The Daily Poem

The typewriter is the body. The ink is the blood. The poem is the breath.

A poem will be written daily, typed on my typewriter, scanned, and posted. The poem below will change each day.

The Flow: A stream of consciousness exercises

Here I set a timer for 5 mintues and write without looking back, or fixing mistakes. It's completely spontanious, and freeform. I have done these daily for a long time to get the creativity flowing for me to write my morning poem. Some come out interesting, so I thought to post them here.

NEWFires cast odd shadows over your face as you passed by the church wall on a day that didn’t return again. You knew you had nothing in your hands but you wanted something. The leaves are growing old. Soon they will fall. Autumn of your life is coming into your bones. Soon you’ll change colour and fall as well. Winter grapples with it’s thoughts of ice and worries of spring time bringing an end to it’s slumbering world. Pages turn. The book ends. The open ended questions don’t really get answers. There’s no words for those answers that exist, but the answers are a feeling, that you don’t know, but you know on another level. Time’s broken arm heals. Dogs heel at your feet thinking of freedom someday. Run past this church. Rush past the traffic. Get out of this city that time keeps happening in. Hide under fallen leaves in a wet shelter of red and gold. Get into that earth where you belonged since you sprouted from that seed. We all return some day.

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Shock collar clock tick trick of the eyes locked in to their place jaw and paw meet at ground level aggression bite and spit venom tight escape falling night pain recaptures the moment you and I broke loose the collar did not hold us the life forces us forward allays. Time for the survival of the fittest. Consequences are meaningless. Continue. Deal with it head on. Don’t be collared. Don’t be contained. Fight harder for your life and the life of others. You create space, we together create planets We are the birth givers. We seed the felids and each other. Grow life new. Grow life smarter than all of this.

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Strike the power against the floor hard black concrete body blow back the hair in the wind that didn't care if you just came from the salon. The march goes through the middle of the city unable to beat the drum's heart back to life. Marching does nothing anyway. It only gives the wrong impression. The sun don't laugh. The moon doesn't cry. The stars keep to themselves, in the universe that doesn't know you, or care to. You are ordinary, and that's the best part of you. You know your place in space. You do it with class. The freezer blinks out of sight when empty. The key holds back the hole. You don't turn it anymore, without it's permission. The marble earth rotates on with a sigh and a goodbye crule world smile. The world is tired of all the shit, but it knows how to move forward still, with or without us.

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Tommy came back from around the corner with an arm full of flowers that were the colour of the walls of the building tops, and held his breath for the window eye to blink open up and see his offering of harvest nights. The floor swallowed him. Not approving of the gift. The father of all women who are protected by from him. Even crows know what he was up to. They saw it all. The fantastic shop keeper whispered to them all he saw. Tommy was dirty. Tommy was sullen and darkly violent. They thought so anyway from the shock of black hair and a grin that could stop a heart dead in it's beat. Feet of women kicked at his shadow. They were broken at the ankle but still fought. They were not going to be planted underground to sprout flowers in May. For May or any other women but them. The things jealous women can do. Make themselves victims of themselves over men like Tommy. He was gone before they knew it. He never was held down by sharp nails, he was a wild horse that ran over islands so deserted and rough that humans couldn't step on its shores lest the sea swallow them up. Goodbye jealous women. Goodbye Tommy. Goodbye May flowers for Mae. Goodbye gossiping shopkeepers and crow carriers. Goodbye to you all. You are the story for the sea now.

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Silence craves the sound of your car coming down wet streets morning yawn of the sky you broke the glass empty for two dollars you got nothing out of it until you did for all the clocks time you had to turn back you knew you had to run. Crash report of your broken knee from kneeling too long the newscaster is bleak you sink into the ground so deep you became a corpse of the city square so gray with longing and so damp with joy you knew what to say to the passers who see you waist deep down in that hole with just a coffee and a prayer you blank out of existance when the snow comes to blanket you in raw emotions and ice and the sun brings little mercy to you We miss you in those seasons and pray to the earth gods to sprout you back into life in the spring and your broken boat in the harbour goes unattended and pile up with fish they don't know they leap only to gasp for air you can't throw them back you're not there your in that hole you put yourself in in the square where people stare all day that's what you get for kneeling through life and never standing it's the moral to take home with your along with your groceries you piled that you really don't need all but two items Marketing and your greed got the best of you

