'IS IT JUST ME-DONTCHA EVER WONDER?"

                              “Red Carpet”

The Jennifer’s, the Lindsay’s,

The Angelina’s andHalle’s, too

And, of course, the zoom;

How many ample-chests&rears

In designer dresses, can walk the carpet

And fit into just one room?

Admire my body, all- Look at meLook at me, adore me

All My body parts and dress-

And don’t consider for a moment

How on the inside I’m a freakin’ mess!

Nicely-shaped bums; here, I’ll stick mine out, now, just so

A few augmented breasts…

Capped teeth just a-glistening, you know

In the worst and best, no doubt.

So…how does it feel, the empty souls?

Deep down inside, there in your heart

To know right now, here on the carpet,

It’s about your body, and not your art?

Left boob, there, it shows some slippage.., Oh!

Could there be a “Nipple-Slip”?? If canapés

and o  d’oeuvres run low..?

Then the cameras simply turn-

Ah!- a nipple- titty- show!  (Beijing, fall, 2013)

"The Trouble with Being Ernest?"

  When the Ideas Stopped”(on seeing docu of tour groups going through

Hemingway’s house in Cuba..)

 

Like Hemingway, they all seem to know,

So, as the sun rises every day, they crow…

But unlike ‘Papa’ with loaded gun on the desk,

They are happy in life and first puff up their chests:

Happy and proud to see that orange glow there, the sun,

To breathe in the air,  but not him, this day, with his gun;

 

 This is the desk where he sat most days  to write and have his Cuban

And where he stopped crowing, blood on the page and blood on the pen-

Where the ideas Stopped coming, right there and then!            .(fall 2013,Beijing)-just one small catch-it wasn't in Cuba but the house in Ketchum, Idaho where the man known for his hard, lean athletic prose-New York Times, blew his brains out... following acertain shall we say, morbid family tradition...

 

                                                    “In Defense of Doggerel”

                                    Come now, it’s all not THAt Bad

                             Much more than mere limerick;

                               Sure, so it’s not Donne, Marlow, or the Bard-

                              But ..so much more than greeting cards.

                           For every ‘pervert’ out there…

                           To balance, there’s a prude:

                         The one who laughs at bawdy,and the   one who winces at the rude;

                         Some hear a fart and crease their faces so in disgust,

                         While others turn a deaf ear, say,”If you must,  you must.”  (June24, 2013, Beijing)K.P.

SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF! You better, you bet!

                                            “I Sweat the Small Stuff!”

                            Oh- Diddle-diddle, Hey!

                           What’s our’ Net’ serving up, today?

                          Let’s have a look, let’s just see…

                        There’s sheep-eating plants and the new trend of  Eyeball-licking in Japan,

                        Two less-than-gracious tennis stars trash-talking before their slam;

                        You bet, I sweat the small stuff, if only just a little-

                       Like yesterday, when I aimed for ground, but my chin it  gotthe spittle.

                       Today, incontinence struck again, just after that first pee,

                         Had to wash, towel off and change, but these small things, they won’t defeat me-

                       And even then, another roach, it ran across the floor, ha(!) just to greet me.

                        The universe, itself, and each in ourselves..

                        Is filled with gazillion of microscopic cells;

                         True, some of them helpful, and some of them bad,

                           But we must attend to them all, my friends

                            Whether happy or sad.                         (June23,2013, Beijing)

                    More men died in the American Civil War from infections

                    Than ever from outright wounds caused by mini-ball, canon-shot, or bayonette!   

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE THE FALL.... apple, anyone?

, wild         “At the Soiree”

At the party, better-connected than ever before…(?ha)

But “hamartia” and “hubris” might as well be

On the table by the chicken wings, and serving as dips

When our’Net’ shows only the “frocks that rock”, and those latest, wild “nip-slips”

We record and read history, but I still must ask the proverbial why

When we make planes that go faster, and cruise-ships that touch the sky

So why spend so much time…if we’re never to learn-

Or as the icecaps they continue to melt, is just our turn to burn..?    (June18,2013, Beijing)

"Are There Clues?"

Before the spider, or snake's fangs set in,

Or the lionesse's canines,

Or that crocodile's vicelike mouth takes hold

Are there clues and warning signs...?

They say you never see/hear it comin',

That fatal sting, that final blow-

Before you're stuck in the web of time-

And all movement's hard and slow.

