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Malt ease…

September 26, 2012

They bent over the map together…

And there it was,

in the middle of nowhere…

Annie frowned at it…

‘What would John have been doing in a place like that???’

It was on the edge of a sea of nothing…

Forest and bog and endless winding rivers…

‘If you got lost there,’

Hayley thought,

you could be lost for ever…’

At home,

lost didn’t mean much more than mislaid

But here—

If you dropped into that emptiness,

how would you ever find yourself again???

Calling a Dead Man by Gillian Cross

When a dog,

or two,

comes into your life,

almost without trying,

and each one,

just happens,

to be one less,

in the digit,

and hind leg,


one can approximate,

the experience,

of being a parent,

of a child,

with special needs…

In this world,

every Tom,


and Harry,

thinks it is,

their GD business,

to tongue click,

and poor thing,

your furry friends,

despite their constant,

demonstrations of,

the happy,

and fantastic…

Then there are,

the yappers,

who suggest,

you must,

have been reckless,

to let,

such things happen,

on your watch,




to smile,


and walk away…

While throwing,

the Chuck-it,

at a Marine Park,

a woman exclaimed,

how my Pointer,

is a painting,

just waiting,

to happen…

And then,

after telling,

a story,

of her own,

identity theft,

she said,

I haven’t created,

any art,

in a while,

as I’ve been,


from a stab,

in the chest,

by someone,

I once knew…

But your dog,

is inspiring me,

to want,

to paint again…

I can,



I’ll run into you soon,

and I can get started…

We parted ways,

and I thanked,

my lucky stars,

for this dog,

who knows,


what she’s doing,

for herself,

and others,

on her own,

unique path…

Some people,

are distraught,

that the NHL season,

is in a lock out.

My sister asked me,

how I was feeling,


the whole thing…

I said,

I miss hockey,

and my one beer,


per game,

but I’m happy,

that the players,

to whom it applies,

have more down time,

to enjoy,

their families,

and the getting,

of their houses,

in order…

People forget,

that hockey,

is always,

on the horizon,

of more to come…


I was chatting,

with a neighbour,

who wrote me,

a little book,

and after his mom,

told me about,

how they,

are unschooling,

and We can’t find,

the books he wants,

on making potions…

I suggested,

he write his own…

He said,

I don’t know how…

I asked him,

What do you want,

the potions to do???

He said,


I reminded him,

of the power,

of the story,

he wrote,

to help me,

in my own,


of change…

I told him,

that he brought,

that little book,

he wrote,

from the heart,

at just,

the right time,

while I wondered,

what in the Sam Hill,

I was doing,

with myself,

and just what I,

was waiting for…



don’t come in,

a liquid form,

as we’ve been led,

to expect…


often come,

in words,

mixed up,


to make a song,

that sings,

to someone else’s,

heart beat…

And that,

Mr. Bettman,

is the alchemy,

of angels,

who cannot,

be stopped,

from performing,

their own,

tiny little,


in the name,

of resolving,

a lion’s share…


Fore casting…

August 19, 2012

To carry on the feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood,

to combine the child’s sense of wonder and novelty with the appearance which every day,

for perhaps forty years has rendered familiar:

With sun and moon and stars throughout the year

And man and woman.

This is the character and privilege of genius

(Source unknown)

as found in The Ecology of Imagination in Childhood by Edith Cobb

One of the things,

I’m astounded by,

is the notion,

that there are children,

of any age,

who fantasize,

about their,

divorced parents,

getting back,


For the love,

of God,

I don’t even want,

to see my parents,

at all,

let alone,

be in the same,


of the two of them,

being within,

a fifty mile,


of each other…

And when,


and Little Gem,

are having,

a cat fight,

I start screaming too,

things like,

That’s it!!!

I’m phoning,

your father!

These words are,

the break it up,


of a fire hose,

with extra pressure,


by the threat,

that I’m going to tell him,

I want to be friends…

Little Gem is the first,

to shift her outrage,

and protest,

I don’t want you,

being friends,

with Papa…

How would that,

even work???!

Starshine just laughs,


with her wsidom,

of 1,000 years,

There’s a reason why,

you two,

are not together…

Don’t mess,

with reason,

when its going,

your way…

By that time,

the cat fight,

is over,

and we’re back,

to sharing,

ice cream,


in more peace,

than a yoga class,

with the explosion,

blowing away,

in the wind…

I recently,

had a dream,

I was mounted,

on the back,

of Roberto Luongo,

waiting to spring,

from the gate…

And as we broke out,

on the way,

to a new team,

I saw the stands filled,

with so-called,

Canucks fans,

stuck in their Exer-saucers,

lapping up,

spilled milk…

I didn’t use a whip,

to push Luongo,

across the wire…

I only asked him,

with a thought,

that said,

Come on Cowboy!

