Archive for the ‘ode to possessions’ Category

UR ink

Posted: October 28, 2013 in Aphorism, modern life, ode to possessions, poetry
Tags: , ,

hold a pen
index finger, middle fingers and thumb
hold it like a friend

the space of your hand
makes a smiling face
the gentle ink appears
as if by magic
from the tip

and you scrawl out your message
to the world that day

UR room

Posted: October 28, 2013 in Aphorism, modern life, ode to possessions, spiritual

your room is a temple
your room is a shield
it is also an invitation
you may fear the corners
you may fear the door

your room is linked to your mind
you are fully your mind
your body
and your room

The Closet

Posted: May 9, 2013 in ode to possessions
Tags: , ,

My closet terrifies me,

Always has,

Always will.

What’s worse is the orange operating light on the power-bar

On the floor in front of the closet

That casts it in a fiery glow.

Like a maw of hell.

How long has humanity

Been plagued by the gaping

Black horrors of the closet?

Has it only been since we’ve had

Excess clothes and junk

To fill them?

Is it my extra stuff that fills me with terror?

No. (Well maybe.)

Is it the space that extra stuff necessitates?

Is it the fact

That all bedrooms are made

With these terrible nooks of doom?

That architects simply assume

I will have extra stuff?

They don’t even know me.

Did irrational night time fear

Even exist before the advent

Of the closet?

Of course it did.

Children probably feared

That little extra cranny in the cave.

A strange bush

Too close to the teepee.

That bit of darkness

That could hide a predator

Or any of the monsters

Born from campfire stories.

My mind imagines a tall

Skinny grey alien

Large round black eyes

With wrinkled lids

Squinting at me.

Just a presence in my room.

Its’ long fingers

Reaching for me

Closer and closer…

Sometimes I jerk up from these imaginings

Turn on my reading light

And just stare at the closet.

Just stare.


I try to burn the reality

That there is no grey alien

Into my retinas.

Nothing there.

Nothing but too many clothes

My camping gear

And some boxes of things I’ve tried to forget I bought.

No alien.

No grey alien.

But the closet never goes away.

And I need to turn the light out

Eventually if I’m going to get any sleep.

Every apartment I ever rent

Will have a closet.

And every night will bring the darkness.

But I will never get used to it.

The closet.

Blue Ink Medication

Posted: April 14, 2013 in madness, muse, ode to possessions, poetry
Tags: , ,

bleed through the dead hours

on watch with blue ink sprawling from my fingertips

always equipped with a spiral bound pad of canvas

and a pen

draw out the lines of zen

and the art of mental repair

it’s my paper wad pill

kill the time steady the chill and shaky coffee buzz

pick under the crust of my literary inhibitions

fourteen years of poetry

and I still haven’t connected all the words

like sanctity perversion

lines like demographic masturbation needle

spy chamber headcase

ten levels of thick hardened lyrical skin

my eyes blue ink glazed over

teeth crack open new packs

of plutonium ink capsules

When the drip has dropped,

Run dry and stopped.

Its time for the fetal position,

The annual futile submission.

There are times when the slaves,

Are worked to their graves.

But there is another type of empire,

Where the sun isn’t the only fire.

And screens glow and blind,

While dreams grow and die.

Where to many toys are made,

Too many games are played,

Too many head shots to count,

The achievements they mount!

And everybody buys new clothes,

Like zombies moaning in droves.

They hunger for anything new,

Discarding everything used.

The land of milk and honey,

Imaginary money.

Swipe your card and press your code,

My microchip, our old diode!


Die Ode!

If the immortal man was born,

In this land the truth is torn,

All the lies we hide,

Would fester like pesticide!

All the cover-ups are propped,

Atop a stack of poppycock!

If the cock loses its stride,

The worms revolt to regicide!

And eat the rich and hang the lords,

We’ll throw the captain overboard.

The mother ship will bear us all,

After eagle feathers fall.

The land of milk and honey,

Imaginary money.

Swipe your card and press your code,

My microchip, my old diode!


Die Ode!


the backpack rap

Posted: July 16, 2012 in ode to possessions

here’s an ode to my trusty backpack let me rap this,

inspired just thinking about all the years that we’ve hacked it-

riding all those days on the buses through the rain and heat,

through winnipeg winters, blizzards, snow and sleet-

you’ve protected my books, snacks and treasured purchases,

all handy at the ready you’ve never been purposeless-

we’ve chilled at the beach where I dust you free of sand,

you’re my sexy little black satchel, swiss army brand-

with a sexy white cross stitched on your front pocket,

sometimes I dream that I’m flying cause you’ve turned in a rocket-

with a sleeve on each side, so handy, so subtle,

just perfect for my juggling balls and my water bottle-

your zippers are so shiny, so skin is so tough,

you’re my best buddy backpack cause you hold all my stuff-

you always got my back, I always lead the way,

I love you backpack I wear you every single day-

No product is so awesome or endlessly useful,

refillable, remarkable, resizable, removable-

businessman with a suitcase, man what a doucheface,

and girls gotta have the latest purse of they lose face-

but for the best way to carry things and be satisfied,

look no further thanĀ  this baby on my back side-

I got a boner for my backpack, I’m sexy for my sack,

cotton polyester nylon pitch black-

condom holding, drug toting, I got a party in my pack,

and any hack who tries to jack me for my pack will get whacked!!!!