The bombs may burst, yes, in the air,

The balls and bullets, they whiz past...

But if you DO hear these sounds , my friend

Sure enough, it is your last! (Feb.09,2015-KimP.)

"A Garden Commotion!"-WHAT's the SCOOP-garden COUP..?

 The potatoes they sat stone-silent,

As the celery continued to grow tall,

The tomatoesblushed a deep, crimson red,

Swelling through it all...

When one day in the garden,

The potato-like old yam

proclaimed to all who would listen,

"I Yam, what I Yam!"-

"Not funny," called out the cauliflower,

The green onions, they were aghast...

The bell peppers and spinach, sat up and wondered,

How long could their paradise last.

Year after year, they'd all start growing,

Each year, it was a media scoop-

How their little brown patch of dirt grew lush and green

With the add-in of some choice chicken poop!

The lettuce and cabbage all fanned out some

Just To get a better look,

While the mighty tall corn-so high, dropped

Both its ears, as it shook.

The carrots, they were AWOL,

But the grapes looked on from on high,

Plumping daily from that good sun,

And occasional rainfall from the sky.(Feb.09,2015-Kim P.)

"Imagine That!"

UP FRONT, WITH DEEPEST, MOST RESPECTFUL APOLOGIES to arguably one of the best songwriters of all time, J. Lennon...)

   "Imagine That!"

Imagine that there's no winners,

And no losers, too,

No huge stadiums, or scoreboards,

Sponsors...halftime shows, to boot

And cheerleaders, too!

Imagine there's no STOCK MARKETS..

No Profit Margins, Gains

It's easy, if you try

And the girls keep their bodies covered, clothes on...,

Until the the day they die.

No pom-pom's, and no hooters-

No lust, depravity,

No centerfolds to pin -up

And defy that gravity.

No Shape-Wear and Cosmetics-

If You're among the livin'-

No, all must play this game of ours with just all that you're given.

(Feb.04,2015-Kim P.)

CONNECTIVITY!

tiT'S ALMOST almost a mantra now for thegeekster net-worshippers, and supporting instutions to prclaim at regular intervals, almost daily... how"we are more connected today in our world than at any other time in our history"    Sure. It's true- but connected to what? I continue to ask... to sharing homemade pictures of Obama's head on a giraffe?selfies, a gang rave- rape? a riot?Latest Hollywood "nip-slips"(that is not a racial slur, by the way-white girls fall down, too)   Geesh!  K.P.

Shadows of Christmas Bad!(Hey, That's NOT Borkum Riff!)

            “Leave Well Enough and Pipes, Alone!”

                 (on censorship, really..)

 

Oh, what to do with you…?

With you, and your censoring type:

He HAD BEADY eyes,

Loved small children,

And he SMOKED A CORNCOB PIPE!

Truth to tell, no one really knows,

So, just leave it and walk away-

His ruddy complexion, red cheeks and red nose

Came easy with three rum and nogs per day.,

Yes, even the famed ho-ho-ho’s!

 

In the back- forty, way out there by the shed

Were his great team of reindeer, well-slept and, yes, well-fed.

Yet Donner and Blitzen, not pleased at all those two with their names

Knew well Kris’ night-prowls

And OH Dear! A few special X-reindeer games

This, too, was close to the little ones,

Always toiling, those pointy-eared  elves

Of course they had their stories, too-Oh My!

And knew of ‘pre-dawn’ raids,  themselves!

 

Even he though  never smoked, while out back there, near the barn,

Never wanting his “deer”, ever, to come to any -harm!

Himself a rep, card-carrying member of Reindeer-Keepers Four-Twelve.

Though he wouldn’t abide talk or union himself ever- for those little elves…

 

Little-known was that most came from Africa, India, and  such faraway places,

 Pointy ears, yes, and all withbig white smiles in dark faces;

Oh, yes, to a one, at Santa’s beck and call

Happy in their  straw beds, no benefits and-those Immigrants, all!

 

 You, there, with your whiteout like some stupid magic-wand

 You like life-its good parts- of those-oh , yes!- you’re  fond.

But the rest, in those shadows, the not so-happy-fare

Those, you try to conceal lest the children might be scared

So, life is all sunrise, there’s no setting sun…

But  darkness comes to us all, my friend:

Some things, you simply can’t outrun.

