PoemTree6

poems by Rudolf Kurt Penner

the pussywillows

in the window, dying to get out

I left the door open

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November 16, 2017 Posted by | All Poems, flowers and trees; girls and bees, nature, plain & simple, wild and free | Leave a comment

Too tired

The hardwired highway twisting, rushing

A few trees from the reflected light

of beams on the road

November 16, 2017 Posted by | All Poems, plain & simple | , , , | Leave a comment

it’s Athabascan weather

so get out your furs

the wood heat curls around you like a warm cat

November 16, 2017 Posted by | All Poems, nature, plain & simple, social commentary | , , | Leave a comment

Tall Order. drinking 9.5% beer do you

hear the Christmas bells

The peacocks wish to show their wings, amid silver ornaments

The chrome of an old car coming in the rear view mirror

like a fountain pen no one would ever

touch

 

The elevator is taking us up – its rich

walnut stain handrail – a comfort

to the blonde panelling with dark hearts

 

I wear a black shirt and underneath the hurt

I suck the straw of festive music

Like i was sitting on a throne in technicolor

Walt dizzily would listen to jazz

on Tall Order Wednesdays

at his favorite dive

percolating rhythms and aromatic espresso

into the blue stage with its golden horns

‘twas a hive of bees and birds

and thin rectangles of red stage lights

on the floor

 

like a fountain that never knew it was shut off

and hazelnuts never to be harvested, he hooked

his eyes into her lightly tanned face with its

green irises and blonde straightened

shined hair

 

Tall order. drinking with peacocks in the warm

sultry air by the salt sea

and silver and green iridescent wings

 

© 2013 Rudolf Kurt Penner

April 28, 2016 Posted by | esoteric/unintelligible, flowers and trees; girls and bees | , , , , | Leave a comment

parent(heses)

As we were walking

  and in a group, she said

I’ll put that on when we get to my place:

  it was Fernando, by ABBA

and that was the artist, Inge

  but she never did

But some forlorn loudspeaker

     that was rather quiet,

       was playing it on the street

I said I could play in on the guitar:

     no comment, so I said it again

     no comment  plus – I’ll put that on

       when we get back home

I have that one

The sun was shining for once; and we’d met

  on the wall that goes around the sea

There I was taking photos of my friend Sylvia

        practicing kung fu

born of a forlorn preacher

The Russians stept in,

and everybody left; everybody who could, that is,

   they soldiered on thru

       to other continents,

miserable oceans by boat

I caught a glimpse of my mum’s Chinese,

   but she would say she forgot

   she would lay in bed for days

     after she got cancer

     and stink up the house with

her rotting peaches

What a drag it must be, to be like that

mentally ill people don’t get cancer

at least I’ve never met one

      miserable oceans apart

what it must be like, living on

  a dog’s leash

a gift of the horse in the mouth

     a grave on either side

     some artist wrote a book

some author plays the game of brandy + cigars

   talks with the gen’lmen-scholars

  and they go back to their boots and hunting

      and triggers and hairpins

and planning the annihilation of the enemy

Tigers walk slowly, eyeing up their prey

   the tips of crows’ wings  setting off the sky

What if the grass is greener on the other side

   And parents off the tan their offspring’s hide

I don’t know what i feel inside

with all the oil paint sitting there unused

the tiggers hoped I’d create a portrait

of them stealing through the brush

the way I figger I can’t get caught

doing something bad

   It’s the best linen canvas you ever had

I would lay back for days

coaxing my back back into shape

  It hurts after working

  and the frog outside keeps croaking

Crow may leave a versatile feather

        for me to pick

  from the ashes

in the sand

And I will go play in the band

with all my wet music

  stained and haunted by

        a silent sadness

©2014 by Rudolf Kurt Penner

January 15, 2016 Posted by | about artists/poets, Not Fade Away, Personal History, social commentary | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Nelson the Seagull

Sitting at Nelson the Seagull
reviewing my tablet
setting and re-setting
and all beginning to seem like wasting time
snipping protocol at this/that website
slow-loading functionality
brain – much faster
surfers, surfing in
connections getting even slower –
got-to-get-me-one-of-those signal boosters,
rumour has it, some people engage

Coffee being handed from customer
to staff cook – why
smell of human fog, getting thick
Cards or canvas flags – strung across
the divide  several times
one inch tile  holding down the
warped illusion floor
and a creeping leaf-strewn carpet
matting the entrance
The sidewalk floor-washers are
outside:  my colleague gives me
a glint-and-a-wave
in his yellow rain costume

