My Busy is Your Low

I greet the busy lines of tired eyes
Red fingers crisp from the tricked weather
Icy fences with cardinals losing themselves
The streets still full of dirtied snow
Tire tracks of few run through my life
Walk through the slush, lower your head
Absolutely nowhere to go where nobody knows you.

Eyes burn into my depressed hat
They all know my past too well here
I don’t know where to run
So that new iris’ can befall me
to get a new perspective
on crossword puzzles in the afternoon
(and familiar wet floor signs)

So you can walk this place blindfolded
Never mistaking a turn or tripping a bump
Everybody dreams of summer these days
Especially those kids downtown
The one’s sitting at Tim Horton’s or the art coffeehouse
Nobody is a stranger, they all have backpacks
All of their eyes are bloodshot

Eyes burn into my depressed hat
They all know my past too well here
I don’t know where to run
So that new iris’ can befall me
To get a new perspective
on fleeting kisses under lamp posts
(and defeated indie bands)

There is only two schools to choose from
Are you a Christian or a Catholic?
Their plates are left with crumbs
Sub-cultures leak down the sewers
Only one road leading in fatally
Where is the slush covered pathway?
Try to count all of the stir sticks in your mouth.

Eyes burn into my depressed hat
They all know my past too well here
I don’t know where to run
So that new iris’ can befall me
To get a new perspective
on minimum wage jobs
(and joints burning under the bridge)

a new perspective of over 5,000

if I see one more neighbour
I swear I’m going to burn down town hall.

Is This Necessary?

Today I have decided to do a blog post on some current events. I will be referring to the news coverage of Barack Obama, the newly just inaugurated President of the United States of America. This Friday, January 23rd, the front page of the Toronto Star played host to an article about Barack Obama and his “key victory”of being able to keep his BlackBerry.
Technology these days are booming, the average cost that Americans spend a day on it has amounted up to thousands upon thousands. Obama represents change in America, as well as the rest of the world, this everybody is aware of. Is it really necessary, however, to document his every breath on the front pages of all our newspapers? I am also speaking from a Canadian perspective so we are talking about foreign news (I cannot imagine what they are publishing in the U.S.A)! How important is it that the new President is the first to use email? Of course there is all of the National Security involved but does it not make Obama’s privacy and security at higher risk by publishing details about his BlackBerry and also “security enhancements”.
This is not front page news.
Neither is the report a few days ago concurring Barack Obama’s reluctance to wear a suit-jacket while sitting inside the oval office. Some people call this a disgrace and disrespectful to Presidential Traditions. Slavery was once a tradition, is it a disgrace that this tradition has been ousted? To me the jacket represented superiority and importance, Obama is trying to connect with his people and show them that they voted for a regular American citizen. Him no longer wearing this jacket is a tremendous idea…is it still front page worthy?
Definitely not.
there are more important things to focus on in the world today than the President’s liking towards certain technology and clothing preference. How about we North Americans and concentrate on more pressing issues.
This, is honestly pathetic.

On a side note: Honest Ed’s on Bathurst and Bloor Sts “Bring Back The Prices Reminiscent of The ‘Hungry 30’s. Items Priced 10cents to 25cents.” The general manager Russell Lazar has said; “Everywhere you hear people are depressed, worried and out of work. So you think, what can you do to make people happy?”So as Debra Black of the Toronto Star said he is bringing prices down to “Dirty Thirties-levels”. This is more front page news than Obama’s technological habits.

Source: Toronto Star, 23/01/09. Chris Sorensen, Debra Black.

Of School Supplies and Dreams

so i make a contraption out of a red pencil crayon
a paper clip bangs into its body on the glass
the dust marks push around it
draw me a picture of what the future will be
my eyes are blinded by candle light

I really hope we do go insane
just so that we can fold the binders
take the scissors to our thoughts
and sit happily staring at a stapler

we are sitting in a dark fridge
wearing buttons of mass destruction
here i crisscross and create a roman calender
you retaliate by pinning up the walls around us
cds will always end up cracking with baseball trophies

I really hope we do go insane
just so that we can fold the binders
take the scissors to our thoughts
and sit happily staring at a stapler

still this contraption holds us back
wavering before us a ripped hole puncher
once the picture finishes printing
nothing else will happen in the end
besides us sitting quietly…crazily…
dreaming of tearing down the walls
the ones you just pinned up

I really do hope we can insane someday…

Tree of Faith

Sauntered up to that tree earlier today
the one that invokes wonder in my soul
my perfect solid-self feels itself shatter
was there any glass in the first place?

fences erect and birds make their nests
people age like unused towels at the bar
children wave and pass on by with butterflies
now it seems almost impossible to find

A stranger walked along today
after watching from this window from so high (this is strange)
he took a hammer to those nests
a wrench to the fence and smirked with chocolate teeth

He turned and waved a hand down to me
cats sprawled out their paws before this all
the branches were burnt and weak
I was too scared to leap back on them again

This wasn’t the tree I used to know
He kissed all of its wounds
a fence erected, the birds nested
Standing on this plastic stump I felt feelings.

I saw shards in the grass below
that is when hands threw them away
instead steel replaced the broken glass
Deviated buildings fell behind smiles

Faintly blundering by the ticking stops
his hand cups my face
“i found this tree here,
I knew it belonged to someone

someone, somewhere, at sometime
so I thought maybe I should fix it
just like patching up destiny
you have the prettiest face

this reminds me of sunny nights
days dripped in sarcasm from the paint
it peeled away my hope
your gray eyes flood it back to me”

and so we will hope
the crack in this bark wains
insects scowl out below
our hands never part.