 

 So you there, with your whiteout, go paint your nails and then your knees!

Just stop trying to change our history; stop changing fact there, if you please

(On hearing that one independent female Canadian publisher edited/revised the favourite traditional Christmas lyric, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’  to omit Santa’s nicotine addiction/filthy smoking habit!! Come on! Get another cat; Fall, 2012, Beijing!)

Go! Take it elsewhere., whatever Please-Just Leave

 

Stop trying to change our history; stop changing fact, if you please

(On hearing that one independent female Canadian publisher edited/revised the favourite traditional Christmas lyric, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’  to omit Santa’s nicotine addiction/filthy smoking habit!! Come on! Get another cat; Fall, 2012, Beijing!)

innies

Curiou7s documentary I saw theother day led to the following-though I still have my doubts about the place it happened(more likely at sea,I should think..):

Nelson’s Ball

 

There, in a quiet museum,

Sitting under glass…

In a small, gold locket, a tiny, brain-bespattered ball

That saw the inside of Admiral Nelson’s head and ended it all-

Yes, on the field, there, at old Waterloo,

The battle where Napoleon had his great fall,

Also, Admiral Nelson, felled by a ball…

You can see in the locket, in the case by the wall,

The bit of lead with the brains-

Yes, there, on Nelson’s ball.               Oct 20th,2012,

As I suspectedYes, it was at Trafalgar- make more sense at sea, huh?

'Hard Work Sets You Free'(-No mention of technologee!)

(top)"115 Fleming St."Where my mother was born and raised(bottom) Our former Coquitlam home,under a generous snowfall!

The First five words, of course, are borrowed from the horrible 'welcome' signs over the entrance gates of Auschwitz and other extermination/labour camps of World WarII tHOSE who do not Remember the Past... are doomed-

to relive,repeat it!?The Great Deception-one small piece of the horrific puzzle history has come to call, 'The Holocaust!'

And those who do not LEARN from history, its lessons...

...(will serve detention):

         “At the Soiree”

At the party, better-connected than ever before…(but-to what?)

But “hamartia” and “hubris” might as well be

On the table by the chicken wingsand chopped veggies,  serving as dips

When our’Net’ shows only the “frocks that rock”, and  the latest “nip-slips”

We record and read history, but I still must ask-all that bother, just why?

When we make planes that go faster, and cruise-ships in the sky

So why spend so much time…if we’re never to learn-

Or as the icecaps they melt daily, is it just our turn to burn..?    (June18,2013, Beijing)

Moi! -with my two worst companuons, cigs/beer!

mY WONDERFUL 'jILL OF ALL TRADES', wife, Hairong, when we were painting master bedroom in former apartment. Cute hat,too!(2009)

looking More Closely at the Guests!?

K“At the BBQ”

 Oh, My, Knits and Knats there were,

And they were everywhere-

With not a wit beteween ‘em.

Mozzies, too, but they all bowed

To the Moth and  King  No-See'Em.

Most there, they led just Spartan lives

Becayuse they liked the space, the order,

But others, like the Snailman, always coming late-

He’s more of what we call a hoarder…;

You see, all that he owned and all that he loved, his refuge-home,

He carried everywhere on his back-

But whenever he did arrive at wherever he was going,

There was always a certain something that he lacked.

Then there were the beetles, a queer and solitary lot

Who mostly stayed apart, aloof and bickered.

And, lo, above them all sat he, stone-still, the spider who watching…only .snickered.(Oct.15,2013, Beijing,KimP.)

REMEMBER THE GOOD OLE DAYS..?

Yours Truly,"me" reciting some poetry at Hemingway's Open Mike night on Commercial,Vaqncouver!(2002)

                        “Ode to Sentiment and Grandfathers”

 

I remember the good ole days when horse-power still required horses, and surfing required water…

I did, honestly, used to walk both ways to school(NO HILLS...)

-and not see one mini-van on the horizon in any of my travels…

I remember Coca-Cola, in the old thick-glass bottles

That would make music when empty and blown into just right.

I remember pool-halls , even bars that played only background music from a jukebox, when people would gather and talk to each other, not be distracted continuously by wall-sized flatscreens where giant cars flew in surreal heavens;

I remember when the girls of” C&W” music had long hair in ponytails, a guitar and a stool, no bikinis or short-shorts that revealed gluteal-folds,

When wives doing the vacuuming, looked like wives, not centerfolds waiting to havesex with husbands returning from work.