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When his mother died is wife gave birth he ran out of the backdoor never to return to empty a child of pain and water vessel of tears within the hall from the child never knew never thought of opened door closed shut He never turned back Ran beyond the hills into the sky the lock broke the child ran after and got lost somewhere along the highway New days new ways The adult walked the highways forgetting about a father a mother worried to death for both loves of her life the sunlight blinked out of the sky settling the world into an ice age ice break neck cold so teeth shatter upon touch The damage is done hearts unsung songs of love and loss and the ozone weeps for us burns for us away into space lost us our hands slipped and we hurtle far away outside our universes

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Happiness stops blinking and stares deep into the way you move your hand and wink your eye at the passing by crow who perchs just out of reach as a tant to the space between us HAHA you can't touch what you need this blank paper and this blank sky gray with thunder opens a new book that cracked across the sky with its aching stiff new spine a story to sign your name to. About you and I and the crow and the city we live. A sort of love story withouth any love to it, or fucking, or touch, just a look to one another that the crow is the barrier, and the sky is the limit to our words, as they drift like clouds up to dim the sun for the day. Exit this part. Close the door. It's done and over. Turn the page. It's blank. Something new will write over the course of the new day. New ways come forth from fingertips of grass and the back yard aches for crows and blue jays and little birds who sound like bell chimes. The sun still dosn't wake. Only word-rain falling down giving me a loan of these thoughts to write down.

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Winking skyline blank sky gray but humid/hot lots of pots on the stoves for boil under heat nails things to the walls as sweating pictures of melting paint colouring this world like running moon mist ice cream down a city sewer drain. Tie the knot around the light post and tie the end around your finger. You won't forget anything there. The concrete smells of heat and feet keep the beat all along the sidewalks of downtown nights thta you want to remember but you can't. We were wild ones then. Skirting through sidewalk cracks along the punk and goth clubs like little blackbirds fleeing from our nests to spread our wings bright black against the night sky. Nobody can see us in the sea of late night sea crowds and we loved that. We still do. Grown up black birds blank against the sky. The flash of heat, the stroke of a pen, and that is how time keeps now. Not by seconds any more. The world is in a furry of nonsense and destruction, yet we fly on. Enjoy the time that this is, for what it is, and for what will come, we will deal with it then. Right now, fly and stretch wings into heated skies, even though I know it's hot out. Let's love life regardless. 

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Silence and a deeper silence when the crickets hesitate you would state, but I don't remember your name. Frost? No someone else. Anyway the sky is dark for a morning, because the sun isn't there yet. You trapped the clock in the box that it came in and threw it away. We have no concept of time at all. Opened the air closed off space, that rested in the corner of the wall between us. Bridge the gap. Your know your hand delt wrong and blank cards tell no secrets only when you expect them to. You create in that space. The blankness is what is before birth. You blink it into existence. You know your rite of passage. You go through it like a tunnel that wasn't as empty as you thought it was because you filled it up with your body and your vibes through mind and spirit. It glows now. You come out the other side better than when you went in. It's how we always come out of everything. That's life. And we all should know it by now. The blockage comes through soon enough. We clutch on the dandelions and make a wish to the sky. The sky responds by sunlight always. Remember you name through all of this. It's the only thing you actually have as your own in this world these days.

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I can't seem to focus today on what to write, but I will push through this as it's all part of the ritual of creativity. Sometimes we are just lost for words, and that's ok. That's sort of like life. We loose and gain words. We blank page our minds, and then we fill them, or they become like a library full of books. The time it takes to make speech work for us is sometimes long, but hey, I'm writing something. Anything really, so I get one step closer to focusing my creative mind on the end goal. The poem. The heartfelt soul searching through valleys of words. Memories put to paper in abstract forms. The life saving medicine that poetry has given me, is something to be respected. Paper is always the best confidant. It is just paper. Non judgemental, and always there. There's always something to put words on. There's always a story within all of us, that the paper craves for. Our voice. Our language. Our words. The time it takes to grasp onto those words and never let them go. Immortalized onto paper. The soul of all our hearts and minds. The wake up call to creativity to get to work and make us whole through books and pages, and pens.

