New poem...

 

Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes

 

I didn’t know why, and I languished

in my ignorance watching all those videos

of my old hometown people in the early

and late autumn, with most in the winter

of their lives, reminiscing for the historical

archive on their lives in my old hometown

in Northwestern Ontario, christened in fiction

after the patron saint of hopeless causes,

remembering this place and that business,

people come and gone, some memories fresh

as yesterday and others nearly forgotten,

but everyone’s life so forgettably ordinary

that a heavy sadness possessed me for the

terrifying burden that they all bore for

simply being who they were.

 

Wednesday, September 27, 2023

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "The Hamlet Question Today"

 

 

The Hamlet Question Today

 

“To be or not to be, that is the question,”

said Prince Hamlet, Shakespeare’s most

conflicted character, who speaks for every

soul condemned to choose which life

to live: “to suffer the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune,” or stand tall

and “take arms against a Sea of troubles,

and by opposing end them?” Sad, but true;

we all are called to the Hamlet question

today; but what to do? Where to go? Who

to seek for solace in woke times like these

when even our gender is in question? That’s

what the Hamlet question beckons today,

and no one knows what to do. Torn betwixt

the being and non-being or our paradoxical

nature, we do nothing. “Thus conscience

does make cowards of us all.”

 

Sunday September 17, 2023

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "The Lady Who Loves to Gossip"

 

The Lady Who Loves to Gossip

 

Twenty-five years ago, a little old day, Alice

was her name, told me about her co-worker

at the Domtar office, a cute young lady fresh

out of high school, who loved to gossip. Every

morning when she went to work, she would

say to Alice, “Have you heard any new gossip?”

as though the salvation of her soul depended

upon the latest scandal. Alice died, and Brenda,

that was the young gossip’s name, got married;

but her much older husband was not a very nice

man. He drank and beat his wife and screwed

around on her, almost as though all of that juicy

gossip that Brenda liked to talk about with Alice

had come back to haunt her. Brenda finally got

divorced and now lives with a much younger

man, but her son turned out to be like his father

and is in and out of jail; and her daughter, who’s

only twenty-three, got divorced for the second

time. Brenda is still working for Domtar, but not

one day goes by at the office that she does not

ask her co-workers the same question she used

to ask Alice every morning twenty-five years

ago, “Have you heard any new gossip?”

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

New Poem: "The Good Psychologist"

 

 

The Good Psychologist

 

Oh, what a stink in our sink today! But

the Good Psychologist has pulled the plug,

and our putrid sink is beginning to drain;

but he’s already paying the price with public

shaming for his Olympian defiance of gender

dalliance. Did JBP know what he was doing,

this steak-eating Jeremiah called by Life,

God, the Universe, and the implacable Lords

of Karma to drain the woke waters of these

catastrophically inane times?

 

Friday, September 1, 2023

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: `"The Man Who Loves to Talk"

 

The Man Who Loves to Talk

 

I saw a man the other day walking his chest;

his wife held the dog by the leash. and he held

his stomach in as they walked down Main

Street on their way to the marina. He just turned

forty, and if he chose, he could retire and live off

his investments; but he loves the service business

that his father passed on to him. He has two,

three employees, depending upon how busy they

are, who do all the work; he gets the jobs and

frequents the coffee shops, because he likes to hear

himself talk. He’s a very bright man whose mind

clamps onto details like a vice, and now that he’s

on the Internet his mind is about to explode with

all the information, and it’s impossible to converse

with him because he never stops talking, as though

he’s driven by a demon to fill a bottomless hole

with everything that he knows.

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000