Here in Vancouver
Where the crows perch on streetlights
Nature meets city
In a ravine park
I find a silent corner
To jot down haiku
The traffic drones on
Birds chirp as the sun beats down
Leaves sway in the wind
Gently flowing stream
Into a tunnel you flow
From sun to darkness
Sometimes to go low
As water filling a creek
Is the modest way
Treeroots, sticks and mud
A path leads to the old stump
At the ravine`s heart
In the shaded creek
A duck is still and napping
The water flows by
Funny
talk about buying boots
and then end up
hiking barefoot
Wake up
to the ocean
birds
and sun
on the Sunshine Coast
Big black ants
crawl over
dead wood logs
A local girl
is here
with a small dog
for some reason
we don`t talk
an understanding of peace
A heron calls
A wasp
hovers over
the ashes
of last night`s fire
I never noticed
before
how much
air
their wings displace
The girl
and her dog
silently leave
I watch ants
crawl over
driftwood
I saw a city
out on the horizon
of an endless prairie.
Grand skyscrapers
buildings of beautiful architecture
but it began to crumble.
One by one, buildings
folded into dust.
There was a house
it was important to me
the way things just are
in dreams.
The house was not
where I needed to be
but inside
I knew there was a black girl
waiting for me under a blanket.
As I tried to reach the house I grew
with each step
my body became gigantic
until like Alice
I could never fit into the door.
So I grew so big
I traversed the prairie
in one step.
I woke in a van.
It was the black van my father
had converted to a motor-home
for our family vacations.
It had a big dirtbike
painted on the side.
Only my father was there
driving silently
my fighting brothers where not there
nor was my anxious mother.
Suddenly we stopped.
A girl from my highschool
walked onto the van
she grabbed a handbag that was left on the seat
then she got off into the arms
of her black boyfriend
who wore a cadets uniform.
As my father drove us onward
I realized we were driving through
a training ranch for cadets.
A horse galloped through a banner
with a touristy quip like
“Y’all Come Back!”
Two cadets fought
in a fenced enclosure
with bayonets and white hats.
We drove under a gate
a wild First Nations girl
skated on the frozen mud
long black hair behind a white mask
she grinned at me knowingly
and I also spied a father and son
sharpening spears
preparing to hunt bison.
As my father drove the van
down an icy hill
the First Nations girl
skated alongside us
a spear in her hand
a wild smile
behind her mask.
Of course I am grateful for Empire
For the endless concrete roads
All leading from my East Van home
All rolling under the wheels of my longboard
the engineering of my landyatch
the shifting of its’ trucks
the whisper as it eats distance
Grateful I am not trapped in a machine
I have agency
I can roll anywhere
Kick off the street
Even after the Empire crumples
I will kick off concrete for years
Decades until the asphalt cracks
Long after the gas guzzlers are paralyzed
Wind cradles me like the worlds’ love
as if I am a thing of physics
a member of nature
for I can stop
and strap my machine to my back
as if I were a cyborg
and I wear my machine on the outside
rather than the drivers
who are spewed out of their vehicles
when the Empire is down with them
the difference between us
I use the roads Rome built
knowing Rome will fall for its’ sins
mad respect
for the leaders poisoned by power
while the driver’s dream of unearned millions
undeserved power
and scream at the other vehicles
I give way
like water
find the lowest point
settle
and let the world shape me
it’s whims
a breeze
brushing up against my humility
vancouver
a wet city of money, culture and trees
there are such strange tress in vancouver
older
more attuned
primal
the ocean near enough for infinity to be on our backs
yet we are the rocky mountains
the epic reality of seeing them every day
something i dreamed as a child
a cloud filled fantasy
and this is where i live
among the trees
in taipei there were so many signs
foreign designs
curves and crosses of chinese
to my eyes nothing
but hints at dreams and for me
the signs spoke no specific thought
rather i had to look closer
judge a storefront by its owners and family
of customers
by the characters
bringing whatever product to surreal life
as wide-eyed cartoons do
thus living in taipei wasnt the familiar
conversation that a north american
city provides
rather it was more akin to glimpsing
at a prospective lover
wondering what they looked like vulnerable
the mind stumbles in a foreign city
its usual logic broken
by a distance of endless
ocean waves
cured by the heat of centuries
of culture
it knows not what to make of dragon cornered temples
where citizens line up for blessings
of intentional open ponds of koi
as urban design
the soul here eats up days
to last a decade
Only been here six months
Already gone through two pairs of shoes-
Precarious precariat
Living like who cares if you lose-
Nothing to shoot for
Nothing to use for ammo-
Let the snow cover my jacket
That’s Canadian for camo-
Hid like a chameleon
Tongue whipped out like a toad-
Snatch the dried fly snack
Of the dirty curb cold-
Arms rolled up
Like receipt paper ready to be used-
Head case pried open
Reveals sixty eight wires ready to be fused-
Precarious robot
Missing parts from the instructions-
Finally did my own taxes
Maybe missed some of the deductions-
Trusting in a universe I made
But probably forgot about-
Traded for a shiny quarter
Before I even got it out-
Looking toward the front of the sky train
See the pilot-
It’s Charon steering the long pole
It’s a hijack-
Hades runs for mayor
With Poseidon as foreign minister-
The jury is full of old fates
Witches and spinsters-
Crows fly Vancouver
Snow piles on the mountain streets-
Status quo keeps the quota up
But are they counting me?
As I snuggle into my humility
Shaded conformity bubble-
Nothing the shoot at
And not quite looking for trouble-
And it was the same time when the ants found that they had been replaced
by empty plastic bags walking upside-down on clear teeth
through the hollowed skull of panda, who had in turn
turned himself into a ghost simply by wondering if his thoughts
were simply nothing but ice water fountains of his own desires
hidden inside a sort of ghost panda, in a sort of doll
made entirely of dolls continually knitting themselves into being
Where the squid dancing with itself forgets that it is only one squid
it tries to wake up other versions of itself by shaking it’s own tentacles
This is of course madness
comparable to the pheonix feathers painting themselves
as a rainbow with every color but they are themselves the last color
that they will never be able to paint unless, they can become
like chameleon, ever skin shifting
sneaking away the secret parts
to build the golem, the magic clay monster
to do the bidding of the fable kingdom
Why?
The eternal why….
it plagues us as it nourishes us…
makes us dogs slaves to poison.
Why give birth to undying narratives?
Populating characters like pariah colonies-
is there some end to the badly drawn worlds?
the FAT and UGLY truth is that-
(you, me, the-long-dead-gods)
do not write for some beautiful exquisite meal
of words to be set out to the diner guests
in all their finery- NO!
we (one, anonymous test-subject)
create as a by-product
of living in a glitch-program-simulation
it is simply the claw marks
left on the cave walls
as we are dragged by life
insatiably hungry into the blackhole
of banality and TIME.
Overwhelmed
Overstimulated
Responding to my new environment
With a camera and a laptop
With a hungry stomach and hungry eyes
An open spirit
An open mind
Body shaking
From the sheer scope and awe
Yet when an earthquake happens
I can’t feel it at all
Head tilted back
Trying to see the top of 101
Look for keys
On moss covered mountains
Oversimplified
Overexerted
Reconstituted
Poetry books reworded
craig:bednar 