my "buddy"

this is my daily ride

since moving into my new home

on the north edge of downtown

(you know . . .  the slightly cool 

almost well to do place called the "teacher's college area")

i've left him outside

mmm hmmmm

i gave my bike a gender

"him"

strange

but true . . . 

. . . nope no name!

but i do refer to him as "buddy"

at times when he bails me out of tight spots

"thanks buddy you're so good to me . . ."

when he gets me to places quickly and safely

"thanks buddy for being so understanding . . ."

when he carries insane amounts of food or beer

in the panniers

or huge items for my house

through rain and shine and fog

and now snow

"come on in buddy" when the weather's so crap outside that i understand 

why the chain comes off 'cause the rear derailleur's so gummed up from the dried oil 

and street muck 

and yeah

he's a machine for sure

but somehow he conjures the need in me

to take risks

and to move quickly

he definitely prefers the downtown streets

to the west end streets he used to live on

see for starters

there are other riders on

downtown streets and they've got "colour"

ya know what i mean by "colour?"

some of them are on

slick wheels . . .

hardcore riders who don't repond to my "hello's", my "good morning's", my "hey dude's!"

my "sweet bike brother!"

 but then

who knows what shit their lives are filled with?!

and i say with all my heart and fifty two years of riding under my arse

that when you're on two wheels

anywhere

anytime

tell me

you aren't the luckiest person alive!!!

go ahead

tell me it ain't true!!!

downtown there's more riders who are on rusted squeaking wobbling whips

my faves are the

bikes somehow wrestled together

from the scrap bin on aylmer

and cobbled onto bits

from punked bikes left punched and trammelled

on the side of the road or chained to poles

with more and more bits missing every day

their wheels warped and exploded

like an umbrella in a high wind

those are the most righteous bikes

always

always ridden by guys who don't wear helmets, goretex gloves,

or jackets striped with reflective tape and pants shipped purolator from portland

"the hub of the bike universe"

nope those dudes are wearing third hand mark's work wearhouse pants

and maybe a carhart jacket that somehow slipped through

the value village filter  

and boots . . . 

always steel toed boots with no laces

and when i pass those dudes i nod a slight nod and they always

nod a slight nod right back.

no smile

no words

just the connection

that sweet so very real moment

when we say without saying anything

"we're hurtin' in our own ways -

it's tough being human isn't it?!"

but both of us

are free

for this brief time being

while we ride our bikes

through the streets

and our nods are like tickets

granting us safe passage to the next way-station

to the next set of lights

to the next coffee or drink

to the next car that somehow doesn't see us

or somehow fails to anticipate a choice 

we have no choice but to make

and when we arrive

at the doors to our homes

and switch on the light and leave

our bikes

i know 

that at that very moment

the very last glimmer of energy from those nods

drifts off into the night

and i can say

in all honesty and with affection

"thanks buddy"

to my bike sitting out on the porch

superstitious

time passes and music settles deeper and deeper . . .

in the night

late in the night

the popping and banging and creaking

of this old house

remind me of my own gently aging bodies'

struggles

each day 

and so i get up and touch its walls 

and run my hands along its 

framed doorways and railings

reassuring it

and drawing it closer

before returning

to my own bed

filled with the soft light

of 

the three a.m. streetlamps

everything revealed

like fenceposts

drowned in the water

pointing inwards

"everything revealed is magical,

splendid in its ordinary shining."

excerpted from "february ground" marge piercy

it happens all the time in heaven

it happens all the time in heaven,

and some day

it will begin to happen

again on earth -

that men and women who are married,

and men and men who are

lovers,

and women and women

who give each other

light,

often will get down on their knees

and while so tenderly

holding their lover's hand,

with tears in their eyes,

will sincerely speak, saying,

"my dear,

how can I be more loving to you;

how can I be more

kind?"

hafiz

don't surrender

don't surrender your loneliness so quickly

let it cut more deep.

let it ferment and season you

as few human or even divine ingredients can

something missing in my heart tonight

has made my eyes so soft

my voice so tender

my need of God

absolutely clear.

hafiz

the bridge

and forever and forever,

   as long as the river flows,

as long as the heart has passions,

   as long as life has woes;   

the moon and its broken reflection

   and its shadows shall appear,

as the symbol of love in heaven,

   and its wavering image here.

excerpted from "the bridge" by henry wadsworth longfellow

ripe depths

i've dreamt of rivers

sinuous

and

thick with time

silent

only shadows stir in their ripe depths

thanks

it's lovely to wake to a world of fog and tangerine lights and softened trees and the gentle dripping of captured droplets coalescing into single drops then returning to the earth eventually . . . .

i ran out of storage space on picasa today and so in order to continue illustrating this blog i'll need to purchase more space. that may / likely will happen later today . . . .

for now then . . .


“wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.” - kahlil gibran

kahlil was a good dude . . .  thanks for the reminder brother!

exultation

exultation is the going
of an inland soul to sea,—
past the houses, past the headlands,
into deep eternity!

emily dickinson

ignorance

a man's ignorance sometimes is not only useful, but beautiful--while his knowledge, so called, is oftentimes worse than useless, besides being ugly. which is the best man to deal with--he who knows nothing about a subject, and, what is extremely rare, knows that he knows nothing, or he who really knows something about it, but thinks that he knows all?

henry david thoreau

my vicinity

"my vicinity affords many good walks; and though for so many years i have walked almost every day, and sometimes for several days together, i have not yet exhausted them. an absolutely new prospect is a great happiness, and i can still get this any afternoon. two or three hours' walking will carry me to as strange a country as i expect ever to see."

henry david thoreau

straight to the heart

a mid afternoon walk through an older part of town

opens my eyes

to treasures

that have seen 

and know much

people

houses

trees

even sidewalks

and then of course

the younger

plants

proudly showing off

berries

bright red

sweet to the eyes

straight to the heart!

without condition

i saw this leaf . . . still pale red

with hints of tangerine about its fringes

lying still

asleep

nestled in the fingers and arms

and throats and eyes and arms and hearts

of a hedge

that had somehow taken 

this leaf  . . . still pale red

with hints of tangerine about its fringes

into

their welcoming

fingers and arms

and throats and eyes and arms and hearts

without condition

oh the stories . . .

i wondered at the stories that could have run

the length of the ropes 

attached to the boats

carrying the people

who stopped at this lone mooring

if

they had been given the chance

shine!

Already in front of the islet, the rushes and reed flowers shine!

du fu

i have spread my dreams

he wishes for the cloths of heaven

had i the heavens' embroidered cloths,
enwrought with golden and silver light,
the blue and the dim and the dark cloths
of night and light and the half-light,
i would spread the cloths under your feet:
but i, being poor, have only my dreams;
i have spread my dreams under your feet;
tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

w.b. yeats

november 13

i'll be here to welcome you back!

reaching

on river road coming back from lakefield 

these reeds

reaching up reaching out

reaching in

november

this is the treacherous month when autumn days
with summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
her head and blooms again. the soft, warm haze
makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
and, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
the violet returns.

excerpted from "november" by helen jackson

waiting to fall

my eyes

fell through

this leaf crested archway

i rested

tangled

in the branches

held like summer

dry and spent

waiting to fall

half moon run

lovely music! 

i ask for more and accept much less 

with genuine gratitude!

because less . . .

is more

than i could imagine -

effulgent

this little moment in a river reflecting an early november sky . . . trees newly bare of their summer clothing . . .

on one of my rides around the east side of the river . . a new route for me . . .

and one of the last images from my old camera which has gradually been giving up its spirit . . .

thankyou little camera . . .

the hunt

after hurricane sandy sent long howling whistling fingers of rain through the trees it has become even more difficult to find the last vestiges of colour still clinging to their sugared summery memories and so imagine my joy when i found one slender tree holding ever so tightly to her leaves!!!!!

all of these and this

this brittle sweep

this grazing caress 

these binding forms

this tender chill

this interlacing

this drawing me closer

this pushing me back

these words that grasp

guy fawke's day 2012

well here it is november 5th and i completely overlooked the major event of the day for all anglophiles which is that this day in england is “guy fawkes day”. the day is named after guy fawkes, the most famous of a huge pile of conspirators who decided to blow up the parliament of england and the king back in 1605.

my own memories of guy fawkes night are vague but involve a stuffed "guy" in a wheelbarrow, a catherine wheel, fireworks, and treacle toffee and a massive (to me at the time) bonfire.

the history of the event is well documented.

the big bomb plot was supposed to mark the beginning of a great uprising of english catholics,

who were really bothered by the increased severity of penal laws against the practice of their religion.

the big mistake that the conspirators made?

well they got a little carried away by their importance

and expanded their number to a point where secrecy was impossible.

this is key to the success of secret societies:

don't share everything.

keep it small.

have lots of secret symbols and signs.

meet in strange places.

the plot itself is unique in my own view.

one of the chief conspirators hired a cellar under the house of lords,

in which 36 barrels of gunpowder,

overlaid with iron bars and firewood,

were secretly stored.

the conspiracy really began to fall part

when a mysterious letter was sent to lord monteagle,

a brother-in-law of one of the conspirators,

(more proof that

it's the brother-in-law you should worry about,

not the mother-in-law)

on october 26,

urging him not to attend parliament on the opening day.

the 1st earl of salisbury and others,

to whom the plot was made known,

took steps that lead to the discovery of the materials

and the arrest of poor guy fawkes as he entered the cellar.

it's easy to imagine his disappointment!

the other conspirators,

were either overtaken in flight or seized afterward,

and then were killed outright,

imprisoned,

or executed in various nasty ways.

guy fawkes day,

november 5,

is still celebrated in england with fireworks and bonfires,

on which effigies of the conspirator are burned.

now here's the funny thing: the real guy was never burned.

he was supposed to be hung, drawn and quartered

(please don't ask or google it -

it's horrible)

but he managed to jump off the scaffold

breaking his neck and thereby sparing himself the nastiness of all that was planned for him.

so happy guy fawkes day to all my english and expatriot english readers!!

early november. by the river

i came upon a whittled drifting sameness

of day

that had colour and form 

but no substance

i could hold onto 

and so i sought its echo

in nature

a little moment by a pond in the autumn

do you know

i stood here for a while

not knowing

much of anything

other than

this

because i couldn't

in all conscience

wish for more

give me a name

teacher give me a name
so that I'll know what to call myself


rumi

the thin film

this moment of leaves

yellowed and spent

hovering

on the thin film

between air and sediment