surface — that would
be more delightful
than my peppermint
bark bar

because
at that point
something no one
thinks will happen
will — world
peace  

um, what’s this?

even as an adult
my toes still curl
at the thought of insects
i don’t discriminate
either — creepy
crawlies are indeedquite beautiful
nevertheless
still slightly
horrific

i’d watched a television
show in the early 90’s
where a student gave
their famished principal
candy coated insects
i thought it was a joke
— i mean why would
anyone want to eat
chocolate dipped
crickets or even
a jiminy pop?!

as i was advised
when i was younger
“les goûts et les couleurs
ne se discutent pas”
which i can completely
appreciate as not everyone
will like the same things

… a cricket lollipop
is the perfect example
who knows maybe
there is an exceptional
candy crunch mixed
in with an exoskeleton
one would only eat
out of desperation
or for the flavours?

— for me i do not
think i would
chose the latter

consumed by…

words
                f
                a
                l
                l
hugs \’n kisses
photo credit oriental trading 
collide
into each
other
an uncompleted
thought resist
the urgency
to complete
an insignificant
insincere
little sentence
with the utmost
of sincerity
oxymoron\’s
exist
not only
for the purpose
of conflict
but for a place
where hugs
& kisses
can meet
in the middle
for a clash
is the only
place where
consumption
can reside
regardless
of medium
edible

or

not!  

spaghetti & meatball; hold the frog legs…

my first exposure                                                                                                                                            to frogs legs wasn’t
a pleasant one

there will always
be memories
that never lay
dormant amidst
ones that constantly
flash inside the mind
like a loud neon sign
that yearns
for eye respite

the look
of those frog legs
on my dinner
companions plate
did not bode well
for the state
of my imagination

at the time
i was young
and thought
of kermit the frog
being hacked
up in the back
by the chefs

i would rather
eat mixed media
gummy & marshmallow
croakers instead

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY! 🧁

Since last year, I have had a front row seat to the inception of my friend Tony Moore’s AWAKE show – which is PHENOMENAL!!! (In case you have not seen it, AWAKE will be performed and livestreamed at The Bedford on Wednesday, October 13th via Facebook Live.) 

In honour of Tony's birthday this year, one poem has been written to correspond with each song from the AWAKE album. Which includes:

SIDE ONE 

1.	AWAKE 
2.	THE CLOCK HAS STARTED
3.	LOVE, WE NEED YOU HERE 
4.	JUST ONE NIGHT 
5.	HOPIUM 
6.	DEAR LIFE
7.	NOT NORMAL 

SIDE TWO

1.	REMEMBER ME
2.	CRAZY IN THE SHED 
3.	DARK WINTER
4.	WHAT’S THE POINT?
5.	THE ONE PERCENT SOLUTION 
6.	WE ARE ONE
7.	ASLEEP 
8.	LOVE, WE NEED YOU HERE (part 2)

No, I am not yelling at you right now, when Tony writes his lyrics they are always in capital letters – simply preserving the integrity of his process.  
Please note each inspired poem is listed in the order of the AWAKE album.

And, of course the real reason I am here writing this piece…  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY! X


My poetic companion of AWAKE!

Lack of sight

a bend of electric guitar strings
opens a journey in the abyss
of the human unknown
dark alleyways riddled with walls of music

can you see all the electric guitar tabs
they are real

the echo of Pinocchio comes to fruition
to exist – sceptics sneer
when will the disenchantment be terminated

our optics remain residually closed
in absence of effort

to be able see
to be able to understand
to be able to explode with a passion

which supersedes any type of expression
wait, can you hear it?

the electric guitar as it revolts
against societies angst

at times it is essential
that optics be dug out
perhaps at which point
sight will genuinely exist

sdrawkcab, clock cogs

tick 
   tock 
         t
           ic
            k
       t
     o
   c
 k

tick 
      tick 
 tock 

time 
    valuable 
          diminished 

     semblance of sense 
 resides no more – the forward
momentum that once allowed 
      a trajectory of innovation 
             to enhance our globe 
       is now coated in bile, feces, 
                              and vomit 

             there is no timekeeper 
                      sense is truly 
                        an abolished 
                              state 

Devil’s Pitchfork

       I don’t know when my labyrinth 
            turned into a three-way serpent tongue
                  cemented on hallowed ground 
          journey’s are infinite 
                earth holds its secrets 
           no one ever will be able to identify 
                   the capacity and desire 
                            for fueled love 
                     nothing inauthentic 
               a concept to solidify 
           human void of isolation 
      spirits are bound to the earth 
          with conceptual ghost shackles 
                 more potent than the metal 
                      which purposefully traps 
                             human flesh

             in order to transcend 
    illumination – the earth of pain 
          must be clenched in a tight fist 
               then released to the powers 
                     terra firma which crumbles 
              in the core of an unaware palm
           of the history immersion 
                  of the truth revealed 
                        in not only love 
                            but also 
                                 a profound sense 
                           of comprehension

