and then it rains.....

Spoiled to death by wonderful spring weather. I procured my first sunburn of the year yesterday, the first burn is my favorite, nothing looks healthier than a little spring rose on the cheeks. Of course the weather couldn't last like it was, today is down right morose, its a day fit for the climax of a psychological thriller, tis a day when ideas turn gray, and plots grow muddy. Through it all I am content, a day indoors is not always a bad thing. I have pushed my body to the limit the last couple of days. I have been like a bear awaking from a long winter's hibernation. But even the hungry bear needs a day of repose, and a few idle hours to plan, plot, and scheme.

Notes from a babbling brook

Babble goes the brook
He wonders if he will beat the rain home
Full of mud and sweat
The odd scratch here and there
Maybe a couple of fresh callouses
He stinks,
He is alive
He feels moisture in the wind
Best that he gets back on the trail
Mud is fine
The wet, um, not so much.

Going Home Again

Somewhere, oh, around 26-years-ago my parents shipped myself, my siblings, themselves, and all that the owned in the world from Saint John New Brunswick, to New Glasgow Nova Scotia. New Glasgow quickly became Stellarton, and the thing is neither of those towns mattered, it was the landing in Annapolis Royal at the age of 10, that is important to this entry. For all in tense and purposes, I grew up in Annapolis Royal, it was there where I did most of my secondary schooling, its the place where I learned to drive, its where I first noticed girls, its where I had my first kiss. Annapolis Royal is where I say I am from, when I am asked where I am from. Funny though because if you break down the math, I have pretty much spent a third of my life in Saint John, a third in Annapolis Royal, and a third in Montreal. I like to jokingly say that I am the Littlest Hobo, I am from nowhere, I like the romantic idea that I am a man of the world, it is an easy hook, it makes people think, it makes me more interesting.

Then a funny thing happened. I met a woman, a wonderful woman, who wouldn't you know it was living in Saint John, the city of my birth. My memories of Saint John as a little kid are blurry at best. I have experienced the city as an adult, usually through family weddings or funerals, and the city of my youth always left a sour taste in my mouth. I am a man of the world remember. Cities to me are Paris, London, Vienna, or Montreal. Saint John was too low brow for me. I am in no means a rich man, but I have expensive tastes when it comes to culture, and working class Saint John just didn't seem to cut it. But here I am sitting on a couch of the best lass in the world up on Golden Grove in East Saint John...ya East Saint John, I was from the West Side, my God, what has this lady done to my world?

Its not as if I wasn't willing to be swept off my feet, who doesn't want to be swept off their feet? Its not that I was unwilling to leave Annapolis Royal, I am from nowhere, The Littlest Hobo, I just keep on moving on. Its just the weird irony, or is it a cliche? You know the one that says, who said you can't go home again? Who indeed.

Distraction

The simple facts that I am compelled to write poetry, that I haven't bitched or whined about the state of the planet, that I am not complaining about the weather (which is improving, at last), has to be a sign that I am in a good place. Things are happening at break neck speed, my whole summer is filled with question marks, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Options are a good thing, decisions will have to be made, yes, but I think they well have to be debated on the fly, the gut, and the heart will have to be weighed along with logic. My life is exciting, I am grinning like a Cheshire Cat. My dimples fully exposed, my blush in full bloom. Weeee!

When his world turns upside down

Oh what a few weeks he has had,
As close as he has ever been to mad.
Mad not bad,
He hopes this is more than fad.
Rhymes, and fancy words,
Stung in the heart by 80s guitar chords.
All he can do is write it through,
His brain is goo, but belongs to you.
Babble on he will,
Amazed, and awed by each new thrill.
He has started writing poetry again,
Wonders when it all really began.
Feels like forever,
Wishes to never say never.
On and on he goes,
Caught up in the throes.
He wishes to be there,
As mad as he is like a hare.
He can find no reason to frown,
Now that his world is upside down.

Sailing...

Leaving on a ship to distant shores. Gone to explore lands, or emotions yet unexplored. Not leery of the trip, I am more giddy with excitement. Like an astronaut who is on his first launch, I am excited to see a close up of the moon, to see what lies on the other side.

The State He Is In

The state he is in,
he giggles, he grins.
He blushes, he fusses,
he dreams, he muses.
He winks, he nods,
pulls hair and agogs.
He tries to find words,meanings,
confused by fresh feelings.
He types, he pauses,
erases, finds causes.
He can't explain it,
he simply dives right in it.
The state he is in,
he giggles, he grins.
And why not?