The man’s brown shoes
at the table next-to-me
go well with seemingly bleach-blonde
short hair – standing straight up
Across from me – the woman
with the long hair
shuffles-and-clacks the ends of the sheaf
to the long wooden table

this is a good coffeeshop

Vocabulary Link: * clacks
© 2014  Rudolf Kurt Penner

April 23, 2015 Posted by | All Poems, food, plain & simple | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Caring for the Coffeeshop

caring for the coffeeshop
where the owner is always present
or is presenting one of the employees he chose
working the internet
from his own free Wi-Fi
that is – it’s free for us,
the Cute customers
but he’ll always gather himself
up to serve a coffee
or arrange the pastries,
never getting lost on the net
like us Average Joe’s
The rough-worn bar whose sides just look old
and may indeed be old –
but brought in to enhance
the modern feel interior
decorator did a fine job, maybe himself
so fine even I am caring for the coffeeshop
in turquoise clay the mud is poured
dining in traditional Chinatown, now
leased to Whites and Browns
who’ll pay any price to open up;
unafraid of losing a couple hundred grand
how can people be unafraid of losing
a couple of hundred grand
and be so nice about it
at the same time
I gave myself an extra dime
to make a call from an extinct phone booth;
40¢ just wasn’t enough
to call the beach
where the Persian lackadaisical man informed the ocean
of his being
here
some girl tore to shreds
the remnants of his life
a wild ride
with real estate
he’s leaving he’s leaving
after weaving his tale

how can people be so cool
to work around the purer rule
of certainty and law
leaving their non-existent baggage
at the door
of science and nature

© 2015 Rudolf Kurt Penner

April 23, 2015 Posted by | All Poems, food, hoping for success, Not Fade Away, plain & simple | Leave a comment

One Mountain Lion, One Police Car and One Deer

One Mountain
and One Police car
and one deer

And three trees,
and 2 deserts

One mountain Lion
one woman with long hair
spinning her web

one dried up sea
stretching from see to see point

a rattlesnake wriggling thru

shorten my sentences
with a hangman’s rope
cut with a razorsharp

here we are

bring me a rabbit and a blade of grass

tomorrow’s the nightday

Northern California, close to Reno

one mountain lion
one police car
and one deer

the tracks were laid down long ago
by a featherlight pen

now the pigeons sit on trains
even in boxcars
satisfied by a seed

by a fountain pen

and they were all here

drinking from the well
of the golden snake nearby
asking the camera for a projection

© 2014 Rudolf Kurt Penner

April 23, 2015 Posted by | All Poems, animal poems, social commentary, spiritual | Leave a comment

lo-fi protocols

It’s so boring when you’re drunk
to hear ordinary announcements
You take a hard rock candy Black Russian along on your bike
riding in the Sun-day
thru the throngs of Sun-Run
roadies all spooked in white
with printing, black in nature

The cloud rolls in, but it is not sick,
there’s an eerie clamour towards
the sky; red pens won’t
record the district atmosphere
sentimentality is on record as being obscene, but would
you and I agree

When boredom drives you to the
movies – any movie will do
while the organs play in a small town –
you’d be hard-pressed to hear two together in this day and age; maybe
congruously in several towns
via satellite or VOIP
but no SOUND QUALITY CAN endure
the lo-fi protocols
of quick  snappy   access to sound

dream of a fat pig flying thru the sky
with motorized jet stream coming out of its arse

The bike is orange
the racing flag decals
black and chequered white
The drink is brown
with massive cubes of God’s ice
The peacock struts its stuff

some claim a narcissistic pattern
but not so – the St. Nick of your soul must rest in Narcissus

taking + picking gold rings from
the fir & gold tree
They have beed wrested well from strangers
who had them made, carved + poured in molds
the wax ran out

the pig was rescued from the sky
which was yellow and silver today

caring for the debut princess
in the school play
the theater of the mind;
a boy reading in his Boy Scouts outfit
clear as a bell that rang from hell

The Theatrical Director will sing
the oranges will fall from a crate and barely bounce
for fear of brown
warehouse darkness

like the Orange
the mind can be full of zesty honours
just fit for flashy birds to take
on their journey
missive cues of god’s mind
a translucent cold
fear of racing wheels

* vocabulary: missive
© 2015 Rudolf Kurt Penner

April 23, 2015 Posted by | wild and free | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

MORNING ANGEL

The one who stays the dawn

to slay a few less dragons

here begins the morn

as a silver Stingray rolls by

and Jerry-the-madman is getting high…

… The MORNING ANGEL is busy placing

cigarette butts for the downward-looking dogs

A piano starts up in a big old house…

… The MORNING ANGEL speaks a

word or 2 to the CHOSEN FEW…

(for full poem please contact me – one X-rated line)

© 2014  Rudolf Kurt Penner

February 9, 2015 Posted by | All encompassing, All Poems | , | 1 Comment

the Celine Dion pen

Celine Dion was walking down the street poet holding Celine Dion pen
where I found her pen
lying on the ground
with her signature on it
I picked it up
and drew a pretty picture

when she went back to French
I sold turpentine in the dime store
in a small city in Canada
and took pity on all the starving artists
lining up before my door every morning
I would see them from behind the curtains

I wear sunglasses when I work,
so as you can imagine
things are pretty mellow
on rusty mornings
trying to look preoccupied
for the few customers
on a Wednesday morning