I am!

who the f*ck are you to tell me 
     I do not belong in this moment 
             to live in a world where 
               naysayers offer condolences  
           imagination supersedes
   shattered systems 

   chapters occur in the form 
            of not only books 
     but also with the concept of music 
          each bar offered includes 
        with it a story that could either 
             propel a life to desire 
                       to fight harder 
            or one that decides to languish
               in the melancholy 
                  of being a ghost 
               already dead

                 I think not! 

If hope was pixie dust, would you sniff it?

 Complexity disguised in the appearance 
   of several key signatures & changes 
       not to mention triad concealed 
            time signatures

                    I imagine in my mind 
              the long piano compositions 
                    I used to practice to prepare 
           for my grade 2 Royal Conservatory Exam 
               with more than one alteration
                    throughout a distinctive piece
                            of music  

                the ability to retain one or two key signatures 
                     is doable.  However, the implementation
                of a myriad in one composition -- perplexes:
                    d, f, and e minor adore the taunt                                                                                                               
                          from the f# major 
                 the technical component 
                        escalates appreciation 
                                of a composition 
                           that offers Hopium 
                      in exchange for an iridescent  
                             tomorrow 

“Dear Life”

I never protected you
    in a fashion conducive
         to prosperity 
 
   stifled by numerous individuals
      a proper chance to acquisition
         the honest essence of how
             you’ve constructed me 

    in a fashion similar to Swiss Cheese 
       riddled with holes — each one
          void of purpose

    bit by bit
       you ensconced me in your reality 
          the emergence of selected 
              cluster mind photographs 
     
     are taken over with an authentic 
       drop of reality ink, well, the ink
           is nothing special only when tethered
      to the expression of an individual 
          who seeks to spelunk the caverns 
              of a soft spongy surface 

     over time, you dear life
       consumed me with rested 
           embers that appreciate 
                 rebirth and redemption 

    when chances are offered 
       the past is of no consequence
           only a chartered path forward
               to consume each moment
       not only with passion
           also, the many faces
                of verity

Nothing has ever been normal!

A world steeped in hidden locks & keys 
is significantly not normal 
advocates on this earth 
desire to listen to the battlecries 
of those who have genuinely suffered 

the ability to endure, is one that defies 
any bloody odds you wish to place  
why the hell, do others, not know how to acknowledge 

their own independence, 
      their own fire in the bellies 
               their own decisions 
      
        we reside in a world 
 where if you disagree with someone you are wrong
    how the hell is that going to be of benefit 
 to any human 

     how are children supposed 
              to feast on illumination 
when at every corner there is a MASSIVE
sized annoying Alice in Wonderland Walrus
  that refuses to move 

        the judgment cast from said character 
is one that should be left in the depths of an oubliette 
   so hidden in the earth’s core 

   that is a concept that many feel 
should be done to individuals who have done
nothing wrong but exist in a world where
  they are not the norm 

     the word normal in its sense 
is supposed to encapsulate comfort 
    it has not done so 

    the word normal has been utilised 
as a crutch, throughout society to defy 
   and neglect individualism 

      to take each character that is unique
 and morph them into the ideal 
   of what the options should be as opposed
       to what they are 

“It’s only love that’s manifest…”

epic affords humanity
      moments of life-scape  
          sincerity where 
    i am allowed to remain
       static for a micro second 
           the ability for the capacity 
       for time to be a reality 

  as beings of complex emotion
what will i offer for my higher purpose
    the verity of all my ugly
              and elegance 
       
      shatters frozen plasma 
  in the pattern of a crime scene
      the reel in the projector 
         is not completely damaged 
              only worn

      to come to terms 
   with who i am, the person 
 i desire to be, certain philosophies 
    follow me wherever i go  
       
       if i am to be honest 
    i have the tenacity 
 to advocate for those 
  who feel they are unable 
      to speak 

   negative consequences 
      of a voice that stands 
         against society's
             vile standards 

  i know my impact 
     i don’t like to discuss it; because 
        for me if i stop to meander
           on various thoughts 
               of how my universe 

    places my organic being
        in various locations
           for the greater good 
              i’ll explode

    nick once explained it
       — as being an instrument
         there are plenty 
             of reasons why 
                 energies 
                    collide 

   the movement of spirits 
      who adhere to the questions 
          of why?

        my reply
           — why not?