Some Thoughts

Life deepens for the veins of the flower
Without the will to survive
the struggle
no accomplishment will occur
(not one like this anyway)

I will dismantle the sweater
– the one on my cat
to feed the homeless man down the street
for a glimpse into the future
( of desktops and pop culture )

I cannot really dance
but I love swaying my feet about
Hey, I know – if you joined me
you could take my hand
(we would look dazzling)

The sidewalks were paved again today
they forgot to fill in a pothole outside my house
Thankfully you skipped along to stand in it
No more holes left
(just the ones on the soul of your feet)

When tomorrows ashes burn
they become the fire that is yesterday
Fueling the provoking of today
I may be foolish but I know somethings
(your hands are always colder than mine, so you cannot be a flame)

My arms are weak and fleshy
so is the shape of your body
I figure that if I put my arms around you…
it would fit just perfectly
(that crevice is the perfect size for my head)

I forgot how to count today
you giggled and did it for me
It was then that I embraced you
It is time you embrace your heart
(it will set you free).

“I may have said the sky is painted on, but…”

Green can represent this blanket
in turn this bed we lie in.
The spring painted with it
alone with our curiosity
Really it is you and your soul -
- that I see when I see green
Only because the sky can never be that colour.
It is limited to blue, purple, red and orange
It can never compare to the things you are.
The sky was paint on
You are increatable,

there is no artist that great
The one thing painted on you
was the disillusion that you have limits.
The sky gives flight to birds
You have awakened my soul.

And a masterpiece knows no end.

Giving Up, Giving In

I never thought that I’d be saying this;
with sun drops on my skin
the trees sight and sway
(they’ve built a walkway for me
on their backs).

Trickled through the morning dew
there’s a reflection of a face
demented by emotions left on rooftops
my mouth is dry with anticipation
taut naught to meddle.

I really never though it would come to this;
leaves burned to ashes
for some reason we inhale them
the snow looks so much more appealing
drifting by like forgotten cupboards
it is easier to nail flesh.

if life is really like a box of chocolates
too bad I cannot eat them
instead there are supplements for that
it is almost as artificial as daisies
the moonlight is creeping down our chimneys.

I really didn’t want it to come to this;
silence rapes our lips only to grasp
there is that fleeting chance here
that we will wear ourselves thing
Dangle our hopes, our happiness
Just for the other.
Am I really stronger
than brightly coloured windows?

I really never thought I’d be saying this;
Laying down here I am
all yours with no words or actions
Take me.
Now that wasn’t so hard…
but where has that feeling gone to?
Of accomplishment and of devotion?
Does it matter – now we’re in a picture
and you didn’t have to do anything…
to get us right here
( on our X’s where we belong )
I’ll keep my mouth shut,
and forget myself.

openyourmind

Checkered on this bed
don’t forget to wave hello
I lost my soul up there
forgot to bring it back
d
o
w
n
with me when I left my body
( all that ridiculous time ago )
the stars fell quickly – -
attached themselves to my feet
just so I could attain perfect disdainfulness.

they began to try too hard
plucking flowers with grief
now is the time to give up
give up yourself for the indulgence
an industrial, chemical experiment
slowly raves and turns
its now the deepest experience
of forgetting and letting GO!
Often bathed in golden light
the tower ticks restlessly
don’t forget that these flowers are green
(all the red bled from them once you touched them)
DO NOT PROCEED
-> only happiness lies forth
sounds good?
Still for this you have to give
the wave of your hand
the distinct in your voice
the travel of your feet
the past of your life
happiness is only given to those
who do not stop trying.

for what?
the one they love?
sounds good enough.
Wanna do it?
Retrieve my soul
*just to tether it back to my feet*.
Or should we leave it floating up there
so faraway?
The Commercialism has finally got to me…
“Just Do It.”

Answers

to be lost in the maze
a life confined by Constable
beside him Wordsworth
they stand taller than this.
pushing forward we dive down;
are we really this far gone?
if we lose everything in the end -
why have anything in the first place?

to dine with the devil
it pulls string threw our hands
tempting the serpent to come
to snatch our feeble tries
the remarks that only got us
to be a white scratch on a fire hydrant
when we breathe in deep cold air -
what will come out of us if not death?

to soar with our lovers
deafening our souls to no end
the consort of the Temeraire;
is it only they with answers
blaze up to the sky
with absolutely no matches in our hands
do we really find happiness -
when we find true love?

For the true pleasure of being
we collect what we will lose.
Every second since the day we’re born
all we are becoming is death.
The sacrifice of love is that
neither can ever stop trying harder.

A Socialists Revolution

Ahead of us lies a time
one that dances our eyes
to fire
Challenging the sanity in our heads
it seems as if we shall
be engulfed
by a secret growing fear
by the darkness that is Liberalism.
It feels as it did before
Heads hung low in shame
///if they raised them
the competition would begin.
take us away,
put out the flame
We live no longer a simple life
There is a growing realization that
w e .  h a v e . d o n e . w r o n g .
All these places have dreams of
westernization for death.
The paint on all the bricks
it peels menacingly
giving us a warning
One we will not heed.
This world is built on;
greed
pride
lust
envy
oh those deadly sins,
If we are all going to hell
who will be up there?
So he sit alone on his throne
There are stereotypes that
flow from ear-to-mouth
almost everything we have
a live with
Ideas seem to run short
eventually the artists will run out of inspiration.
When they come to correct knowledge
that they are just another number
(or maybe they will become inspire more)
Who am I to tell?
There is no reason you should trust me
- and find truth in these words
As just another number+
+influenced by them
maybe speaking for them
But I sit gasping for air
to rise above the dirt
(of the falling anthill)
If you wish to listen
to believe
ignore the words in between
I am in fear
that the best days have passed
We are on a slippery slope
of our own doing.
So all I really have to say is;

Ahead of us lies a time…