In defence of being pardoned

 

In defence of being pardoned,

Youthful way’s growing pains.

Big feet stumble on the crack

Unable to explain; a scene,

An act, and we the actors

 

A room with items various

Of origin and shape

The wondering

Is cumbersome,

 

I wonder

Of each item’s significance

Some,

Like this copper cutlery holder

Need more explaining.

 

Through children we live vicariously

Life full of effort

With pain,

Bad upbringing

Troubled

By feelings left untended

 

Of the comforts of home

I have no claim;

A table, a chair, a window

Snow, destitution

How did the polar man survive?

But that a child

Dared to test the ice.

 

Community in cities

Foundation strength accepts

All who dare

 

Porcupine bids me,

Take this quill in hand.

As instructed by beaver of whose people you are

Construct lines

Cross the gap

A soul submerged

Deep in the mud of time.

 

Amidst the sleeping snow.

 

No pain; but a life

Not ice; but strong shoulders

Not mud; but these cold feet

 

Poetic lines,

Will form a dam.

Find safety in these words.

 

Except for literary constructions

What have I made?

This type thing abounds

The can, made of

Recovered roofing materials

Once a home now condemned,

Rooted in the past.

 

Sentenced, to

Three years for stealing

Maybe six, stopped counting,

And guilty as sin.

Maybe not the original sin

But another one that came very soon after.

 

I gather,

I have become the person

In a way, from whom I removed goods, these trinkets

Never knowing their full value

Tossed,

Depriving the worker

That proud moment

Of once reclaimed,

Experiencing value.

 

What presumption

Straddle the gap

That all things have value

Seems self-evident

In physics

 

A revolving door full cycle,

Thoughts of escape swirl

Karmic Wham!

Gravity shift,

Away comes the block

Darkness becomes clear

The pain of trinkets past

announce its uses

Logos, slogans, we have them,

Don’t let them get away

 

Reading Franz Kafka

Resistance to a force inside,

Until today,

Just like his,

Clear image of darkness

I am the vine, my umbrellas

A twisted lot.

 

Climbing up the wall

Like so many times

Seeking an entrance

To another’s realm?

Uncertain, if any

Value existed.

What right does one need,

To possessions

Intrinsic total value

Measured in shekels or pennies,

Memories, hopes, uses… maybe.

 

Or to proclaim it as property

The power to set its value.

One the judge could not ascertain,

So, adding to the loss

In multiples of six months

The preferred block to apply, it would seem.

 

What happened to daylight

It went climbing.

Inaccessible as,

Thoughts speed

Rations, some menial tasks

Kicking back in a cell

Lacking a sense of proportion.

 

Scratching puppy nails,

Pencils waited sharpened

Not an appropriate thing to

Allow around paper?

 

At first pain of lost pride surged

Through my chest

Attempts to rise from screws protruding into my back

but I must stay

In a simple chair

With…

 

What is private?

Thoughts and feelings of shame

My rehabilitation plan,

Somewhere locked away

Head counts on the hour

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Where speaking truth to power is pointless.

Image
An update to this blog, originally posted in September 2023 to remove references to a real person were made in an attempt to preserve the integrity of the arguments.  In the aftermath of my “resignation” from TBS, I reached out to the primary antagonist of the situation, the top bureaucrat in the corporate services sector. After she accepted my contact request, I attempted to engage her in reassessing a nasty turn in events she helped bring on. There are two points of contention I wanted her to take another look at. There was the lack of requirement on the part of those who use the PSPM (Public Service Performance Management) system to sign their entries. And the other was the work objectives which were assigned to a small group of individuals in the AMG (Access management Group) in the IT solution section which she oversaw. Sous-ministre adjointe Services ministériels chez Secrétariat du Conseil du Trésor | Treasury Board of Canada Secretariat SEP 2 Kenth Cound sent the ...
Read more

The I that gathers all the facts. (The symbol that denotes me.)

Image
The starting line, square 1, it’s all good to start with “I.” But is it I that wishes to start? Life is not a set of choices.   A kid of 14 who started out December 1973, from Montreal, He is on the run after escaping custody at the juvenile detention center St. Valier’s, He is now hitchhiking on California Highway one, Now the passenger in a green Falcon driving between Monterey and Los Angeles, Absorbed in a panoramic view to one side, an over stimulated Salam chain smoking guy, to the left. New Views of the Pacific at Big Sur unfolding before these impressionable eyes.   Ok, it is said that the whole-body regenerates over a period of ten years, so This “Not I,” has somehow grafted memories Of events still disguised as firsthand experiences.   Some memories have worked their way into his psyche. Blended right in you could say. Their descriptions being localized in a present of Originals mixed with modified versions slightly corrupte...
Read more

Infinity is Plural

Image
Let us consider the number of times we, as individuals, have experienced failure to communicate. For my hypothetical interlocutor to be a successful purveyor of truth, he must ooze confidence, his internal dialogue must be affirming. Thoughts must come to words and words must come to meaning and purpose. Not only does he need to make some sort of sense , but it must contain concrete evidence of the scientific method being employed in the direction or pursuit of something. I wont claim to be an expert of neuro-psychology or physiology so I will limit myself to describing my experience with the actual facts that unroll. Not only one meaning or one purpose but many. I am starting to sound like Robin Williams in Flubber.  Actually infinite quantities of each. The more we find the fewer we will need as we cannot possibly consume all the meaning and we certainly cannot attend to every purpose. Would it be a bad thing if we could but decided we were not going to make the effort?  Ye...
Read more