Wednesday, 29 February 2012

The scent of a pixel friend.

I have a friend a thousand miles away
I haven't looked upon her face, never felt the way her hips sway
Although you might think its rather surreal
I feel a bond thats very very real

So I know you think Im mad
When I say Ive known her in my past
But for me it only matters that its true
Besides, I can smell her through and through

Can you smell  a pixel friend, yes her very scent?
Do you feel her honesty and intent?
Have you taken a moment to reflect
on the feeling, that buzz you get, when you connect?

Can you smell Innocence?
The first time you crushed your newborn to your face you did, the bouquet of life, thats intense.

Has the scent of Love lingered in your nose?
It has, its like the mountain meadow mulch, god knows.

How about Pure?
A winter night, when fresh moon light blossoms off Birch Trees, reflecting on a mountain stream,
When you cup it in your hands to drink, the scent is nothing baby,  but pure and clean.

Yeah, thats my friend! You think she isnt real?
So stand real close, get to know her, the scent of her she can't conceal.
Gunner ©

Saturday, 25 February 2012


The best reflection I could possibly ever see is after I have fallen into your eyes and confronted myself as  you see me. Gunner ©

Friday, 17 February 2012

The Butterfly and The Stone

Look into my eyes, beyond the bars of my silent agony, to the depths of my blackness
See a stone in the  heavens, tracking to nowhere, time an unknown concept

Ages come and go, stars fire and burn away, memories like chimney smoke on a cold winter day
Questions, searching..a long burning  ache to feel, sense the presence of the one to stifle my decay.

Awareness alone is hardly worthy of a stone
But for the darkness deep in my soul there must be a light to help me atone

And did you know the soul leaves a scent in its wake,
small wafting spirals of its essence that float unrestrained through both time and space

For eons I've drifted, a rogue stone on her trail
when suddenly the troubled slumber is torn away like a veil

When the weight of a butterfly alights on my stone
the causality a mighty curve, bringing me atmosphere and excites me to the bone

And I know the purpose of my blackness is a place for the butterfly's light to shine upon
Gunner ©

Life Stinks

This is a story about a single line my Grandfather said to me. Its not so much what he said that had an impact, but the imagery it brings to life when I think of it. Grandpa had a cottage in Northern Ontario. I spent summers and many autumns up there with him.

We did the typical Northern Ontario Lodge thing. Fishing, hunting, gathering wood, roasting pigs. Sometimes we would buzz the moose towards the lodge with our airplane so the paying "Hunter" guests could sit on the porch with their drink and shoot their trophy as it run by.  In the evening we played Canasta and drank whiskey.

So yeah, playing Canasta one night, and I have to go for a dump. (#2 for you less versed in guy talk) No plumbing, just an old outhouse. After I closed the door, I looked in the hole. (Admit it, we all look in the hole). I could see the 2 x 4 spreader about two feet down center.  Do not ask me what it spread!! Anyway, I drop my pants, sit and takes care of my business. After I was done, I'm pulling up my jeans and my wallet tumbles out and falls onto the spreader bar, one flap on either side, looking like a downed duck.

You know I had to get my wallet back. It took about fifty gagging attempts before I could finally crush my face against the greasy seat and just grab my wallet with a hugely stretched arm. Anyway, I cleaned up and walked back into the cottage. Grandpa looks up and he says, “What the hell happened look like you saw a ghost"!

So you're did that statement sum up anything? Well, sometimes life stinks, but once you drag your nose out of the shit and look around, you have to admit that it can be pretty god damned funny. Even if you are feeling a little pale around the edges. Do you get what I’m saying?  Sure sometimes in our lives we have ghosts. Maybe they suck the color out of us for a time. But really, ghosts are nothing worse than a bad smell. Remember the stink, let it go. Then push yourself up against your nearest rose.


Tuesday, 14 February 2012


Would that I could,
Love the Raven in flight
My heart says I should
And not ever let her from my sight

Would that I could
Be a ball of thread
To wrap around her talons and fly
Or be that wound round her nest the night next to her breast

Would that I could
be a path of sand
Her beak tossing me, teasing me
Or be consumed by her fully and warmed by her belly

Would that I could
Be a drop of rain
The span of her wing catching me from heaven
Or her thirst, with my waters, forgiven

Would that I could
be a breath of wind, a sigh
Nourishing her lungs
and lifting her weightlessly across all skies

Would that I could


A Gift of Noise

I was on a shore of the big lady, she giving birth to a new day star.
As I watched the burn on my horizon, I gave thought to the quiet.
And I heard the wind whispering to the busting surf.
The waves arguing with shiny pebbles rolling on the beach.
I wondered what was so funny that had the trees laughing happily,
their leaves a million rustles in the crisp morning air.
The woods themselves hmmmm and hawww
as the meadow grasses bluffed and fooled with the fall frost.
And as I withdrew into myself, my heart a thundering boom, I thought
How the hell is a man supposed to think in all this racket ?

Even on a quiet dawn, its good to consider the gifts of some small noise. :)


Stone Statues

I've thrown my praises like whipped sand on wind
to Kings, Queens, men, women and kin
Built them statues of sticks, stones and bones
Ive shared my brutal sword and carried gently my child
Tasted the salt of blood, drank cream from a mug, sweet and mild
Ive swam in love and sank in rage
Struck a friend and delivered my enemy from his cage
And today I know, with all these things gone past,
With an idle word I sow, all these things can tumble down like glass
What have you learned this fine day, to say?

