Poetry
Daddy isn't perfect Untitled blue wood secrets
It's hard to watch our heroes fall
Even harder when they fall so far
Daddy isn't perfect
He loves you
He misses you
But he's not the man you thought you knew
He's tried his best to hide his past
But sometimes secrets just can't last
Daddy tried to shelter you
But his best laid plans have gone askew
Now all that's left for you to do
Is defend his name or see the truth
The walls are bare, worn with age
reminding us of the time that’s passed
it’s been so long since we stood in this room
the tall ceiling giving the impression
that love goes on forever
back then we believed it
we were young
now we look in silence
knowing to believe in nothing
twenty years have taught us a great deal
about love and about each other
the empty dome no longer seems full of promises
but muggy air, contained for too long
the walls are mouldy
their sparkles have gone grey
and all around us
phantoms of dreams appear
then disappear
we’ve rewound
and the past twenty years
are playing on fast-forward
as the end approaches
we don’t look at each other
there’s no need to
there’s a silent agreement between us
as we step out the back door
and turn down two separate paths
people wonder
why they made the bus stops
clear
I remember the days
standing there
in high school
hiding behind the blue wood
at lunch
you doing drugs
me watching
wondering
what’d happen
if we got caught
I got my high that way
from the fear
you got yours from the drug
we never did get caught
people ask
what was wrong with the bus stops
the way they were
but I know
they were too good
at keeping secrets
the innocence of childhood
when I was seven
I'd put on mother's dresses
and her jewels
stand in front of the mirror
pulling my hair back with my hands
pretending I was a princess
waiting for prince charming to arrive
on his gleaming white gelding
and whisk me away
to the land of happy ever afters
now
I wear blue jeans and a skimpy shirt
stand in front of the mirror
applying lipstick and mascara
waiting for my unprince to arrive
on his motorbike
so we can whip across town
for another quick fuck
all the while
dreaming about virginity
and the innocence of childhood
Tragedy
My sister sits in the back seat,
complaining that she didn't get her
morning coffee at Tim Hortons today.
"It's a tragedy," she says.
Down the street
a boy, eighteen years of age,
is hit by a transit bus;
he dies immediately.
The newspaper calls it a
tragedy.
opposite case scenario
it's the mirror image
of déjà vu:
opposite case scenario.
the way things were
are the way they are,
but it wasn't always so:
opposite case scenario.
you tell me you wanna talk...
you tell me you wanna talk
but what's there left to say?
it seems like so long
since the words all turned to silence
since we hated
so long we've been ignoring
as though our cold stares will heal our problems
as though I don't still love you
as though you don't still love me
you tell me you wanna talk
but what's there left to say?
untitled
speckled jewels scatter the sky
and the water quietly whispers
the ocean looks like the end of the earth
and sounds like a dog lapping up its drink
the moonlight creates a path
on which I'm sure I can see (imagine)
færies dancing
I wade out into the water
along my moonlit path
searching for the færie realm
instead the water welcomes me kindly (too kindly)
and I silently slip into its eternal black pit (my death)
forever lost (forgotten)
one with the quiet whispers of the waves
(the nearly inaudible screams of the dead)
a blink in time
the newly cleaned kitchen table sparkles like gold
tear stained my eyes focus on the last petal of our precious rose
before it falls silently to the ground
"he loves me not"
as it drifts down time surrenders
once again I hold you in my arms
your sweet lips kiss my sour ones
the smell of your cologne fills the air
your chestnut hair tickles my skin
"stop it" i giggle
it's over
all i see is one last petal