macblaze.ca

Sand is a unity
A concept of priority
Not a singularity
A harmony of sand
trod upon by man

In Rutherford Galleria

A brace of Bruce
broods in a brothel,
Pathetic ponderings of a
puerile persuasion.
demented doomsaying,
death and destruction
branded particles devolve…

Undated. Written on a whim when I was still trying to write.

Sitting on the front of my spaceship
Shining my flashlight ahead,
Can I dream of infinite eternity

Found in Journal labeled “recopied from scraps:”

dreams of dominance,
delight in death,
driven to damnation,
dominus deos.
         another day

Handwritten poetry pulled from my journal of the day.

Feelings flood over the fields of my souls
Engendering honesty; true
Love germinates, penetrates the soil/surface
The irrigated land brings forth, seedlings
Tender stalks — reaching out— into the sun
The light heat warmth caresses the infant shoots
Bursting resplendent into life the colorful
                 extravagance of new, nature

Reborn
         waiting to be harvested —
         Patience — yet gain
The field lies fallow, flooded with emotion
Hibernating, waiting for Persephone
         peacefully, happily, anticipating

Another excerpt from my handwritten journal

Joy of her, pleasure in her
Orbits, celestial movement
Revolutions in time and space
Her center is my axis
I define within that reality
         It is good
         yet I fear

Second of two handwritten poems found on a sheet. Classic examples of the traditional bad love poetry of a young man. 🙂

Please, what would you have me dream of,
If you were mistress of all my dreams?
One with nature, a peaceful life,
Of mountains lakes and cool blue streams?
Would you have me dream: soft clouds, white
Dancing floating infinite blue?
Always changing, dancing in the light
Endless, countless variations.
Or would you hold me with your love?
Curled safe in the warmth of passions.
The rays of you heart about me,
Shielding my soul form cruel cold pains.
Drift afloat on a green-blue sea
Or gently rest a calm blue space,
An ethereal room imagined,
In these dreams I could find a place
If you could fill my sleep soothed mind,
With images: you by my side,
And our arms and minds intertwined.
Please what would you have me dream of,
If you were mistress of all my dreams?
All that I would wish to dream of
Is to open my eyes to you.

Typewritten (on my old apple IIC). This one almost has something going for it.

I awaken —> her face, eyes of
                 innocence
I sleep —> her warmth
         The union of body and spirit
                 in her,
The experience of being wrapped
         in living warmth
                 of love
                 of passion
This morning I awoke to a new beauty
This morn I awoke to true beauty
         A new feeling, explosive
                         zesty
                         giddy
                         gleeful
                         indomitable joy
         In her, —
I awoke.

The first of 2 poems found on a handwritten sheet.

Hear her
Her art,
Hear with ears;
Her heat
Her love.

He a Hart
He hears her art,
Hear from her heart.

Hear me
hear a heart,
“I love you.”

For L — obviously, labeled “In fun”

Sitting on purple seats bolted to a purple sea
Watching an olive figure against a cement & chalkboard wall.
I listen to humorous wisdom
          to imaginative delights
I thought of words I would like to write
          of words I can say.
I thought: thank-you
          it was more than just a thought — it was a feeling —
          it was a huge engulfing powerful wave of truth;
I knew I had to thank you
          in some way
          to let you know what you have done for me
          how much you have done for me.
Sitting on purple seats beside you — I knew
I knew: that you had set me free
          26 years of life; of struggle
          My mother taught me to be free
                    to be what I wanted, she opened doors
          The world taught me to control
                    to fit in; to keep the door chained
          26 years I strived to express myself
          To free my soul and fit in
          To be accepted, to strike out
                    To make my mark — But
          What if they didn’t like my mark
                    too small, too cliché, too black, too white
                    What then?
Sitting on a purple seat in a purple sea staring at wise olive green
It came to me — I knew — You had set me free
                    What I write is me — I like it.
                    What I draw is me — I made it.
                    What I say is me — it reflects me.
          It’s not for you — although I give it freely
          It’s not for them — although I’ll gladly share
          I do what I do because I want to do.
          I’ve always wanted to do.
                    I’ve yearned
                    I’ve ached
                    I’ve prayed & begged
          But I’ve always been afraid
Sitting on a purple reality staring at olive truthes
It came to me —> I must thank you
                    I must express the inexpressible joy
                    I must tell you the unspeakable truth
                    I have to share with you the unspoken feelings
Thank you: for setting me free
                    for believing in me
                    for the tender lies, the blinded truthes
                    for the smiles and glows, the caresses and touches
Because of you I am learning myself, discovering myself
                    defining & aligning myself.
I set pen to paper —> the first step
                    it matters less about success or failure
                    did Emily worry about rejection; I suppose
                    but see the result.
                    I always wanted to create, to express beauty
                    to share the love & humor in a cold & granite world
                    But I needed approval from that granite
                    I needed blood from that stone
The pain of your music, Beethoven’s genius, Barishnakov,
Michelangelo, Allison’s vice: these things made me ache,
made me yearn —> made me crawl down into cold clammy
                    stony damp caves of suffocation darkness and
                    inexorable doubt.
You have set me free, my feet remain in the
          cool dark mud still, pulling upwards slowly
          sliding back into the safe coolness
Back and Forth
          I set pen to paper: the elusive, impossible first step.
                    The next rung, the new hurdle, the challenge
          Still remains.
                    But I face it — I’ve started
                    Good or bad — happy or sad
                              it no longer matters — I’m free
I wish to climb that tall forbidden hill
          to pierce its mist shrouded slopes
          to emerge triumphant at its summit
          to see clearly ant to be one
I fear this fallacy, I see the contradiction inits success
          Yet I no longer suffer under the oppressive weight
          of that fear
                    I no longer labor under that overwhelming angst
          that paralyzes and leaves you to be sun dried and wind blown
You have set me free
          How: i can only ask
                    i do not know
Thank you — these thoughts slid into my mind, engulfed my reality
                    permeated my truth — redefined my self view
I have always been what I am,
Now I am closer to knowing what that is.

Written after a poetry reading by the great Al Purdy. Its is amazing to look back from 2019 and realize that while I have  torn down the walls many times, they reform again, and my efforts result only in slowly making them less of an obstacle.