You can do this!

And we were having,

the time,

of our lives,

as we made it,


the clubhouse turn…

There are some rabbits,

that like to,

spend the day,



and there are others,

who love to renovate,


put in their path,

and they begin,

their work day,

at 5 am.

come rain,

or shine…

I know this,

from my own experience,

because I have one,

who when given,

a cardboard box,

will immediately,

make openings,

for light,

and excavate,

the flooring,

with his two,

front teeth,

before settling down,

for a well-earned,



There are,

only a few,

more weeks,


of the meet,

at Hastings Racecourse,

and I’ve learned,

a lot,

about the intense,


between what,

women do,

with children,

in the public,

education system,

and what men do,

with young horses,

in the racing industry…

When I’m interrupted,

from my work,

preparing a horse,

for a race,

by the words,

Ram it in there,


I think,

I may have,

found myself,

on a construction site…

But the reality is,

what I’m overhearing,

is one man,

demanding another,

do something,

they think,

doesn’t hurt,

a horse,

while using a lip chain,

AND twitch

to keep,

the horse’s mind,

on other things,

while they call themselves,


Trainers seeking profit,

off the body,

of a living being,

forced to work,

with only one degree,

of separation,

from a pimp…

There are people,

who say,

for good reason,

I’m not into,

horse racing…

I’m not into,

horse racing,


But when,

cooling out,

a race horse,

in the test barn,

who just ran,

her heart out,

to finish second,

from out,

of nowhere,

I find,

it’s the closest,

I can currently,


to God

And quite frankly,

on a Sunday morning,

or any other,

for that matter,

there is,

no other church,

I’d rather,


I want to live in a wooden house…

Happen stance…

July 8, 2012

The poets march on,

taking two principles of language very seriously:

meaning is unlimited,

and everybody has some…

So we say to the tinhorns:

kill and eat all the poets you want!!!

WE will make more —

in the underground,

in our hearts,

our thoughts,

our stories,

and the backrooms of our academies…

And when the sun comes around again,

look for us…

— I. Brady: In Defense of the Sensual: Meaning Construction in Ethnography and Poetics,

Qualitative Inquiry 10(4)

When Starshine,

and Little Gem,

walked in the door,

they wanted to know,


what’ya get up to,


I reviewed the previous,

six hours,

and the installation,

of the brand new,


front shocks,

my mechanic,

took care of,

while I watched,

Top Chef Texas,

from the comfort,

of my living room,

and how I’d started penning,

a hand written,


to Mr. Mike Gillis…


when you do things,

and tell,

your children,

you risk,

a reaction,

which can cut,

you off,

at the knees…

But on this day,

it seemed,

I’d done right,

as I received the nod,

of approval,

for what,

I wanted,

to do,

without a codicil,

to not go there again,

with my key request,

to take care of business,

by bringing Raffi back…


and Little Gem,

always wonder,


every time,

Jason Botchford,

utters crap,

on the Team 1040,

I say,

things like,

Smooth move,


and what it all,

could mean…

A lot of things,

defy explanation,

and why,

The Province,


even exists,

is just,

one of them…

On his way,

to the Triple Crown,

Mario Guiterrez,

and I’ll Have Another,

were running races,

they’d never,

run before,

because they hadn’t…

The two of them,

in unity,

were responding,

to the situation,

as it presented,


because that is all,

any of us,

can really do…

And as I’ve said before,

when people,

standing on,

the outside,

are looking in,

the best thing,

to do,

is pull,

a Gillis,

and do,



as I was,

parallel parking,

in front,

of our house,

Little Gem,


a sentiment,

I’ve been hearing,

a lot of,


and it was,

Thank you,

for putting up,

with Papa,

for long enough,

to have me…

It mustn’t,

have been,


I told her,


You are WORTH,

every second of it…

Last night,

a neighbour,


a groundbreaking,


in the park…

And as we watched,

Guess Who’s Coming,

to Dinner???

under wraps,

Little Gem,

and I raised,

a few eyebrows,

at the messages,

we read,

in between,

the lines,

and remembered when,

other people,

thought they,

held the rights,

to tell us,

where we could go,

what we could do,

and with whom,

we could do it…

If you’ve ever come,

eye to eye,

with a Thoroughbred,

barreling past,

the 3/8th pole,

and heard the message,

loud and clear,

Get ready,

because I’m going,

to show you,

my strength,

well then,

you’ve certainly,


a night,

on my pillow,

and you will know,

that with the force,

of all the powers,

that be,

now behind us,

there is nothing,


but a finish,

that has never,


been seen,

created by,

a gift horse,

whom should never,

be looked,

in the mouth…

He was something to observe…

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