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Broken back from crack stepping lightly on tiptoes until a crack of spinal echoes over the air waves where blackness of sky carries it in a necklace of wire on such a slender throat. Choke it out. The blank screen still tells the film's story. Make it up as you go, and you'll be fine. Double down on your theory that tin can telephone calls are truth, and the water has gone dry with humour. Accidental accidents realign the spine. Continue on before your road you're walking on disappears like wet cotton candy floss. Teeth broken hearted from the sugar loss. The crumble of society will happen. It's just a matter of how much you want to hold onto it not. Grasp its wings and never let it fly away. You can't come back from it when it does. Life will move on though, regardless of what comes. What passes and what flies into night airwave skies. We are at the evening of the earth. Pray it doesn't end in black night rain storms. Melting the candy. Melting the heart and reminding us that skin can pierce, and our inner stories will bleed out for all the wrong people to see and mock. Keep tight lipped and wear your armour wisely.

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Don't block the window with the plant where you see only green leaves and not much of the sky. The apples fell off the counter bruised a bit but good still. They add softness as when we fall. We heal, apples peel. I no longer kneel down to disgrace the floor to me. I no longer eat apples that have not experienced at least one bruise. The factory hums outside the metal grinding progress is always happening. How good the progress is, is up to the individual, and the wallet of the progressor. Hot is the day, cool nights will come. It all ebbs and flows. The life currents will bring something along to bash our minds, to kiss our minds. We will adapt accordingly. We take what comes. Bad or good. It is how we deal with it face on, that matters. The forth in line. The elevator works only half way. The sun shines another day. All those are cliche but good. Waking in the morning means another day to reinvent ourselves and thoughts and actions. Anything can happen. Always expect the unexpected. The paranormal hums like an overhead bulb in a empty office. It flows just under the surface. Think this, and life will always be exciting and discoverable. The wires are not the only veins we can amaze at.

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You just make the beaded tapestry that life is throwing over a chair curl up tight the show is about to begin. You and the sky knows what you and the sky knows. Ten thousand open boxes of houses letting out memories that build up the clouds collect and rain down far away from here, dreams that fill in buckets and cups discarded. Birds reflect themselves in them. Take that first look at what they look like and carry that with them in their memories as they fly into the sunlight that has opened the sky after rain.

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You knew the capture camera eye lens look snap flash the final frame in the film that spoke a thousands pictures at once. The roar of streetcars below as the soundtrack until everything faded to black. Your story is our entertainment. But should it be? No. Keep your reel case closed on your shelf. Show the edited version only. Only share it in full in privet screenings. You owe nobody nothing. And we owe you that privilege. If you speak to me in the language of images, then I'm open. Until then, I'll enjoy digging into your symbolic backdrops and hidden dialogue under stones, and cloth.

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Last Night's Dream (The online version of my dream journal)

Aug, 20 Last nights dream had me at work. I’m just going about my day there when a machine started to spark. I reluctantly went over to it, only to find a small mouse sitting on a pipe, and it was pointing me at the steam trap that looked to be a house now. Like a small plastic doll house. It then went inside it somehow through the top. I tried to hid this from staff, as I didn’t want it to be disturbed.I woke feeling in no particular way about this dream.

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Aug, 19 I don’t remember much of my dream last night other than I was buying oranges, and there was some sort of sale happening at the store. I had to guess what it was to receive the discount.

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Aug, 18 I had a dream where I was watching my father's apartment during a bad storm. My friend "A" was with me, and we saw the rain was blowing sideways, and everything was pitch black. I wanted to go out to the supermarket for some food, but "A" said let's just find a take-out flyer around here, and call for a pizza. Not really wanting to do it, as I wanted to cook instead, I went along with it. I was also worried that I couldn't find my shoes, as there was piles of other black shoes around the hallway. I also noticed tall tree like plants everywhere. "A" said that we could pass the time by them reading a book to me. I then curled up beside them on the sofa and that's when I woke. Nothing stands out much in the way of how this made me feel. I slightly felt frustration over the clutter of the place, which was out of character for my father's place.

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Aug, 17 I had a clock I was trying to fix, which was some sort of small grandfather clock type. I heard a song, that was coming from a radio that I didn't see. It was playing a song that I loved but couldn't remember. I was frustrated that the DJ at the end, didn't tell me what song it was. I realized that during that, I somehow fixed the clock, and instead of time, it was showing like an old fashioned scroll type of paper on the face of it, where sentences were scrolling upwards on it, like film credits. I couldn't read what they were saying, but had a feeling they were the lyrics of the song I just heard. I woke from this dream feeling pleasant, but with that ache you feel with nostalgia. Maybe it was the song in the dream, though I can't remember what it was, and don't believe it had lyrics.

