Raven and the First Men

As I was gazing deep within
the mesmerizing
money,
Queen Elizabeth's translucent head appeared
to be trapped within the green
bill.

"I am a security measure," said the Queen's head.
"I protect against counterfeiting."

"Don't you ever get lonely in there?"
I asked the Queen.

"Yes," replied the Queen's head.
"But I am friendly with the aboriginal raven
sculpture on the back of
the bill."

"Oh yeah," I said.
"The raven represents both a trickster and creator;
of course you two
get along."

"Ah," mused the Queen's translucent head.
"Could we ever know each other
in the slightest without
the money?"

The Expected Visitor

One dreary midnight,
Ryan Bird gazed
deep
within the foreboding gothic mirror
located in the
north-north-west corner
of his fashionably
darkened
study.
He then spoke his own name
three times.
Then with a foreboding gothic squeak,
a secret passageway
revealed itself from behind
a pallid bust of
Pallas.
“Ryan Bird”
he said to himself
once more.
Fuck, he just loved
the sound of his
own
smarty-pants
voice.

There Was a Silence in Heaven About the Space of a Half an Hour

Ryan Bird once played
a life-or-death game of chess
against a stylized,
Swedish personification
of Death.

Despite emerging victorious,
he later lost his soul
to the nimble-fingered spectre of
Ingmar Bergman
during a life-or-death
game
of KerPlunk.

Terminal Velocity Walrus

“What now?” asked the man who was straddling the plummeting walrus. His name was Richard Morningstar. He was riding a walrus for only the second time in his life, and he was pretty sure he was doing it wrong.

“I must admit something to you, Richard,” said the walrus. “I’m afraid I’m not quite the aviator that I’ve led you to believe. Also, I’m afraid that our inescapable freefall will be the end of us.”

“Hunh,” said Richard. There was an awkward pause as Richard’s life worked up the courage to flash itself before his eyes. In the mean time, Richard did exactly what most humans would do, if placed in a similar situation. He quoted something he didn't believe in, just to keep up polite conversation.

Here is what he said: "The desire of power in excess caused the angels to fall; the desire of knowledge in excess caused man to fall."

“Hunh,” said the walrus. There was an awkward pause as the walrus mulled over the unexpectedly poignant words of Francis Bacon. The walrus was intrigued by Richard’s choice of imagery. His walrus-mind began to reel. In this scenario, was he the walrus the fallen angel, guilty of overstepping the natural order; or was he the man, guilty of overextending his natural desire? Or better yet, perhaps the walrus was a scathing social commentary on the excessive fallout of free will.

In the end, the walrus doubted the validity of any such theories. He was pretty sure he was just being taught a lesson by some higher power. He also figured he probably had it coming.

On the other hand, Richard did not know what to believe; other than the fact that he didn’t have anything coming. That’s why Richard figured he was being taught a lesson from some lower power, namely the ground, which was rising toward him at a seemingly excessive rate of speed. He also figured that he’s offended some powerful universe force, or something.

It was about that time that Richard's mind started to wander back to this life on the ground. Back there, Richard was a pretty well-to-do guy. Among other notable achievements, Richard Morningstar had patented a series of compatibility tests, which were sold to the online-dating conglomerate, Icarus Unlimited. He was also the sole surviving heir to the Plummet Brother’s Thermometer fortune. In short, Richard’s rather pleasurable life finally flashed before his eyes, at a seemingly excessive rate of speed.

Then something truly unexpected happened. The walrus and Richard opened up their respective mouths, and said the exact same thing at the exact same time. It was a therapeutic moment for both creatures. They had finally found themselves able to articulate a profound truth; moreover, they realized that they had done so together. In the face of their deadly fall, they had attained some sort of practical enlightenment, or something.

Here is what they said: “I’m sure back home, they think I’ve lost my mind.”

Oh, Career Ambitions

Ryan
hopes
to
maximize
his
professionalism
potential
inside
of
an
honourable
facetime
continuum,
etc.

"Oh the noise! Noise, Noise! Noise!"

They'll dance with jingtinglers tied onto their heels.
They'll blow their floofloovers. They'll bang their tartookas.
They'll blow their whohoopers. They'll bang their gardookas.
They'll spin their trumtookas. They'll slam their slooslunkas.
They'll beat their blumbloopas. They'll wham their whowonkas.
And they'll play noisy games like zoozittacarzay...

*

Hooray for Whistler 2010.

The Ephemeral Best

Yesterday, a stranger in a houndstooth
scarf grabbed me by the scruff of the

neck and said: "The only reason I exist
is because it feels like someone keeps

licking my heart." Before my eyes, the
stranger began to look less and less like

a man. Instead, he began to resemble a
collection of appendages. Then he began

to resemble a smattering of accessories,
floating in the fabric of spacetime. Then

he began to fade away. Then I began to
fade away. When I finally came to, I

was laid out upon a collapsible stretcher.
A girl in a toile skirt was purposefully

straddling my chest; she held a golden
defibrillator, and was licking her lips.

She told me to calm down, or else. I
decided to listen to her, since up until

then, trusting strangers had always sort
of worked out for the ephemeral best.

A Poem for Becoming a Fan of Jason Statham on Facebook

Last night,
I dreamed that
Jason Statham
performed a
shirtless
back-pike dive
into the
rippling
chlorine stillness
of my
bouyant
flutterchest;

there was no splash.

Existentialism is not a Pineconism

The pine cone
allows the seasons to spread
its seeds.

The Orphan

My jar of essential biotic nutrients
has been stolen,
and I am lost in the woods
without moisture.

I stumble through
the overlapping brush,
and the fruit-bearing branches
strike at my face,
and cut
worry-lines into my
bronzed but
droopified
cheeks.