Bonkers in the oubliette!

one flew over the cuckoos nest insanity
offers with it -- a micro portion of comfort 

does it matter? who marinates 
in the repetition offered 
with the same daily routine 
-- there is a madness that evokes 
the ability to go CRAZY
regardless of circumstance 

at present this straight jacket 
that holds my hands in a position 
to disallow me to move that piece 
of hair that impacts my visual acuity 

falls down my left optic 
each time I attempt 
to be gnab (bang, out of order)

Onyx Pitch

hear that, the manner in which 
the electric guitar oozes its notes 
enough to transform a nauseous 
system into a full adulterated 
state of unusual calm 
tranquility exists in moments 
of soft relaxation 

what if, 
     what if, everything we knew
   simply did not exist 

        the dark cloud 
    most of humanity resides 
        offers a proposed component 
to achieve pockets of time 
   riddled with moments 
            of elegance 

     the picturesque piece 
of noir is one that conceals 
iridescent illumination 
at its core 

 comfort is typically 
discouraged inside of spaces 
riddled with shadows 

…stop…listen…

     peace is induces 
            tears 

Cognizant!

As it was explained to me 
  by my mentor

man + woman + birth + death = infinity 

what was neglected to be mentioned
is that, it is never that simple 
   there are so many variations 
that could be made inside 
this specific mathematical equation 
    
life is not as linear as we have learned 
we are taught as children to supposedly 
play nice – however, do individuals 
genuinely engage in that behaviour
or do they stockpile insults in the fashion 
of a severely jealous dragon 

when is enough, enough? 
 
humans have been engaged 
in war since the dawn of time 

of course, it was, it is the easiest 
way to reign – one line 
on a map does not distinguish 
where humans are from

it only sets to increase 
the devastation 
of future generations 
unless it is finally 
dissolved 

Upper crust, with crumb validity

The level of extreme poverty 
in some of the earth’s curve
is disgraceful – at this very moment 
6:48 am EST on October 7 
there are human beings 
who live in a space where 
a water boiling advisory resides 

Water is one of the most important 
elements, it offers hydration 
for moments of extreme thirst 
a liquid grave is not the proper response 
there are infrastructures 
which offer equality 
in addition to equity 

Unfortunately 
it falls under the concept 
of idealistic bullsh*t 

perhaps in my lifetime
the phoenix will rise 
at this point 
I fear it's doubtful  

Ohana!

A blacksheep 
born into a family 
seeks to find their tribe 
would you believe 
the formation 
was held together 
every single night
for a hundred plus days 

As I write this poem
cool tears slowly hug my cheeks 
there is something so essential 
about connection 
especially if it transforms  
individuals toward the positive 

This propels my once
suicidal essence 
to appreciate the various 
dimensions offered 
from a collection 
of personalities 
who gathered 
for so many reasons
more than just being
entertained 

in between AWAKE & ASLEEP

humanity walks in between two modes
    alert & comatose – throughout those 
 moments battles & wars are lost 
     children are born & die 
some adults carry the mantle 
     to battle the wo/men 
        who came before 

     insomnia strikes the clock
 over stupidity – maneuver 
  through a world that knows 
        nothing 

     wheatgrass cries crimson 
         plasma which infests 
               the tobacco

LOVE!!!

it is so easy to hate 
however, the path is usually 
a dead end, with a relentless brick wall 
would you not prefer a cerebral banquet 
a jubilation which showcases 
immense adoration

I understand that in life 
there must be a balance 
to be able to genuinely 
be afforded the best possible 
human pathway

inside of each of us 
there is a profound annihilation
where choices must be made
do we break ourselves into perfectly 
shattered shards or use elemental 
properties to bond those components 
together? 

I’d like the red pill please 
anything is better than being
trapped in a residence 
of a broken world that wishes 
to conceal inconsistencies 
in lieu of questions 

Life has to be uncomfortable 
it is the only way to allow justice 
to prevail in a fashion that is conducive 
to finally flourish regardless of terrain  

Please note Art Credit © Tony Moore, Pete Edwards and Fractal Artist Teja Krašek.

embroidery floss or giant gumballs?