I remember a time when beggars and street urchins were actually polite whether you added coin to their cup or not, not snarling sarcastic bipolars who felt “entitled”,when they were still "wino's-not yet elevated to the euphemistic level of "street/homeless people."

When tin foil was used to wrap leftover- food in for the fridge, not as curtains in the grow-op house down the street!

Ah, sure, the sugar was sweeter, the milkman he smiled,

When the shoreline divided the lake from the sand;

When if you met someone new.., you simply proffered up your hand.

 When the drugees, the wino’s and prostitutes all, kept to their side of the tracks;

When people could distinguish between fiction and facts,

between which- ran a small creek,

And that rumblin’ freight train separated them all clearly, three times each week!

 Another book, million-seller, ‘the Bucket’, lists of the “I Do’s and “I Don’t’s-

Train yourselves to think and say now, the “I will’s” and not “I won’ts”

For everything, there’s a formula… for all the good and the bad,

So, make a careful list ,now  , on what makes you happy, on what makes you sad..

 For therein lies the science, even in funny, strange, cubist best-selller art

and we, the people, will snap it up- because we people are none too smart!

 (2000, Vancouver-after seeing net feature on colors to avoid in interviews! But just saw another today: zinger –sentences to guarantee interview success! Ha.) …small enough to tape to our fridges. K.P.

 

a Rap on the knuckles......?

I guess I'm just not very 'progressive'- no place in my heart at all for the bling be-decked, baggy-panted, crotch-grabbing Rap-set, their music or game, sorry.. not a whit:

“Just One  Thing Mo’”

Got a lot to share with all my rapper-friends.. oh, yeah-

Sittin’ poolside, vodka-ice, hold that gold record up towards the sky;

It’s goin’ on 11o’clock, ain’t that nice..., plenty of time to get high

But  ‘for I leave,just one thing mo’-

Many words do, but “love” don’t rhyme with ho’.

Where’s the stories, the play, the dance-

All just gone, vanished ,like sweet old romance;

Give ‘em what they want- and your girl, too.

She’ll pull out that stick, even when black and blue-

Oh  that’s a ‘roger’, she’ll shimmy it, too;

Will she be a grandma? What then will you do?

No bumcheek-slappin’ applause, then, if you please..

If now you only ‘love’ her when she’s down there on her knees

Like you, she’s got hopes and dreams and so much mo’

Just remember that “love”, it don’t rhyme with ho’.(Beijing, April19, 2014 –Kim P.)

Magnolia blooms ,making their way out to the world-big,bold&beautiful!

Same as Never.(better late than never..?)

Altogether too many times i've had help offered to me in various moments- but always too late to be meaningful, or folks doing the exact opposite of what I want:I want my chair brakes on..., or released.....AyaMaya!Nobody stops long enough to ask-everybody just presumes they know best what is needed-WRONG!   (Dec22,2014,K.P.)

it was sad... when the great ship went down '!hORSES AND FLIES AND MOSQUITOS LOST THEIR LIVES.'...(because of a shift-change?)-that was the version we would somertimes sing at summer day-camp:

3. On TITANIC SINKING(after seeing several documentaries and of course J.C.’s huge box-office smash, I learned the coordinates that were last reported and eventually where the ship would be found at the bottom were

                      “Forty-One, Forty-Six” /”4146”

There was no rabbit and no hat,

No magician handy with his bag of tricks;

The poor girl would founder, the Titanic,

At forty-one, forty-six

A night to remember

Too hard ever to forget,

So many souls to watery graves..

And some still asleep in their beds

Mill-pond calm, they say…

Not a whisper of wind, not awhisper alright

But one ‘berg lay in wait on that cold, clear night!

And loomed in the dark cold night;

First class to steerage, the rich and the poor,

All on board that fateful night,

All would die and  take their licks..

…When the great ship met her match at forty-one, forty-six

 

There the ice and a clear, starry night

Wide open ocean, what else in the mix?

No more cigars or brandy, sorry-

At forty-one, forty-six!

