random poem

Breath, Mind and Tongue

Words undone

Unbound spewed forth & rebound
To ears

Give forth of breath life

Give forth of love and strife

All wrapped up pretty with a bow

Given as a gift to

random strangers
your dearest foe
your greatest love

A gift the animals envy

Your breath and tongue.

music memories

You know when you hear a song it brings back memories? Memories of a time or place or of a person, well what else are memories made of… To the point then. When I hear Eric Clapton my father springs almost instantaneously to mind. Memories of hearing that music in his workshop or just around the house. I remember the smell of potatoes cooking in a small kitchen, myself and my sister are running around doing who knows what. I remember 50 watt lighting and the shades drawn. In my mind its always just before dinner and we’re making the last preparations before eating; my sis and I are setting the table, I’m still grumbling about having to peel the potatoes again and my father is finishing up at the stove. Music is an amazing conduit for emotion-memory. A certain sound will remind you of a feeling and a person attached to it, it makes you angry or sad, makes you happy or nostalgic; some music is just air, stuff that has no attached emotion, no point of reference no shared experience between you and the writer, just blah. I get a lot of my musical tastes from growing up, what my friends listened to, what my folks listened to… Music has to have a feeling, it can’t just be empty time fillers.
so in conclusion fuck elevator music and thanks pops.

2of2 unfinished. Same topic

One day I’ll meet a prickly one like me
We’ll poke each-other relentlessly
With quills and barbs
We’ll aim for hearts
But in the end we’ll be stuck

Sometimes it’s hard for Pricklys to hug.

1of2 unfinished. Same topic

I am a Porcupine
a Prickly pear
Did not mean to be
But its for my safety

First I built walls
But I couldn’t get out
I lived in a glass house
It broke
I ran to the Hills
I just got lost

So better to be Prickly                            Than remote
People still get Close
Then they don’t

Being a porcupine is easier
I can get close
W/out touch or contacting
I can insulate w/out Disappearing

scattered thoughts on talk

Blah Blah Blah, Ha Ha Ha its all in the way
you speak.

Dry tones, humourus tones
Happy sad mad glad
not happy but not sad, indifferent,
euphoric.

How I shape my mouth to the words I speak
I give my words a meaning and a life when I
speak them, Imbue them
with power or just plainness.

These are scattered thoughts and thought processees about speech and speech patterns.

Vocal chords, lungs, lips, tongue, soft pallet hard pallet,
Teeth.
Soul.

Speech is given life, words are bought to life
Brought to bear on the issues at hand.
Words are given a soul, a borrowed soul;
It came from the speaker.

I Cant remember… at the moment

There is a memory I have, I can’t recall at the moment, but I’m not entirely sure it’s mine. I was replaying it in my mind a while ago and while I was I thought to myself, ‘what is this? It can’t be mine, I don’t remember that.’ It was very vivid, even if I can’t recall it now, maybe latter. It comes to me at random times, I’ll be sitting there and this memory will assault me, just not now. No memory ever comes on demand it seems, they have their own agenda. It’s like trying to catch motes of light reflecting dust. Memories… They just float like bits of brightly colored flotsam and jetsam; they sway-seesaw to the ground like autum leaves. Beautifully Uncatchable.