Sadness.    We all need to

        experience the

        sadness, from

        seeing what

        we have


        Horrible monsters

        Savage satans

        Life destroyers

        Absurd mask wearing

        Twirling, wheeling


The Hallowe’en green candle

has a long, tall flame

That is suiting to this sacred time of moon

It hides behind the porcelain goose

Who sits beside my mother’s old burgundy with little blue flowers indian cotton skirt

That usually covers this computer.

In front of the goose is a plastic cottage water cup

in line with a round glass vase

who holds some dried up and dead lilacs and unknown pretty pinks

picked last week, in a different, yet equally fulfilling time

Behind them all sits Jenny’s baby’s bunny.  It’s a theme, and I couldn’t resist.

His ear tag says $10.69” (maybe to the baby it will be a girl?)

but I feel he’s precious like gold.

Perhaps my gift to the kid will end up being its favourite.

Poor Jen, everyone must be feeling so possessive over this kid.

I’m pretty glad it’s not me having the first kid for the next generation

It’s a big task to have five family’s worth (Uncle Tom’s, Norah’s, our immediate, Mary’s, Ann’s) of people wanting to share a piece of the pie.

The candle is reminding me that poems are supposed to be magical and strange

This one is real, am I deranged?


Motorcycles on sidewalks

Centuries of visitors climbing sacred stairways

Caged treasures of moving marble

A striking lack of living greenery.

Astride the mountain

Silent whispers of forgotten worshippers

Lost idols, murdered kings

Those same Gods look down from clouds,

as beautiful as yesteryear

Crying tears of corrosion that we

honour them only in

moments of reverie or vacations.

Sliding surely into a concrete coffin

Athena grinds her heel in Zeus’ ear

Hera stares hopelessly into her fogged-up mirror

Dionysus lies comotose – overdosed on crack cocaine

Hermes is gone berserk with tidings of

agnosticism and apathy

Aphrodite dances to country and western

at your local strip tease pub

And Poseidon lies choking

on oil, caught in a driftnet

Hades, happy that Persephone cares

less each year to rise above,

is mounting towards usurption

of his younger brother’s domain

Ares and Diana are playing backgammon on Delos

Eros is run out of arrows

Demeter is suicidal from watching

her Mother’s slow death of cancer

And Zeus is just fucking old.


Ministerial wanderings

Over dark blue seas

Under midnight blue heavens

Beyond dreams impossible to recall

Forgetting husbands, homes, churchgroups, children

The solitary white wolf woman

Buying antiques with pennies

Eating pastries with pleasure

Receiving insults, invitations, gestures, comrades

In a war of insubstantiality

She swills back another pint and cries homeless

Another march, twirl under

God-induced sunset, her silent thoughts spell freedom.

The Peacock

She is the only bird who, in adulthood, remembers where she came from.

And how can she forget? The egg shape is imprinted on every glorious tail feather.

her home is a manicured garden

her shade comes form palm trees, bouganvillia, fountains.

For a bed she reclines in the lap of a ceramic ponds; the night shade queen over minigolf seven-hole.

Yet alas, the poor darling is surrounded by so much ugliness.  Weinerschnitzel cellulose is bared before her eyes shamelessly, wrinkled, puckered flesh bakes and boils in her sacred sunlight.  And those of brown-skin bodies, dirt and clad in blue overalls; these she cares not to look upon – all are below her precise, pristine perfection.

In sweet isolation, sacrosanct ruler over all the garden – only the heads of the cats of mank may speak with her  – and those only to keep her informed of changes in the weather and the clime.

And a squat man, dirt and blue, with an eye looking forever into the sky asks her “Good-day my dear, may I have a word with you?” As with so many other disrespectful advances she primps and poses, quite quickly, away from the impurity of his presence.  Yet he follows and follows and soon he speaks again.
“I would only like to ask you, my queen, if you truly know what you are.”  Perhaps it was that he kept a polite distance, or it was in the deep bow with which he prefaced the question, but more likely due to the trick of the upturned eye – just this once she deigned to stop and speak.

“Slimy slugs and dirty bugs, such as yourself are my fodder.  The living fat of oversized maggots are testimoy to my height in the heirarchy of beings.  Of all birds only I am feared by the cats of mank.  My beauty suprasses that of all the flower and butterflies.  I am a temple of creation – bearing as testimony the mark of the Egg.  Iam the rightful Queen of the Garden of Paradise.”

“It is true, most gracious lover of thyself, what you have seen through your eyes of your station.  But let me tell you what is seen by other then your charming self.  To the crisping slugs you are testimony to own material wealth, as dead as the panda upon which you sleep.  To the cats of mank you are a trial to be endured until that time, when weakness and age will make you a suitable feast.  To the garden you are source of the odd bit of nourishment in the form of your waste.  To us dirty blues you are a Satan – a detested symbol of the manifest sin before Allah – vanity.  And every mark upon thy feathers is an eye through which another views you other than you see yourself.”

Under the evening’s midnight blue ceiling the poor dear, cradled in her panda lap, plucked every last one of her spying feathers, and became another ostrich.


Manky cats; manky men; manky towles, mank.

Kif; Kif pipe; loadin’ it up; 1 puff each; cleaning it out.

Tide in a box; makeshift clothesline; choses perdu

Cafe o lait; 2 lumps, 3 lumps; berber whisky; mint tea.

Kasbahs; fallen rocks; hidden holes; guardians; desert plains,

Oasis; palmeries; lush garden; almond flowers; fertility rivers

Oranges; dates; dates; couscous; Ramadan Sweeties; Halila; harira.

Olives; taste-testing; olives & bread; salad with olives

Hello; speak eenglish; how are you;

Les gazelles; Aisha; Fatima; Canadiennes!

Whitewax candles; Taggers; desert rainbow

Silver trumpets; desert fox; gellabas; head wraps

Five dirham feasts; one dirham stinkarettes;

Goods; bads; happies; sads; jumping down a mountain dune

Allafou; mch’Allah; bsmAllah; Allah

Crescent moon; Ramadan days; Ramadan nights

Mebrouk’s maggots; invisible man; one-eyed king.

Black-bedraped Berber women with babies up their sleeves

Squat toilet holes; pink party paper butt-wipes.

Crying camels; careening buses; crowded taxis

Spirals on bicycles; balcony views; Medina mazes

Crossed eyes; bent legs; blind; begging

Roman ruins; goats; goatlings; Mimi

Propane cooker; 35 spices; couscous done right

Henna; rose water; Hammam washings

24 and there’s so much more; shitty beer; mystery cake

Momentary hand holds; instant friendships;

Maroccan carpets, patterns,