 

 There were a few “Nancies and Betties aboard,

And even more Margaret’s and Jane’s, if you will…

 

And then, on the male side:

Plenty of “John’s, Harry’s, and Dicks

-Though most preferred “Richard”- those Dicks…

Until Forty-One, Forty-Six

There were a few Stuarts, some George’s and Paul’s,

So, too, Daniel’s and Stephen’s;

Butthe cold North Atlantic, she would swallow them all!

 

                           Summer, 2012 (Van/Beijing)

'Has Neil Young taken up the Pine-Beetle Cause Yet..?

Another glorious sunset on Vancouver's Fraser River!

what has six legs, and a voracious appetite for pine?

Our not-so-friendly insect, the pine-beetle:

(ON THE PINE- BEETLE WOES OF B.C).

“Ive Seen The Damage”(revisit)

I’ve seen the beetle and the damage done,

Such a big forest, and they’ve just begun!

While we lounge in front of screens, with our pods, pads, MP3’s,

It feasts mainly on Ponderosa and /Lodgepole Pine trees-

Can we figure out a way to kill this thing in time;

Dry, hot summers, Milder Winters..only helps them multiply-

And one thing is clear, like Commodus said to Gladiator,"You/They just won't die!"

Maybe we could introduce a new, non-indigenous species of birdoops-like the Aussiecane-toad

Though that might bring all new risks, or haven’t you heard?

Their destruction of much of the forest makes it harder, don’t you see?

For surviving to filter the air for you and me!

They exacerbate ‘The Greenhouse Effect’ and they’re only 6mm. long

If they don’t already-they should have their own song!

           (Apologies to Mr. Young-(Nov.08,2013, Beijing,K.P.)

Love, Miranda, taking a well-deserved break from sanding/painting!

Don't find much romance(ro'?)there among the heavy- bling and baggy- panted crowd.;it's all about the genitals. They were "genitalmen," alright!

“Just One  Thing Mo’”

Got a lot to share with all my rapper-friends.. oh, yeah-

Sittin’ poolside, vodka-ice, hold that gold record up towards the sky;

It’s goin’ on 11o’clock, ain’t that nice, plenty of time to get high

But ‘for I leave,just one thing mo’-

Some things do, but “love”- it don’t rhyme with ho’.

Where’s the stories, the play, the dance?-

All just gone, vanished ,like romance;

Give ‘em what they want- and your girl, too.

She’ll pull out that stick, even when black and blue-

Oh  that’s a ‘roger’, she’ll shimmy it, too;

Will she be a grandma? What then will you do?

No bum-slappin’ applause, then, if you please..

If now you only ‘love’ her when she’s down there on her knees

Like you, she’s got hopes and dreams and so much mo’

Just remember that “love”, it don’t rhyme with ho’.(Beijing, April19, 2014 –Kim P.)

TO THE bling bestrewn, crotch-grabbing baggy pants crowd..

The History is Black and White

“JUST ANOTHER BOY IN THE FIELD.”

THE WHITE-HOODED MEN

CAME IN THE NIGHT, AGAIN, YOU SEE-

AND LEFT ALL THEIR FEARS HANGING ON THE EDGE OF THE FIELD, IN JAMES WILLOUGHBY,

OVER YONDER- HANGING FROM THAT THAR OAK TREE..

NOT YET EIGHTEEN,JUST A BOY, JUST A BOY,

HIS EYES ROLLED BACKWARDS,HIS TONGUE LOLLING OUT,

OUT OF THE CORNER OF HIS MOUTH-

RIGHT THAR, ON THE FRINGES OF THIS HERE FIELD

THAT SAW HIM TOIL BOTH NIGHT AND DAY,

‘TIL THE LASH-WOUNDS ON HIS BACK..

THEY GOT IN THE WAY,

WHEN HE COULDNA BEND NO MORE-THOUGH HIS FINGERS WERE GAME-

 A FRIEND WHO SAW IT ALL, SAYS IN FINAL BREATH, HE WHISPERED GOD’S NAME

FOR SHAME, FOR SHAME…

Just a boy in the field, just a boy in the field

Just Another Boy in the Field.

K.P.

"oN jUSTICE/Penal ystem.."

Fraser River sunset, Vancouver, B.C.

                     Shylock’s Pound.”

 

                   Why even bother,

                   To keep them hanging around?

                   Why warehouse the wicked…in  places unknown?//

                   In rooms built of steel and concrete and stone?//

                   Why feed them, why keep them? Why do we keep them around?//

                   Push them off on the edges..