I fear that
no amount of
fat-soluable vitamin extracts
can ever make me
bangable
again.

Tears of shame fall
from my eyeballs like small
change
into an empty jar of
Dove
face cream.

'Spare some copper
for an orphan,'
says the orphan, as he rattles
his change jar
at me.

I look upon the orphan’s
filthy
but flawless face,
and I recognize the
empty jar as my
own.

‘Oh orphan,’
I say.
‘My eyeballs say moist,
but the back of
my hand
says,
strike
an
orphan!’

Haiku for the Fall

Watching school children
holding hands down a slide,
his cancer has spread.

Let There Be Arm Candy

Let the spiritual engine be
captured in tasteful nude photography.

Let the double-thickness gloves
make the Red Tail hawk feel filial piety.

Let all sentient beings
benefit from sweeping gothic capes.

Let all spontaneous slow dances
have raspberry centres.

Let the brunette with the bull’s eye corsage
take you home in her Dodge Neon.

Let all eyes in the Food Court turn
to the monk’s forearm,

as he displays his blind date
like an resigned

matador.

Haiku Pop #8

solitary fart--
across the street
a bird hops

Haiku Pop #7

crabgrass--
like pennies in
a pond

Haiku Pop #6

before hatchlings
or the nesting birds--
drying twigs

Haiku Pop #5

beetle skin
rolling in the grass--
a sunrise

Haiku Pop #4

a storm cloud
collides with the sun--
gong!

Haiku Pop #3

morning stillness--
smoke rings bow away
from my lips

Haiku Pop #2

the cricket--
meditating with legs
crossed

Haiku Pop #1

dandelion seed--
trapped by a licked
stamp

Haiku of the Free #10

Rebuilding a mouse
by thumbing through owl pellets,
the modern haiku.

or,

fingering
small bones—
a loud crack

Haiku of the Free #9

Constellations through
the passing CP Rail cars,
holding hands ‘til dawn.

Haiku of the Free #8

Leaves rustling above,
a sensible rock accepts
the fidgeting roots.

Haiku of the Free #7

The caterpillar
eats a third hole in the leaf,
incense in my hand.

Haiku of the Free #6

As bead lightning spills
over the rim of the clouds,
a bird in the bath.

Haiku of the Free #5

The sound of crickets,
the burning leaves come to me
in tiny pieces.

Haiku of the Free #4

The lonely salesman
cuts across the old end zone,
barely feeling cold.

Haiku of the Free #3

The shaded sapling
and the wayward maple key,
a singular wind.

Haiku of the Free #2

Lost in a bean field,
the cricket and his puddle
contemplate my shoes.

* for Bronte Creek

Haiku of the Free #1

A mound of rich earth
is swallowed by the ravine,
sunlight through the roots.

* for Bonte Creek

It's a Lovely Day to Quit a Shit Job

Take
your
plucky
comb-over,
and
part
it;
you
paltry,
poached-
chicken
of
a
man.

Haiku From My Shit Job #15

The submerged loon
shakes his feet at the night air,
the moon is not full.

Haiku From My Shit Job #14

Underground pigeon,
a bobbing head leads toward
the escalator.

Haiku From My Shit Job #13

The red butterfly
is perfectly adapted,
like breath on the breeze.

Haiku From My Shit Job #12

Robin on the fence,
I grasp a Pure Land sutra
in the parking lot.

Haiku From My Shit Job #11

Replanting the bulbs,
a young crow watches the holes
as well as the worm.

Haiku From My Shit Job #10

Three budding daisies,
a dragonfly bends their stems
with suffering wings.

Haiku From My Shit Job #9

A dilapidated cart
in the irrigation ditch,
a wheel in the rain.

New Poems in Pax Americana

The forthcoming print edition of
Pax Americana
shall feature two
of my
poems:

The Inheritance and,
The Screech Owl.

Also, the forthcoming
online edition of
Pax Americana #9
shall feature three
of my
poems:

The Orange Kitchen;
A Poem for the Moon Festival,
and Wrecking Ball Cottage,

Hooray.

Haiku From My Shit Job #8

The July sunset
reflects in the orange tide,
I’m the inert one.

Haiku From My Shit Job #7

The patience of storm,
a robin’s egg contemplates
its place in the grass.

Haiku From My Shit Job #6

A cat swings her tail,
the soundless close of a door
through the heavy fog.

A Word Sonnet for the 8-Fold Path

Ryan
has
Some
of
the
Dharma,
and
no,
John
Sampas:
you
can’t
have
any.

Haiku From My Shit Job #5

Ephemeral rain,
droplets swell upon the fruit
as long as it dares.

Haiku From My Shit Job #4

Alone in his wings,
the gull finds nothing but air
and occupied nests.

A Little (Cover-Poem) Love

You are sidelong glances
in a hospital triage.

You are the wisp of ginger hair
tucked behind
the
nurse’s ear.

You are the burning sensation
in the nose,

and the open barbeque
in the
neighbourhood.

*

this poem is in response
to Ally Fleming's fantastic poem,
A Little Love

from her
blog

Hunky Dory.

Haiku From My Shit Job #3

Nothing is silent,
the pale cat behind our fence
eyes the morning moon.

Haiku From My Shit Job #2

Stray shoots of hemlock
bow in the wind like old souls,
green and overgrown.

Avroing My Arrow (Happy Canada Day)

No,
the title's less a
masturbatory metaphor
than an ill-fated
contraception metaphor:

Canada pulled out
way too early,
and hoped it would
all work out
for
the best.

Haiku From My Shit Job, #1

The dandelion
dangles the white of its head
beyond the tree-line.