Purple Toothed Grin

Month: June, 2014

Sleeping Baby

The floorboards cry out
when silence is too silent.


With arms akimbo
I stare down boxes until
they unpack themselves.

Poetic Procrastination

Moving day crisis:
the Allen key is missing;
the bookshelf stands tall.

Unrequited Love

a question
without a question mark
left unanswered
as well as unasked

The devastating effects of blue light on ocular health

I shut off all the blue
lights: the television
in the living room, the
one in the bedroom,
the his-and-her smart-
phones, the tablets, the
desktop, the laptop

and the world went pitch black.

It turns out,
months before,
the stars felt
they had been
slighted and
walked out on us
slamming the
door behind them,
wishing upon a human
that we would run after them
eyes bulging, lips cracking, organs boiling
begging not for water
but forgiveness

except that,
in a world that sleeps with the lights on,
no one noticed the darkness.

So I turned my
phone back on
and searched
for an app
so I could show my daughter the night sky.

Sent from my iPhone

On why typos only appear after I’ve posted

Once published it takes on a life of its own. Somehow it is not the little poem I nudged into being. It is not the muted whispers, the gentle beat heard through a lover’s chest; it is a great pounding as if transported right into the lover’s heart and you had expected romance – a quiet candlelit dinner, perhaps – but found yourself in a nightclub instead; it is loud and it is as dark as it is bright; it is all wrong.

My little poem, unleashed into cyberspace, rebelled; the misplaced semi-colons opened up into great fissures, cracking the foundation and swallowing a few choice words and, like a literary rumspringa, the commas leapt up and danced; they pranced in and out of words (all of the words) before settling down, settling back into my humble poetic landscape, content to be there but, having seen the big bad world, certainly not the same as they once were.

For the birds

in response to this.

Yesterday (and probably tomorrow)
a corporation (that will remain as
nameless as it is faceless )
looked squarely in the face of homelessness
(yes, it has a face) and mounted
not a protest against the injustices
that would let people go without
but spikes on the ground
to dissuade, deter, dehumanize the homeless
from finding a home in theirs
and making the urban landscape
even less habitable
even less hospitable
for those with even less

apparently believing the
faceless sexless mannequins in storefront windows
have more rights
than people [definition: those people]

and resolved to poke holes in the problem [definition: people (see above)]
until it bled
but to let it bleed somewhere else
where citizens [synonyms: customers, clients, consumers] wouldn’t track
the blood into the malls
where it would puddle, pool and stagnate
causing some honourable [synonyms: rich, wealthy, wanting but not needing]
citizen to slip and fall and sue
as honourable citizens
are apt to do.




If Poe had written it
the ground would have
as 800 little hearts
beat against the earth
rattling their tiny bones
forever shifting
the plates
of their skulls not yet fused
and civilization would have
raging spitting reeling
gone mad with the
indignity and the

But Poe didn’t.

And the lost children,
hidden away in death
as in life,
were simply unwritten;
their mothers undone.

Mushy Peas (Pea is for poem)

The Love Seat

Our couch is too small
or maybe we are just too large:
our romantic evenings together, spent
drinking beers and eating chips,
have made our hips and
our love grow
too darn

Moving Day

Boxes marked ‘miscellaneous’
are heavy with all the little treasures
that make a house a home and while my
achy arms may rue the day I met you
inside a chest marked
‘fragile’ my heart
is light.