                   Where they’re mute, make no sound?/

 

We know they’re still there,

But locked safely away,//

Those dark, evil-things…

That shouldn’t see day;

Nobody wants them//

Our great ‘lost and found,

Then why, oh why(!) do we keep them hanging around?!//

 

Stupidly, we think..

Hah, they don’t walk among us-

And we’ve got Shylock’s pound…//

But Why-Oh Why then do we keep them hanging around..?/

 

 

Is this a punishment, then,

To keep them from our society..?//

-When they’ve already shown

They’ve no love or propriety:

They can’t live among us, or play by our rules;

Not civilized beings, they don’t have the tools.

 

Forever they walk, if at all, with the mark of Cain- to the East-

There’s no ‘imprisoning’ their evil, that beast.

/Like the good all around, the dark-souled brothers abound

Bu why then, oh why(?) do we keep them around?

                               Monday, Nov.26th2012,

PENAL SYSTEM/CAITAL PUNISHMENT?!

                     Shylock’s Pound.”

 

                   Why even bother,

                   To keep them hanging around?

                   Why warehouse the wicked…in  places unknown?//

                   In rooms built of steel and concrete and stone?//

                   Why feed them, why keep them? Why do we keep them around?//

                   Push them off on the edges..

                   Where they’re mute, make no sound?/

 

We know they’re still there,

But locked safely away,//

Those dark, evil-things…

That shouldn’t see day;

Nobody wants them//

Our great ‘lost and found,

Then why, oh why(!) do we keep them hanging around?!//

 

Stupidly, we think..

Hah, they don’t walk among us-

And we’ve got Shylock’s pound…//

But Why-Oh Why then do we keep them hanging around..?/

 

 

Is this a punishment, then,

To keep them from our society..?//

-When they’ve already shown

They’ve no love or propriety:

They can’t live among us, or play by our rules;

Not civilized beings, they don’t have the tools.

 

Forever they walk, if at all, with the mark of Cain- to the East-

There’s no ‘imprisoning’ their evil, that beast.

/Like the good all around, the dark-souled brothers abound

Bu why then, oh why(?) do we keep them around?

                               Monday, Nov.26th2012, O.OT.B,B!)

oUR FAMILY SAILBOAT, 27 FT. ATKINSLOOP,"Panique!"

                    ‘Lions and Tigers, and Bears, oh, yeah!’(Wizard of Oz)

                    

                     “Tic-Toc-Tic-Toc", or ‘Ode to Panique’(berthed at the Sarnia Yacht Club for many years, she would play'hostess' to me and several friends often, as young teenage boys experimenting with this and that...?

 

                    Gorillas and darkness, so, too-crocodiles.

With beady, red eyes, and big, toothy smiles

Tic-Toc-Tic-Toc, run away, Peter Pan

Run all your life, just as fast as you can!

 

Or until the crow’s feet and grey

Look out from the mirror,

And with age, my boys, you realize…

There’s no Never-Land, here;

It’s there in your heart, all along deep within you,

Yes, buried deep in the muscles and sinew!

Tinker bell always glimmers,

Just deep, deep within.

Still, with her wand,

Her light never will fade…

‘Til all those cruel childhood fears..

Are once, and finally allayed.

 

 She’s there to guide you

In the spirit of your Mom and your Dad,

Guardian-angels at the ready-

So, no need to be sad…

 

They stand by the door protecting you,

To keep all those

 childhood fears at bay;

And they will keep you safe and warm-

Until that last breath and final day

 

(she was a beauty..!)

  She was our sanctuary, our ‘party-room,

  She was our ‘Notre Dame..

So many nights, she’d watch over us, there,

And “Panique” was her name!

 

Big and strong yet still some sexy sloop

And below, oh! The secrets she would keep

Boys-all wanting to be men- in the bunks there,  fast-asleep

 

 Gorillas and Darkness and so, too, Crocodiles…

The best defence for the living:

A happy heart and warm smiles!

 

 

Below decks, the laughing..,

The cigarettes, the warm beer…

The giggling, farting and waiting

For the dawn to get here.

And “Panique”, she would guide us

Through the night’s violent storm

Down deep in her belly, below deck- safe and warm!

 

So, now, to the ‘ole girl’

To all her gleaming, curved lines

We remember her well

And all those good times!