29 Souls

There's a mist o'er the hole
where below
on the weary bones of the ghosted iron ship
toil 29 souls

And seven miles on to my horizon
Our star makes love to the great lady's bosom
My mast a cross on the spot of the boiling burn
My foot on the tiller, my weight on the stern

My brother Moriah a wind on my back
I pull in the main, leaving not a trace of slack
The steel lines bite into my hand
a warmth compared to the cold splash of the lady's fan

The Isle of Deception ahead on my left
four foot down on the lee, one hundred fifty off the windward dock
A ghosted pilot and crew still swim, angry at the theft
Tricked and fooled, their airship down, they chose to swim rather than walk

If ten thousand were claimed by the Great Lake Superior
To wander her deep bays and drift over her quay's
To haunt her thick mists and sunfilled bays
When the time comes, I'll steer my bow deep, let the lady grab hold,
make it ten thousand and one to her fold

There's a mist o'er the hole
where below
on the weary bones of the ghosted iron ship
toil 29 souls


Distant Shores

Distant Shores

I’ve seen the face of God...and more
And I can say...with ease
With no fear of laughter or reprieve
That we…them and I...have even played on distant shores

Still...and regardless that… I’ve known the truth
and felt the warmth and joy of evidence
I tremble and weep with foreboding…a glimpse
a vision...of my truest love taking much to lose

And more...I see old friends in tears
I recall our brothers sisters sons and daughters
Our mothers…our fathers
Our hearts aching...lost of strength and love requited

We shall survive and endure...and more
For I can say...with ease
With no fear of laughter or reprieve
That and I and them...will even play on distant shores

I know we’ll love and laugh with them…taste their tears
We will meet again...and again...make or break our fences
Play our part...and rediscover our senses
But then the face of god will quiet our fears



I stood on the shores of a small ocean,
The surf crashing at my feet, the power of it turning boulders to pebbles and sand.
On the mountain side, stone pillars raised testament to the gods, and the Autumn flush of the maples seemed justified only if angels walked on the scented drops below them. Behind me the sun drilled into the horizon and her fires cast longer shadows of future promise.
And out of the mist on the mountain top and through the mighty crevasse came something breath taking.
The ocean calmed its roar and went silent to hear this thing's heart beat. The Fall leaves quieted their rustle and paled in the grander color of that approaching. The mighty wind sucked in the mountain mist and retreated into the cracks of the earth to let this thing pass undisturbed.
The gods surely felt less than they had as they first saw her. A woman, powerful and strong and weak and mild. All things possible at once. Her arms cradled an infant, like the fruit of humanity, snuggled against her breast. And the oceans and the winds and the woods, even the gods, whisper "All things would come from her"
Is there any doubt that I should kneel at her feet and give thanks for her blessings?

Brothers Black Black Blood

On hot summer noons
When school bells sing their lunchtime tunes
Memories of mine steal me back
To something bitter and black

Children singing ring a rosie things
They have a melody and a sting
"Your baby brothers dead,
"He lays upon a pool of blood"
"He lays upon a pool of black black blood"
"Your Baby brothers dead"

I run like mad to a spot nearly blind
Tiny fingers my guide
Its there I find a shine on the road of pain
Something that would make a strong man insane

Blackness spreads like water should
It stops me dead the way a bitter taste could
I bend and stoop my childs knee
Wondering if this monster really could be

Fingers point and tenderly touch
And as my tears fall like rain, I know the pain will be too much
Blackness that lifts away sticky red
From the place where my baby brother had lay dead

Fleet of foot and carrying fear like cold stone
I race to the shelter of my home
I find the sun burns and falls
It blossoms on the wine bottle tall
The fan turns a slow smooth and the scented oranges are bright with color
But my soul has turned gray, not a sign of my mother

And each day since
A tear escapes my glimpse
When school bells sing their lunchtime tunes
Since I found my brother dead to soon
His black black blood on my scrubbed raw fingers, still a stain
From that long long road of pain


Monday, 13 February 2012



Winters grip is on our town

Frost is everywhere, 
snow banks piled high,
School kids in cold weather dress hunker down

The air so cold my breath becomes a visible sigh

Each morning I drive past the school

I see the kids, the moms, and the dads

A crossing guard too
A hunched over, shuffling old man, 
slow moving bones make him seem somehow sad

I wonder what drives that old guy
Why fight the bitter cold and wicked snow

What rewards for him when storm clouds churn the sky

What makes him drag on his winter coat and boots to go

The snow twirls blind and stirs my mind

Suddenly then through a sideways frosty glance
I see a father, a son, and an infantryman of some kind
Strong and powerful, willful and intent in his stance

It’s a ghostly scene that I’ve just been shown

My minds eye blurred, visions like windblown snowflakes whipped

Truths of heavy labor and toils on the farmers’ ground

Adventures on new trains and great wooden ships

He’s been a son, a brides groom and a fine father they say

He’s been to war and paid his dues

Buried many friends on their last days
Lifted his son in brand new

I press my throttle and drive on by

And its no surprise what I see with a backward glance
A giant of a man, his arms raised high
A warning there, 
strong and powerful, willful and intent in his stance

He guides our child safely cross the road

And that’s just what he has done as years have piled high

Kept us all safe, holding off the foe

That Crossing guard, that giant of a man, that hero of mine.