Halifax

       Halifax was a personal Mecca for the three of us. Though I guess the dog doesn't know much about geography. She does like the smells. Grails and comforts, end states and deep roots: we're not sure what is to come but it all looks good for now.
       A small amount of friends in a small city feels like a huge amount of friends in a big one. This place of quickly traversable terrain opens up its concrete easily. We loved here first, before we knew each other through pacific passages and the longest of train rides.
       We crossed a continent to get here through pennilessness and cancer.

We expect it to be home.

Divine Infinity

Divine Inifinity

These mortal sketches of God
portray dusty shadows.
What infinitude could be embodied
in the shape of a man?
Jesus, I suppose.
But earth-Jesus was formed in the dust;
what figs deserve wrath?

We may see the clear sky
and name it God
just as we may see dust
and claim that it exists.

As resident and commander of everything
He appears in every heart and toenail.

Let us call Her anything
and speak partial truth.

Let us call Him everything
and speak partial truth.

Nothing contains energy
because there is no such thing
as nothing.

Let us call Him nothing
and speak of the infinitude of Her power

The silence of the dead
speaks more fluently
than the gibberish of youth.

Thunder Hammers and Rebirth
play magical in our eyes
showing little of divinity.
Those who confess a clear vision
of the immeasurable universe
are liars and psychopaths.

What arrogance
this attempt at God-knowledge
to repeat the brilliance of Her infinity
to render the kindness of His time.
What combination of mortality could speak like God?

MGB

Carving Bliss

Carving Bliss

Little crumbs, the perfect words never said.
Bliss carves text, if the meaning is right.

How impermanent are the tappings we make?
Better to reave our breath into stone.

Delicate thoughts shatter against the canvas
crying out; fleeting and beautiful.

MGB

Favoured Love

Tended Love

The source of our love
is buried in our bones.

How much of us
will become a menagerie of favours?

Tiny gift-actions endearing
our love, tangling it through our hair
and our habits.

Each kiss, eventually repaid.

I wake to wash the cutlery
before you get home.

Money and monotony
are our only enemies. 

You quietly wash the whites
as I sleep through the morning.

Let us give like this,
returning and returning,
tangling and tangling,
So that if we forget
of bones and blood
nothing
could untie
our inelegant knots.

MGB

The Beast

The Beast that Jack Killed

Peter's arm hung tattered,
sickly slapping
like a wet blanket.

They'd mourned a father
in his piece of nature
but mountains reject
such ghosts.

Jack screamed and shot,
9 to go.

The massive hide turned from Peter
towards the pain.

Peter stumbled.

Jack told it to die
and shot
and shot,
7 to go.

The paws clawed
earth and raged towards

Peter closed his eyes.

Jack cursed and shot
and shot
and shot
4 to go.

It stopped bewildered
as it bled
and bled.

Peter bled into the dirt

Jack ran,
the snarls followed
with a shaking movement.

It roared and swiped
Jack fell and shot and shot
exploding its lolling eyes.

No shots to go.

Peter was dead

And Jack wept
as the beast's lungs
heaved and tumbled.

Bits of fur and shrapnel littered the ground.

Jack picked up Peter
and carried his bones home.

MGB

A Cybernetic Graveyard

Perhaps the title of the book could be The Cybernetic Graveyard?

What book you ask? Well one that I might write one day. Lots of doom saying and sci-fi consumption has got my brain glued to the future. I get pretty frustrated thinking about the potential we have and how long it will take to reach it. Like tidal energy: Why the shit have we not figured this out yet? Until the moon blows up, lets hope this doesn't happen, tidal energy would be an incredible solution to our energy problems. For a moment lets just think about the tides and how they're pretty damn constant.

But anyways. People seem to long for the end of the world. And that is pretty messed up. We would way rather everything just blow up and restart in some weird tribal system than fix our broken world. That is messed up, for serious. So a lot of my poems will be about that.

But also I've an idea for a way way distant future where humans are on a planet and have lost most of their tech. Except there are some rare heirlooms that have been passed down from the original settlers. The knowledge to reproduce the settler's tech is suppressed by an unknown entity. So tech is precious.
I also want to tell a story where an everyday guy is the protagonist and his friend is a hero on the quest. So mostly we're hanging out with Jack the baker but the quest he is on is the Prince's quest. Maybe the prince has a dog, I don't know, now I'm just spit balling.

Anyways, I started writing this story future, baker story out as prose and then realized what I'd written was terrible. And then I remembered that I like writing poetry. So I decided to write it as a series of poems instead. Which is still a new thing for me. Not many of my poems have been narrative ones. So anyways. The poem The Prince is the first entry and probably a little spoilerific, so I don't think I'd have it at the beginning.

Anyways the next posts will be the beginning (I think) of The Cybernetic Graveyard.

The Mended

The Mended

Mother never knew

Lakeside or seaside.

The birds trilled.

Jerusalem sank.

I would kiss your archetypal self
but the masks taste like plastic.

Bandages, hidden wound scars.

What pear prickles if
it is the beginning of things?

Spark dark light roar.

Father knew it happened.

Which sons and daughters
were the first to sing of ice?

MGB