Former poet laureate of Ottawa. Eight books of poetry: Poems (Soft Press) , God in the Rafters, (Borealis) , Stations (Commoner’s Books) , Homage to Victor Jara, (Steel Rail Press) , Seventeen Odes, (Fiddlehead Books) , Orpheus on Highbeam, (Anthos Books) , Habitable Planets, New and Selected Poems, (Cormorant Books) , and The Benjamin Chee Chee Elegies, (General Store Publishing) . His work has ... more »
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Patrick White Poems
The Widening Compass Of Pain
ations. At war with the world and yourself like two halves of the same unbroken wishbone,
You Were The Intimacy
You were the intimacy of the things I loved that were so impossibly far away I could never reach out and touch them
A Day Of Writing
A day of writing, trying to clarify myself to Alysia, myself, Alysia, to the night rain, trying to hang the universe on the tip of an eyelash without blinking, pulling handfuls of the stagnant dimensions
Rain At Five In The Morning. Can't Sleep
Rain at five in the morning. Can't sleep. Too many shards of broken mirrors of the way things are in my mind. Not enough windows to look through
Mad People Trying To Impress Me
Mad people trying to impress me with the quality of their souls. Ego-slurry alienated radioactively from the rest of the world trying to compensate for the meltdown of their lives by glowing bioluminescently in the dark like the tiny zodiacs
I Don't Know What I'm Here For
I don’t know what I’m here for. I just write. I just paint. Like breathing in and out. Inspired expiration. I watch the rain, blankly, sometimes for hours, washing off the dust
My Death Was A Quiet Event
My death was a quiet event. I entered the abyss with all the constituents of the first sign of life to give voice to the silence
Alcohol, Sex, And This Cold Spring Night...
Alcohol, sex, and this cold spring night in their blood, the rowdies outside the Crown and Thistle have taken their chilly elations home. Past midnight, the town quiescent, the moon, Venus and Jupiter set, the silence of the stars
Yes, There Are Pale Gardens
Yes, there are pale gardens, wings ribbed like the eyelashes of butterflies, and roses of flaking blood rooted like something that was said between the lines of lovers
He gate to my heart open and the horses ...
Soft liberation going on underground as if someone left the gate to my heart open and the horses are grazing in sidereal pastures and there’s no turmoil in the wind blowing
The Brighter The Light, The Deeper The S...
for Rebekah Garland The brighter the light, the deeper the shadow. Shine. And anyone who can see will follow.
Let It Go, Let It Go, Let It Go
Let it go, let it go, let it go, as if my soul were sweeping out a season of unleafing, sodden feelings, sodden hearts, the rose ruined, cumbrous clouds gusting over the eyelashes
You Are Crazy
You are crazy and beautiful and wounded and wild and the youngest daughter of a coven of poetic sea-witches,
Taking An Upbeat Flambuoyant Approach To...
Taking an upbeat flambuoyant approach toward catastrophe. A good attitude to go on perishing by. Adept at it. Like Atlantis happy enough
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Widening Compass Of Pain
At war with the world and yourself
like two halves of the same unbroken wishbone,
teach the children how to approach their crossroads
in peace, and speak of the sword of the slayer
like a sacred syllable in the mouth of the slain
that cut through your umbilical cord
like a link in a golden chain that held you back
from the liberation of a lyrically unbounded life.
Mollify the poison of the thorn with the cure
in the medicine bag of the other fang.
When the wedding gown of the Japanese plum tree
is ruined in the rain and the dust like...