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Aug, 16 I'm not remembering last night's dream all that clearly. I've been having issues remembering lately. I think it happens when I'm just so tired I fall asleep so quickly or something. My notes this morning in my journal, just recalled something regarding a flower that was growing in my garden, that had a swirling sort of colour to them. That's it. I felt no particular way about this dream. The flower didn't give a sense of wonder, or anything. It was just there, and I seemed to be not reactive to it.

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Aug, 15 Last night's dream was set I believe in a library I used to go to where I grew up, but it seems to have been flipped around. I was aware that there was a book I needed to find in there. For some reason there were odd people at the tables all focused on me. They knew I needed this book I believe. I had a feeling like one of them had it, but I was too intimidated to ask, so I just tried in vain to look for it. I then met my friend who I will call A. He told me that we needed to leave this library, because he didn't like the look of those people. When we tried to leave, it was like the door kept shifting away just a step from us each time. I looked back a the people, who were still seated and watching. A then said he had an idea, however I woke before this.

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Aug, 14 Last night's dream was something to do with finding an interesting necklace at a thrift shop. It had a name in the pendant and I knew I had to buy it and return it to them, though I couldn't read the name. Then something to do with walking down my street at night with my dog. We saw something that looked like a fluffy creature in a painting online I saw once I wanted to go towards it, but my dog was wanting to pick something up off the ground in front of him instead.

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Aug, 13 I don't remember much of the dream last night. I know it had something to do with going to the store for something. Not being able to find what I'm looking for. A friend was with me, and she had to change shoes for some reason because she found something wrong with the floors.

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Aug, 12 The dream last night was about purchasing this book at a yard sale. It was very ornate on the cover. Like leather embedded with crystals. I was upset the book wouldn't open so I could read what it was about. The woman selling it, told me she promised that it would open after I bought it. It stops people from just reading it and putting it back. So I bought it. I was then in a car that wasn't my own. I was then able to open it and for some reason I couldn't read it. I don't know if it was another language or I just couldn't focus on it in the dream. Then I was in a waiting room with a younger version of my brother. He was playing on the floor and I was looking into the reception area and saw the person with a big box of files put them on the windowsill and I was amazed at how they could balance it there.

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Aug, 11 I was walking through some tall grass by a fence where I was trying to step over it, and though it was low, I couldn't move my leg over it. I was worried a bit that I wouldn't be able to do so, because it was going to be an eclipse and I wanted to see it better. Next thing I realize, I'm in some sort of old department store and I'm looking for a pan to bring to my friend and having a hard time trying to find the perfect one, when I see a cat sleeping next to a door to the backroom. I asked the clerk if I can go pet him. This dream left me feeling no particular way when I woke. It just over all seems to be uneventful.

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Aug, 10 I was in a parking lot with a friend, where we were eating ice cream from a very nice brass trinket box. We were talking about the art gallery, and that they were going to be showing some sort of film we wanted to see. It started to rain, and we just sat there continuing to enjoy ice cream, even though it was washing away in the down pour. This almost didn't seem like a dream to me. It seemed just like something I would do with a friend. It was nice and peaceful, and left me in a very relaxed mood this morning. A beautiful little dream.

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Aug, 09 Last night's dream started out, as much as I can remember, that I'm running from someone, but turn down a doorway to a party where I'm given a drink, and people seem glad I'm there. I'm then wondering if someone is there. I want to find him and bring him back to my place, but I keep getting lead away by a person to meet various people around the place. I am starting to get rather frustrated and just want to find this guy. The odd thing is I don't know who he is, or if he is even there, but I for some reason knew I was in love with him.

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Aug, 08 This was a very personal dream, so I won't get much into who it was about, but I had a dream that I was arguing with them about something. They continued to call me very horrible names. I started to cry and told them about how they took me in, and I called them (leaving blank because of this individual's nickname) for the first time. I loved you then. I never changed my love for you. I woke up crying from this dream, and it had me shaken for about a half hour since waking. I'm fine now, but still kind of blue from it.

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Aug, 07: I dreamed that I was in a weird enclosed glass cubical. Almost like those long see through plastic dividers, like you saw during the Covid times. I was in there waiting for ice cream. There wasn't an ice cream shop anywhere around this cubical, I just knew I had to wait there for ice cream. As I was waiting, as this cubical thing was in the middle of a sidewalk, and the people walking around looked like they had drawn on faces. Like funny faces drawn with a pencil by a child.

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Aug 06: We had dinner with someone I couldn't see, because we were at two different tables, and seated behind eachother, like back to back. We were upset we couldn't share our food or make any sort of conversation, so I got up to leave and the waiter said I couldn't because I've not finished my fish.

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