Witnessing For Mary

Your face is hooded by the local police
not Guantanamo this hood is a local one
after they bang your head of the cruiser
take you the local Courtenay detachment
put in in solitary confinement without
medical attention or even an pain pill
for the splitting head wound that bleeds
Who are these cruel police constables
in our midst sweet smiling uniformed
all squeaky clean well trained louts
It only takes a few bad apples now
to make the suffering of others real
You should be at the hospital getting
medical attention after that old man
knocked you out and then claimed you
were robbing his house he was free
while you suffered twenty four hours
abused by St Joes's hospital staff
you even accused you of being HIV
racism is alive and well in Comox
beaten and beaten more by the RCMP
Something has to be done about this

Sunday 31st July 2011

I dissolve in order to catalyse,
Releasing energy.
I seal the matrix of self-generation
With the spectral tone of liberation.
I am guided by my own power doubled.

so say the dream spell oracle now
I am the last of my generation

Four Days short of Sixty

No it is not possible to have lived this long
Sixty years a life times of many yesterdays
I call Ann in Ireland she turned sixty today
she said not to worry it is just another day
nothing to fear and then remembered that we
tortured Boyd Patterson she said we threw him
in the snow after tossing his school bag away
I have no memory of such an act she is troubled
I remind her of when we collided on our bikes
and I flew over the handlebars into the ditch
Ruby Grahams brought me medicine in a glass
a small lucozade that made me right as rain
I do not want to have to turn another year
in fact I think I will change my birthday
In fact I am only turning six years old yes
I am only six years old in that galactic time

Locked keys in car

You know that moment when you discover
you do not have keys to open car door
you spot them in the ignition waiting
that terrible moment that defines you
in your ability to sweat the small stuff
and no one uses those metal coat hangers
anymore the ones that can do the job right
instead you find only useless plastic ones
flimsy ones with no strong back metal bone
until you search high and low for the one
that is hiding in some back kitchen room
the one the Gods of locked doors hide
Today I wrestled with my own impatience
my own patience and my own frustrations
bending and pulling on the inside door
missing the handle by at least eighty
attempts until I cry and then scream
out loud at this hunk of hot metal
it took me an hour and a ten minutes
and it taught me that I am patient

Denman Island Writers and Readers Festival

I read eleven poems in public
though my knees were knocking
I listened as each word flowed
of the page in and out of mouth
like water flowing down a stream
small sweet tumbling round words

Canada

I asked the man from the CBC
to tell me about the essence
of this great country Canada
he shook his head and said
the country cannot be one
it is too big he said indeed
and it does not have to have
one voice at all but many
I asked why Canada was not
giving back to her people
the monies from the resources
not like Norway that has a
savings account for everyone
he shook his head and said
it is in the history now
from the fur trade to trees
Canada is a country of thieves
Until her people all wake up
and say this is our country
our resources and you greedy
politicians better stop it

Coal

Coal is the liver of the earth
distilling the water we drink
Coal is the liver of the earth
do not get your mother mad now
if we do she might throw us out
and then where would be floating
like goldfish in a polluted pond
Coal is the liver of the earth
but we just don't get it do we
we think only about our lives
not about her who keeps us alive
Coal is the liver of the earth
Leave it in the ground to be safe

Peace

Peace peace peace is possible
practice justice to weave peace
into the fibers of your being
a man with a gun is bringing war
a man with a talking stick peace
some people say that war is life
but those you have lived it daily
know war is raw red blood raw
where dreams are haunted forever
If I had a bell I would ring it
If I had a sing I would sing it
Peace is slow loving heart beat
If John Lennon can imagine we can
If the ministry of war became the
ministry of peace we could recruit
peace makers peace walkers to go
into places of turmoil and help
settle conflicts by communications

Mr. Wes Piercy

Massey Ferguson tractor well worn from years of work and
greased a thousand times to keep her going the seat is
long gone replaced by a faded fancy cushion in elegance
You know that tractor like the back of your hand indeed
You know every step of this land that you have toiled

Opening the packet of broccoli seeds with planting stick
the one your grandfather used his fingerprints now yours
the one that keeps you connected to them and to this land
Your getting on now but never lost your blue eye twinkle
Of all the men here you seem the most contented at home



I come home to myself when I am standing in your field
with the soft warm south wind blowing across the face
I want to linger here all day for only to remember yesterday
When I was as contented as you seem to be at home

Your getting on now and when you visit the graveyard to
pay respects to your mother your resting relations you
wonder if your coming or going and how soon you will
resting your tired bones in that cool earth you so love
where you will become a particle of all that is and will be