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Mostly first draft poetry. Older poems that have been edited will also be posted and should have the dates written included on them. Comments welcome.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
ok?
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Oil Company Blues
I got the
I'm not an Oil Company blues
You get the worst press
people curse you at the pumps
You jack up all the prices
and they still show you the love
Oh I just wanna cry
That I can't be an oil company, too!
I'm not an Oil Company blues
You get the worst press
people curse you at the pumps
You jack up all the prices
and they still show you the love
Oh I just wanna cry
That I can't be an oil company, too!
Saturday, October 30, 2004
All I Want To Do
All I want to do these days is to dream about you someone as so improbable as to take the time to spend a few minutes of your time reading whatever I got to say - yesterday someone new logged on to read presumably and I want to dream about that person too...
... but I am afraid to sleep and to stay awake so long makes my eyes water so helpless the news only promises dreams a better option...
... the vertigo after I closed my eyes left me wondering about you sitting there (and that other person too) can you feel it too? Or is it just me?
... when I close my eyes I can see how we all are just hurtling through space when said that to Lindi she kind of looked at me strange I guess it's a strange thing to say but it is metaphor something to help the wine...
... or I'm caught on the grill of a semi barrelling down the 400 coming into Barrie and why I can scream without swallowing any flies not even those bitter and dry shads...
... what is it that moves you? That's what I really would like to know maybe we can compare notes over sushi and green tea and tell each other that we are moving forward even as we sit you read I type....
.... all I wanted to do was to know what was going on how heavy it makes my head I'm glad I can not see to look into your eyes I've done nothing the guilt is not mine...
... how's your family is everyone OK what they say in the papers can't all true, can it?
mjsalovaara
... but I am afraid to sleep and to stay awake so long makes my eyes water so helpless the news only promises dreams a better option...
... the vertigo after I closed my eyes left me wondering about you sitting there (and that other person too) can you feel it too? Or is it just me?
... when I close my eyes I can see how we all are just hurtling through space when said that to Lindi she kind of looked at me strange I guess it's a strange thing to say but it is metaphor something to help the wine...
... or I'm caught on the grill of a semi barrelling down the 400 coming into Barrie and why I can scream without swallowing any flies not even those bitter and dry shads...
... what is it that moves you? That's what I really would like to know maybe we can compare notes over sushi and green tea and tell each other that we are moving forward even as we sit you read I type....
.... all I wanted to do was to know what was going on how heavy it makes my head I'm glad I can not see to look into your eyes I've done nothing the guilt is not mine...
... how's your family is everyone OK what they say in the papers can't all true, can it?
mjsalovaara
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Jealous: A Canticle
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jellous, Jellous, Jellous, Yellous,
Yellous, Yellous, Yellatus, Yellatus, Yellatus, Yell at us, Yell at us,
Yell at us, Yell at us, Yell at us, Yell at us, Yell at us, Yellatus,
Yellatus, Yellatus, Yellous, Yellous, Yellous, Jellous, Jellous,
Jellous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous,
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous, Jealous...
mjsalovaara
Friday, August 13, 2004
Work In Progress (Part 7)
.
.
I let that rock roll away
Ignored the crashing below
Standing alone on this summit
The only sound came from the wind, so hollow
Without light a journey had to be started
Without reason a purpose had to be found
How to find meaning when there is nothing?
Can a moment really contain a lifetime?
With eyes closed I saw what would come
With one point fixed in the past
The second fixed on this singular moment
The future became the third
An unchartable sea, a Cartesian plane
with no substance, no voice or song
Yet, with each venture life's prow finds
buoyancy in the moment awaking the past
There was no ego assuaging divination
No pots of gold awaited
Happiness still had to be discovered
And tragedy most certainly awaited
The simplicity of this vision staggered me
Its utter banality inspired a wry smile
Why the need to peer into darkened windows?
Why not just live, look, see, watch ... do?
But I did peer darkly into and onto what might be
I could not risk not looking at tomorrows contours
Though the air was clear, there was no singularity
Future moments merged and re-emerged endlessly
A perpetual fractal of proto-time and possibilities:
formless, pre-substantial, nonexistent animation
with the whispers and murmurings in timeless flow
revealing a topography of the past
Gazing over this endless nonexistent plain
I could see in gossamer wonder
the rise and fall of great and small
Oriental and Occidental
.
I let that rock roll away
Ignored the crashing below
Standing alone on this summit
The only sound came from the wind, so hollow
Without light a journey had to be started
Without reason a purpose had to be found
How to find meaning when there is nothing?
Can a moment really contain a lifetime?
With eyes closed I saw what would come
With one point fixed in the past
The second fixed on this singular moment
The future became the third
An unchartable sea, a Cartesian plane
with no substance, no voice or song
Yet, with each venture life's prow finds
buoyancy in the moment awaking the past
There was no ego assuaging divination
No pots of gold awaited
Happiness still had to be discovered
And tragedy most certainly awaited
The simplicity of this vision staggered me
Its utter banality inspired a wry smile
Why the need to peer into darkened windows?
Why not just live, look, see, watch ... do?
But I did peer darkly into and onto what might be
I could not risk not looking at tomorrows contours
Though the air was clear, there was no singularity
Future moments merged and re-emerged endlessly
A perpetual fractal of proto-time and possibilities:
formless, pre-substantial, nonexistent animation
with the whispers and murmurings in timeless flow
revealing a topography of the past
Gazing over this endless nonexistent plain
I could see in gossamer wonder
the rise and fall of great and small
Oriental and Occidental
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Project: Being In a Box
*
*
[Here is a description of the project:
I would like for people to describe a small location--such as a one square meter area. This can be the place where you are right now or when you make the recording, or it can be a place that is special for you, or it can be an imaginary one square meter. You decide.