obviously
at one juncture
or another in the field
of retail — inventory
will play the most ridiculous
game of peek-a-boo
you’ve ever
attempted

my first job
at cullen country barns
included tedious itemization
where fingers were certainly
not enough to count
the hooks of embroidery
floss — which lined
the walls
in thousands
 
at one point
that display looked
like a flattened
snuffleupagus
with rainbow
dyed fur — before
all hues were
accounted
for

now, compare
that with a room —
more light giant basement
filled with everything
a sugar addict
could ever want
— tally board in hand
to ensure EVERYTHING
is accounted
for — is much more fun

even the time
i had to clean
up all the gumballs
that fell on floor
from a hole bitten
by a mouse
that wanted to blow
bubbles 

perhaps
it was mr. jingles
who’d recently
escaped the green
mile — i’d heard
he floated away
into our atmosphere
with nothing
but a large
florescent pink
bubble
from his 
tiny mouth…

candied grapefruit peel

my teita*
was a very broken
and hard aged
palestinian woman
i don’t hold
it against
her
Candied Grapefruit Peel
Photo credit: A Happy Food  Dance
 
war & death
could lead
the least brittle
mind to snap
but — feel
she could have
done a few things
differently
 
nevertheless
at this juncture
that is neither
here nor there
as she’d passed
nearly
a decade
ago
 
however
when she’d prepare
treats for me
it was always —  certainly
a labour of love
 
found out, exactly
how tedious it is to make
candied grapefruit peel
just this week
 
i’d picked these massive
double d size grapefruits
from our local grocer
with the intent to make
these exotic confections
myself — delicious
but time consuming
beyond to the hilt
 
the grapefruit faired
to be quite delicious
i just could not wrap
my manic brain
around it
 
perhaps like robert frost
i will i keep the first
(thought) for
another
day!”

milk, dark & white

flavours don’t say
fuck you — i hate you
because of your colour
 
they speak a little
chocolate
because they know
of nothing with regards
to hue of origin
 
their knowledge
is tempered, carved
& melted
 
similar
to some humans
who do not tolerate
hate crimes against
those of different
— whatever it may be
 
perhaps
— just different!!!
 
in a world full
of sheep
a unique
perspective
stands on the toes
of enlightenment
 
suffice it to say
destruction while
black — is not alright
it’s 2016 our cerebellum
hasn’t been able
to catch up with
our tech
 
judgement by colour
and a handful of other
things — human beings
who relish the prospect
of detesting another
individual due to a whole
slue of discrimination
is not alright
 
that’s this obscure
poets opinion
anyways…  

telex sent… recipe no longer available overseas…

breaking news
the world was incensed
last year when cadbury
changed the fondant
recipe for their creme eggs
cadbury cream egg 
i know seems like such a first
world problem — nevertheless
some treated it as though
world war III
had erupted
globally
i\’m partial to adversity
as it fundamentally
allows us to genuinely
grow but this type
i will save for a very random
day — especially since
my beef with chocolates
has been a change
in the percentage
of cocoa utilized
but still not worth
the explosion
caused

i am human!

infallible,
something
i am not!
as a child
it was: black
or white.
shades of grey
equations, never
existed in my world
EVER!
adulthood
revealed through
the pain
of a childhood’s
lack of effervescence
mundane in all factors
except,
to an imagination
that will never surrender
or
r-e-t-r-e-a-t.
a tapestry
of knowledge
so intricate
this, visible
force pressured
cracks
that appeared
in the concrete
to reveal
dual
laugh
& sorrow
riddled lines…

idiot

not nearly half
intelligent
as one would
contemplate
broken brainstems
exasperate
situations
with no business
of cultivated
fruition
images
speak in volumes
as well as phrases
awkward emotions
glare at the prospect
of humility
hypocritical
piety reigns
errors one should
perceive in lieu
of ignorance
perhaps another
chalice of falsified
soda might make one
feel better?  

caramel filled or bitter?

 
what are you doing?
a comparison between
apples & oranges
then for whimsy
a handful of figs
tossed into
the mix
— seriously?
palettes, at times
i’m certain radiate
delight as to what delectable
is selected — as their next
treat: sweet, bitter
or otherwise.
one year for christmas
chocolates — i’d ever ravaged
in my life from my teita *
a salted caramel
& agave milk chocolate
truffle with sea salt sprinkled
a top — can i tell you how glee
riddled my tongue was?!
 
although, my thought
process is quite liberal
— my first reaction at the sight
of six or seven well adorned
freckles on my confection
was not too favourable — i’d
thought perhaps the chocolatier
had been driven 
to an INSANITY
that would rival 
camille claudel’s 
 
nevertheless
Photo credit, Lindt
one quality
of craziness
at times is pure
brilliance
mind you
chocolate has the potential
to force us to do strange
things — especially the ninety
percent cocoa lindt tablet…
my emotion towards
this bitter delicacy has never changed
however, i hold numerous fond recollections
of my teita before she passed
— how she\’d always sneak
that extra square
piece of bitter
chocolate
from the hidden tin
in the top drawer
of my parental units
antique buffet drawer
— when she\’d thought no
one could see her
 
“stealth mode”
 
one time
she even placed
her index finger
vertically across her lips
with an ever slight
“shhhhh”
*teita, grandmother in arabic