Category Archives: Poems from old notebooks

Charlie the Boxer Returns to Town (poems from old notebooks; April 23, 1990)

This road from the jail
makes better walking than driving; Continue reading

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There is a moment in the evening by the sea (poems from old notebooks, April 2008)

There is a moment in the evening by the sea before all light has left, after the last red arc of sun has sunk, when only treetops float in stark relief against shards of sky like glass broken from old … Continue reading

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The Glasses and the Plates and the Silverware (poems from old notebooks [August? 1992])

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Untitled (poems from old notebooks, November 22, 2009)

Because your glance latches me to the frame of night to these posts and lintels of starlight sinking into earth and cracking stone I am a door shut against the days of reason against wisdom and why and consequence because … Continue reading

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Lists of Words We Have (poems from old notebooks, September 2008)

There are lists of words we have, implacable, stained at their edges with the dust of silk roads to the distant yellows of forgotten linen, the pale, dry stamens of saffron, or the patinas of old ivory cue balls, but … Continue reading

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A Crisping of Leaves (after before Nightfall) (poems from old notebooks, Shaken by Physics)

A Crisping of Leaves (after Before Nightfall) August. You awake with Death in your throat Laughing; his nicotine yellow beard shedding, Filling, like asbestos, the spaces Between everything. You awake with Death In your throat laughing and you say Fuck … Continue reading

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Mary Constance Cavanaugh (Just Like Doing Time) (poems from old notebooks, 2004? 2005?)

Another of my very occasional attempts to write a song.  A couple of different people have tried setting this one to music. Mary Constance Cavanaugh (Just Like Doing Time) Mary lives in King’s County Where you work with your hands … Continue reading

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untitled ([broken] poems from old notebooks, February 2002)

Forgive me, love, if my words are hard. They are hard because they come hard, Dug from the hidden places, the dark spaces, Where I’ve kept every savoured shard Of desire, hope, and truth in stasis. Forgive me, love, if … Continue reading

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Never the Twain (poems from old notebooks, November 2001)

You know Tom loved the lissome Becky               just the way wax loves the wick.               And you know his curiosity made him want to be               the star of his own funeral               even if it cost him a lick               (or ten) of … Continue reading

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Primrose Path, a video reading (poems from old notebooks, July 2012)

The Oxford dictionary says “Phrases primrose path the pursuit of pleasure, especially when it is seen to bring disastrous consequences: blithely unaware of his doom, he continued down his primrose path [with allusion to Shakespeare’s Hamlet i. iii. 50]” Primrose … Continue reading

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When it Rains, Boys (whisky’s the sun) (poems from old notebooks, 2004? 2005?)

Whisky! Whisky’s the nectar, boys, and whether you gentrify it by taking it neat from a short glass in small sips delicate as a hummingbird hovering in a garden of red flowers in lyric bloom on an August late afternoon, … Continue reading

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November (poems from old notebooks, 2002)

I’m beginning to wonder if I have an infinite number of poems buried in old notebooks. Which would be handy, as I can feel a haze of writing laziness forming around me. November A background rain of static, a radio … Continue reading

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Re: Sunbeams, Etc., from Letters to the Enemy; a hypochondrial correspondence ([broken] poems from old notebooks, 2005 – 2010)

This poem got lost in its own obstinate obscurity, and will never be finished. So…I guess it’s finished then. Re: Sunbeams, Etc., from Letters to the Enemy; a hypochondrial correspondence Dear Enemy, Things are well in hand. For example, today … Continue reading

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Watching Crows in Winter (poems from old notebooks, January 2011)

1 I watch the crows, and I wait, as they examine me from their pews of overhead wires and January’s bare branches, each restless, attentive head turning one dark eye and then the other on me. Beak after beak opens … Continue reading

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Turn My Head (poems from old notebooks, August 2004)

The house is empty. I am not standing, Forehead touching your forehead. Your hands Are not gently gripping my shirt, tugging. The sun is out, but you are not here to walk with. Today I will smoke too many cigarettes … Continue reading

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The Place of Skulls (poems from old notebooks, 1998 or ’99)

Can’t figure out exactly when I wrote this, though I can clearly recall smirking a lot while doing so. I’ve since pilfered at least one image from it to use variations of in other poems. Ghazal for Mary Magdalene is … Continue reading

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Built of Bone (poems from old notebooks, November 2002)

Midnight takes a turn. Moonlight so white it might be Built of bone. Nothing moves But dreams also (of screaming). Consider: He is considering The house and its place in time, Its duration in space, its editions And additions. He … Continue reading

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Gritty Bar Poem (poems from old notebooks, October 16, 2004)

The kids is starved, the wife’s knocked up, an I just barfed the last rum up. Look, the tide’s out, the quahogs thin, so shut yer mout an git to diggin. Oh fill yer boots, ya useless gits— we’re outta … Continue reading

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Lament for Lorca (poems from old notebooks, July 1999)

I recall writing this while reading a now-forgotten biography of Lorca in a Chapters store in Victoria, BC. Lament for Lorca Fuck Dali, who was born dead— his heart more bent than his clock— how long can one man’s death … Continue reading

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Do Not Rouse Me From My Rest (poems from old notebooks, July 28, 2007)

This could be a week of mostly old poems, as I’m struggling to make a sestina work. Bear with it. Do Not Rouse Me From My Rest Do not wake me now. In this dream I’m well-endowed with a brain … Continue reading

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