To the secrets she kept, the farting and fear

To her, then, we raise a toast:

With one final, warm beer!                    Friday, Nov.2,2012

                                            (O.OT.B,B.)

 

 

 

My take on Censorship...!

            “Leave Well Enough and Pipes, Alone!”

                 (on censorship, really..)

 

Oh, what to do with you…?

With you, and your censoring type:

He HAD BEADY eyes,

Loved small children,

And he SMOKED A CORNCOB PIPE!

Truth to tell, no one really knows,

So, just leave it and walk away-

His ruddy complexion, red cheeks and red nose

Came easy with three rum and nogs per day.,

Yes, even the famed ho-ho-ho’s!

 

In the back- forty, way out there by the shed

Were his great team of reindeer, well-slept and, yes, well-fed.

Yet Donner and Blitzen, not pleased at all those two with their names

Knew well Kris’ night-prowls

And OH Dear! A few special X-reindeer games

This, too, was close to the little ones,

Always toiling, those pointy-eared  elves

Of course they had their stories, too

And knew of ‘pre-dawn’ raids,  themselves!

 

Even he though  never smoked, while out back there, near the barn,

Never wanting his “deer”, ever, to come to any -harm!

Himself a rep, card-carrying member of Reindeer-Keepers Four-Twelve.

Though he wouldn’t abide talk or union himself, for those little elves…

 

Little-known was that most came from Africa, India, and  such faraway places,

 Pointy ears, yes, big white smiles in dark faces;

Oh, yes, to a one, at Santa’s beck and call

Happy in their  straw beds, no benefits-those Immigrants, all!

 

 You, there, with your whiteout like some stupid magic-wand

 You like life-its good parts- of those-oh , yes!- you’re  fond.

But the rest, in those shadows, the not so-happy-fare

Those, you try to conceal lest the children might be scared

So, life is all sunrise, there’s no setting sun…

But  darkness comes to us all, my friend:

That, you simply can’t outrun.

 

 So you there, with your whiteout, go paint your nails and then your knees!

Just stop trying to change our history; stop changing fact there, if you please

(On hearing that one independent female Canadian publisher edited/revised the favourite traditional Christmas lyric, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’  to omit Santa’s nicotine addiction/filthy smoking habit!! Come on! Get another cat; Fall, 2012, Beijing!)

Go! Take it elsewhere., whatever Please-Just Leave

 

Stop trying to change our history; stop changing fact, if you please

(On hearing that one independent female Canadian publisher edited/revised the favourite traditional Christmas lyric, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’  to omit Santa’s nicotine addiction/filthy smoking habit!! Come on! Get another cat

"tHAT FUNNY eNGLISH."

, of                      “Shhhh..! The Neigh-Sayers.”

 

                       “i before e, except after c” they told us, again and again they would say

                       Except in those weird,  bastard words,of course, like neighbour and weigh,

                     - But there’s always more lurking, in case you forget?-

                      Like.. “Oh, Yeah!”like... reign, feign, vein, rein and stealthy old “forfeit”-what’s more in store?

 

                      And all in all, not one “c” to open that door!

                      Your English, is stoopid, and its spelling we’ll fight

                       What about that lonely creature, called “height?”

                       Or, is the “c” just silent, still there? (hah?!)

             ** ** **

So, too, Never-ever start a sentence with “and, or and but!”

Or then you’ll  get comfy in that sentence fragment rut!?

 Let only the horses be neigh-Sayers,

No need to among we men

 We’ll cull all the silent letters-yes, all

Have more ink left in our  pen!

and , surely, to good-spellers

 This doubtless will cause ire

As they watch us throw more silent letters on the growing  pyre

 Be Gone! Be away!

Hamlet said it best, perhaps, with his, “To ‘b’, or not to ‘b’’

Every gardener knows some branches must be pruned to better grow the tree!

It’s a big family, think pneumonia, she with her “p”

And that one African ungulate, gnu, with his “g”

Some will crawl and hide, others bound to slip away..

Like the errant “knight, that never knows the day!

 We looked, could not find.. any in that sausage ‘salami’.

But sure enough, we found a “t” in tsunami!

Back to that “k” some, the knight, too’s got a friend that he wears like a sock,

When we  hear the door speak, it’s always a “knock!”

