bleeker street

where no parades were held

no flags were drawn at half-mast

for your first lady

your matriarch

salute only paid in hush tones

carried by the wind

from sherbourne

and wellesley

and along dimmed halls

of fudger house

life stories

told by those

the remnants of a

commonwealth long gone

so bleeker street

where no 21 guns blast

and no live to air in memoriam

broadcast

just a somber stream

of people

entering 55

carrying the wind

to speak softly

and smile

amidst the tears

smiles for a life lived

tears for a shade lost

a tree grew on bleeker

for many seasons

and for this reason

the wind carries

from the south-east

parliament

and regent park

pay their peace

passengers on

the same streetcar

of desire

the 506 passes by

to play

symbolic

much like the day

it fades away

into the night

as a lone figure

stumbles through

cabbagetown

a loyal servant

to the crown

removed

from his days

in the kingdom

weary but wiser

reminiscent of

the houses of aberdeen

ontario

winchester

and rose

they pause

as the wind howls

and blows

a lamp

flickers out

the men on the corner

have finished

their stout

they take muted steps home

as the city lights

shine upon the throne

the queen is dead

long live the queen

changes

love

a thug

friends

strangers

seasons

reasons

layouts

payouts

stages

webpages

big box poetic... the intro

2010... old out. new in.

big box poetic is a series of writings i'm working that cover a range of things personal and particular to me whilst interwined with hints of pursuits and passions from my profession and my past... or something like that.

big box poetic
the anti-mixed use plan
with mechanisms equipped for
storage and release of big thoughts
big boxes chase the sun west
a place to rest regroup re-up
retouch a sketch of my soul n heart
photo shopped for promotional purposes
as i shop photos of a previous existence
on the options market
looking for leverage amidst buyers targets
tryin to sell in winter
what i couldn't drop in summer
even tho both seasons be the same
the game told me all season radials
but sold me
static airtime on CB radio
left me assessing checks n balances
but balance hasn't existed
since weight was placed
onto a ship sinking
under the stress of relating
time spent now amounts to something
fading
i'm left contemplating
public consultation
along the avenue
begging for change
but accepting of cash or credit
sometimes i think
just dead it
deal with the debts
in progressive steps
reflect and limit
the waxing poetic
on nostalgic sets
focus on the intersection
and community connects
stage 1 the concept plan
of big box poetic

here

this is where
midtown meets
paris st. germain
where rain
meets earth
where city
sound and colour
intersect
a disciple
of the call for
changes of scenery
the path to
righteousness
is beset with
evil men
and maybe
just maybe
all i need is
better set design
a recognition
of hue and tints
and
learning how
to find solace in
the shadows
my shadow
its another
late night
and there's no
moonlight to
reflect in
this is where
i say nothing
and let
everything else
speak for me
this is where
i see so much
but begin
come to terms
with what could be
dwindling vision
and declining
hand eye coordination
in need of adjusting
my approach
like jordan did
to get thru detroit
while i get thru
agendaless
mid-afternoons
avoiding thoughts
of the soon after
because soon after
is a chapter written
but not in the
editing stage
held up on a shelf
in between
production
and proclivities
as aforementioned
the absence of
moonlight
to reflect in
leave it to life
to keep class in
session
with patience
and prevailing winds
comes reflection

umi

old but crisp, like my blue jay fitted. a sense of warmth, like my mood.

if they could
hear what
umi said
I’m sure they
would want to run
in the streets
with me
and the children
and shine light
shine it bright
teach the children
reach the children
so the world could see.

sundays in st. lawrence

b-side to a
bluenote imprint
as notes blew
through
a soft summer breeze
imprint of hand on hip
and cheek on chin
cheslea, harlem and
st. lawrence
intersect here
warhol said
we all get 15
so let's milk
the next 14
in crooked streetlight
and stained
glass warehouse window
smile for the camera
hold that pose
we can
reprise roles
ciao manhattan
this
is
happenstance
urban chic and
urban cool
pimping the
stay in school
message
in advance
of the
back to school
glossy tabloid
overexposures
and exposed
brick
an elegance
amongst
the simplicity
and the energy
even though
the tank
is stuck on
e.
the agency
says chemistry
should render
a full page spread
a succesful exercise
of alchemy

stretch (the morning)

smokestacks
and sunlight
set the foundation
for a
warm side
and a reason
to set aside
the alarm
and the day's plans
for a minute or two
longer
signs of a night
well spent
rhythm and blues
to match the hues
of the sky
its time
to make it
happen

once...

the hurt stole
the show
with its
jeykll-hyde
performance
award winning
an encore was worthy


twice...

the warmth and
the levitation
so spiritual
a shaman couldn't
conjure it
with charms
and the like

thrice...

arrival
acceptance
arise.
looks like its gonna be a good day today