Please record yourself either on MD, tape or CD describing the One Square Meter location. You can say what and where the place is, but please focus on describing the way that particular One Square Meter looks or feels or smells or sounds or tastes. Your description is up to you. What is in the place. What colors and things are in it, etc. Why it is important, etc. These are all things you can consider.]
*
*
This one square meter isn't actually square or a meter, but it is certainly singular. Its size and shape are really not that important or what makes it special. But for the sake of this discussion this "special place" is one square meter. In fact, perhaps due to the waning August full moon, it is one cubic meter.
This special space changes from time to time.
Sometimes it is a transparent guileless box. And porous too. A slight breeze of baby's breath can be felt at these moments. It can be entered without effort and even though there is no particular temperature, it is comfortable. It moves without effort innocently in its environment observing and being.
Other times it is more or less opaque, sticky (mochi-like), and with colour. Despite its soft features it is a bit coarse and predictable. It could be sweet, sour, acidic or bitter depending on who is biting and why. Sounds can be heard coming from no particular point of focus - rumblings and ruminations in baritone, but no meaning can be discerned. Its movement can be described in terms of attraction and repulsion, tentative and suspicious.
Today it is solid black and impenetrably dense with a matte finish. Though it invites the inquisitive to investigate it reveals nothing. There is no sound, except for the unending clack, clack, clack adagio of a pin ball gamely bouncing in perpetual eagerness, waiting for an opening into the mother of mystery. There is no taste, except for the tasteless gray of the urbane that always seems to settle on anything black with a matte finish. To the touch there is neither heat nor coldness. However a faint frigidity exists hinting at a fire that may have burned in some colourful past. Its movement is relative to the observer and perspective. At this point it seems immovable, though yesterday it was caught up in a swirl of uneasiness winding up some empty boulevard of an unknown city. But within that swirl it had no momentum of its own.
*
[Here is a description of the project:
I would like for people to describe a small location--such as a one square meter area. This can be the place where you are right now or when you make the recording, or it can be a place that is special for you, or it can be an imaginary one square meter. You decide.
Please record yourself either on MD, tape or CD describing the One Square Meter location. You can say what and where the place is, but please focus on describing the way that particular One Square Meter looks or feels or smells or sounds or tastes. Your description is up to you. What is in the place. What colors and things are in it, etc. Why it is important, etc. These are all things you can consider.]
*
*
This one square meter isn't actually square or a meter, but it is certainly singular. Its size and shape are really not that important or what makes it special. But for the sake of this discussion this "special place" is one square meter. In fact, perhaps due to the waning August full moon, it is one cubic meter.
This special space changes from time to time.
Sometimes it is a transparent guileless box. And porous too. A slight breeze of baby's breath can be felt at these moments. It can be entered without effort and even though there is no particular temperature, it is comfortable. It moves without effort innocently in its environment observing and being.
Other times it is more or less opaque, sticky (mochi-like), and with colour. Despite its soft features it is a bit coarse and predictable. It could be sweet, sour, acidic or bitter depending on who is biting and why. Sounds can be heard coming from no particular point of focus - rumblings and ruminations in baritone, but no meaning can be discerned. Its movement can be described in terms of attraction and repulsion, tentative and suspicious.
Today it is solid black and impenetrably dense with a matte finish. Though it invites the inquisitive to investigate it reveals nothing. There is no sound, except for the unending clack, clack, clack adagio of a pin ball gamely bouncing in perpetual eagerness, waiting for an opening into the mother of mystery. There is no taste, except for the tasteless gray of the urbane that always seems to settle on anything black with a matte finish. To the touch there is neither heat nor coldness. However a faint frigidity exists hinting at a fire that may have burned in some colourful past. Its movement is relative to the observer and perspective. At this point it seems immovable, though yesterday it was caught up in a swirl of uneasiness winding up some empty boulevard of an unknown city. But within that swirl it had no momentum of its own.
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Work In Progress (Part 6)
It was in Jumalan Kukkaro* my self discovered
my other self taking its primordial form
a mere echo in ageless vibration
whispering about a river just beyond beyond
On a day where time slows to endless
The trees silent and dressed in pre-autumn green
Insects in an unceasing buzz, whine, chirp & creak
Where tomorrow appears a perpetual today
The Sisyphean rock reaching its apogee
The final movement to define tomorrow's struggle
Futility blooming in its deceit
The complete silence beckoning
Standing on this summit
Looking down on everything that defined me
How the insult of living offered no reward
And utterly boring the alternative
In this purgatory of adolescent ardour
My other self found its voice reaching
From beyond the bounds of sanity
It was here I finally heard the whisper
I did the only thing that made any sense,
Even now there is no regret
Even though I have yet to reach that river,
I let that rock go.
my other self taking its primordial form
a mere echo in ageless vibration
whispering about a river just beyond beyond
On a day where time slows to endless
The trees silent and dressed in pre-autumn green
Insects in an unceasing buzz, whine, chirp & creak
Where tomorrow appears a perpetual today
The Sisyphean rock reaching its apogee
The final movement to define tomorrow's struggle
Futility blooming in its deceit
The complete silence beckoning
Standing on this summit
Looking down on everything that defined me
How the insult of living offered no reward
And utterly boring the alternative
In this purgatory of adolescent ardour
My other self found its voice reaching
From beyond the bounds of sanity
It was here I finally heard the whisper
I did the only thing that made any sense,
Even now there is no regret
Even though I have yet to reach that river,
I let that rock go.