 ‘Plosives, I tell you, ‘stop-consonants all’;

 They shout to get our attention, then slink away to the hall.

Like head lice, we’ll weed them all out with our comb-

Oh! One more “b” to send sliently  home!

                              Nov 7-10,2012

                  

oN THE Titanic disaster...She met her fate that cold, clear spring night on the North Atlantic at 41degrees North, 46 degrees West

Could this be the infamous, foul-mouthed pet..? Nah! K.P.

            "41-46" 

There was no rabbit and no hat,

No magician handy with his bag of tricks;

The poor girl would founder, the Titanic,

At forty-one, forty-six

A night to remember

Too hard ever to forget,

So many souls to watery graves..

And some still asleep in their beds

Mill-pond calm, they say…

Not a whisper of wind,

But one ‘berg lay in wait

And loomed in the dark cold night;

First class to steerage, the rich and the poor,

So many on board that fateful night,

would die in the icy brine and  take their licks..

…When the great ship met her match at forty-one, forty-six

 

There the ice and a clear, starry night

Wide open ocean, what else in the mix?

No more cigars or brandy, sorry-

At forty-one, forty-six!

 

 There were a few “Nancies and Betties aboard,

And even more Margaret’s and Jane’s, if you will…

 

And then, on the male side:

Plenty of “John’s, Harry’s, and Dicks

-Though most preferred “Richard”- those Dicks…

Until Forty-One, Forty-Six

There were a few Stuarts, some George’s and Paul’s,

So, too, Daniel’s and Stephen’s;

But the cold North Atlantic, she would swallow them all!

 

                           Summer, 2012 (Van/Beijing)

 

Early Writers(the asge, not time of day..)

“Literary Frontier”

“Think back to those brave, early  literary pioneers

Looking down at blank pages, setting aside all those fears;

Some were bold and struck out-

Without time to prepare, think or doubt...

across the vast, open wasteland, the great white expanse,with only a whoop and a shout-

some with tablecloths and garters, some just the seats of their pants-

and into various 'parties', groups... they combined

Like Characters and Plot Twists and Transitions, too, were fine,

Exposition ,Description and Narration, all together would ride;

Adverbs, Adjectives, Conjunctions-all there, side by side. Across

that desert-plain they rambled, day after day, after day after night-

With snow-capped mountains in the distance-Oh what a sight!

Always wary of hostiles-Dangling Participles, Fragments and such,

Of liking some words a lot, and others not enough! The Clauses, the Phrases

had to be ordered just so

because-even then- in the shadows, there were critics, you know!

There's gold in them thar mountains,

And in that, they spoke plain true-

Rich deposits of character, and tales on every tree  of glee and rue-between you and me-

Why, everywhere a writer could look there was something for his pen to see!

 

(Nov.17, 2013-Kim P.)

INSIDE THE BOX-Following the rules (Pavlovian..?)

 

                     (“Peace With Stones” is borrowed from a Tim Findlay line in The Wars, where one character was a particularly good stone-thrower; got me thinking David &Goliath!)

                  2. “Peace with Stones!”

 

             Oh! See  his hands, there, so delicate and small..

And yet they both knew-if anything at all-

That he was most at home,

most comfortable, yes, every time he threw.

             So small and steady yet so sure

             In their movements, just like a clock.

             But somehow those hands grew stronger, each time he threw a rock!

 

             Though his feet, they walked among giants,

             Above them his hands, so true and small,

             But when just one of then held that perfect stone,

             It made him feel ten feet tall!

 

             And on that day he listened- for just one of many signs;

              Intently he watched as a monster-soldier stepped forth

              from within the Philistines

              He glanced once more at his own army,

              Thought of the soldiers, their families and homes (thanx Troy..)

Then he stepped some further forward:

To make his peace with stones!

 

The sound of silence lingered,(thanx S&G)

 Before a multitude of cheers

 For with that dragon slain-

so, too, an army’s fears…

 

 And still that victory shout… it lingers in the calm, dry air.

 Even now-if you listen- out there, still on the dunes it drones…

 Ever since that day when David, first made his peace with stones!

 

He knew in his heart

With that silent, faithful trust,

He would stand on that battlefield…

And see  a giant in the dust!

 

 And still off there in the distance,

He heard a thunder and a drone

And with one long, final look at his enemy,

He made his peace with stones.(fall, 2014, Beijing, Kim P.)