© 2012 Rudolf Penner

October 9, 2014 Posted by | about artists/poets, All Poems | 1 Comment

Let Me Go (Revisited)

Let me go on the Rocks

– on the rocks by the riverside

too old, too old

too steep a hill to comb

no clout, no references

Stuck in the Valley

– the valley below

roaming around scattered icons

of trash by trash-west

no snout, for truffle picking

the thin birch

– standing tall amid the giants

cold and chipped

flat area brush mixing with marmots

get out, evil spirit

Let me go on the rocks

– on the rocks beside the shore

fold me up, throw me away

a blue paper napkin

flips about in the wind

…and sinks in the water

and is carried away downstream

© 2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

this is a second version of a previous poem from long ago, at first, attempted to write from memory: failed. This is the revisitation.

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems, madness | , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Trust Only Employers, It’s Only A Crow

Trust only employers

those who hire you

they can tell all the truths they wish

if they ask you to lie for the cause

please be patient with them

There is only one rule that matters:

and that is: make money

if it doesn’t gravitate greenbacks

it ain’t honest work

trust me on this

I asked you for a glass of wine:

and you were only serving beer

I asked for a cup of water:

and it was only for the customers

it was only caffeine for the workers; they want you buzzing

There is only on radical around here:

and he is out of a job, just now

you can only hold your own so long

some hold it forever

They don’t bitch and complain and tell you what’s wrong

If grass don’t grow here, ‘s something wrong:

for it is the season

somebody put something there

and now it won’t grow

gasoline, or radiation, or concrete

That bird is sick:

it can’t fly away

it’s here to stay

that bird over there” it’s sick too

but I know, it’s only a crow, and that is how it goes

© 2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems | , , , , , | 1 Comment

hork

We spit out, over and over again,

what we’ve been told

I’m better at hiding it, because I

read more varied sources, and

you might be hard pressed to name them

Our own thots are rare, and really only a

reflection of those in orbit

Like parrots we go gabbing all day long

pronouncing the fate of millions,

America, Afghanistan, Iraq

horses, hidden in the barn

at the back of the farm

the future of sad billions, not really

ours to dwell upon. Altho a

kind word in the right direction, might help

a kite, in the brite sky, flying so gaily

the mail still arrives daily

mostly junk mail, invitations for a credit line,

tempting your already unhealthy brain.

Somebody spent a lot of money on those little ads

here or there a duck, listening to Styx music

a quick nickel from the sidewalk

and a bit of bark for tea

ne’ry a dog that doesn’t pee all over

a black dressed man horks in

front of him, far too close to you.

©2011 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems, esoteric/unintelligible, making speeches/Soapbox | , , , | 1 Comment

the man with the black guitar

no the black man with the guitar and rollerskates

the busking skinny man in Gastown

with the voice – what a voice

– what a memory –

– someone who created ‘the scene’ –

and will never be famous

in the dark fall evenings

you could hear him

1/2 a block away

and my face would light up long before

ever getting to him

perched on the ass-freezing concrete

sometimes, oodles of months later

with no guitar: just that voice

the voice that can cut the dark blackness anyday

©2010 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | about artists/poets, All Poems | , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My Batteries Have Run Dry

My batteries have run dry

altho I feel like doing something

I can’t ––

–– there is no energy whatsoever

Life has left me

Tired of all the bullshit

especially other people domineering

They get on top ––

I stay on the bottom

Life living in a pup tent

on the back of someone’s property

with a big house in the foreground

By my watch it is a quarter past 10

way past some people’s bedtime

and here we are ––

swinging from some suspension bridge

with a Daytimer in my hand

© 2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems | , | 1 Comment

unpretentious observer…

…I hope your postcards ’ coming in
will show you all where I have bin
at the seaside rendezvouses and Inns
where lemonade is served
and sad but smiling faces
let your minute-taker catch the facts
and satin truths and hear them ply their pecking
order in the dew of morning’s pale envelopes
of siding with this or that stew…

(excerpt from unpretentious observer © 2009 Rudolf Penner
contact me to get the entire poem)

October 12, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, flowers and trees; girls and bees, love & relationships | Leave a comment

Calling All Angels

Calling all Angels
All Old Angels aboard;
the Vessel is sinking
the pirates are drinking
the cook has arthritis
the nightwatchman and his stars – are one
the mast is high
in night sea air
the crow’s nest – a perfect example

fish dart furtively
under the backwash
below deck the Angel of Awe
has it out with one of the Captains –
– of Industry

the nightwatchman-watches his stars

©  2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

July 8, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, social commentary, spiritual | Leave a comment

BROKEN COMPANIONSHIPS BLEEDING DOWN THE TRAINTRACKS

BROKEN COMPANIONSHIPS BLEEDING DOWN THE TRAINTRACKS
Cutting ribbons on ceremony
steeplechase
snoring routine
walking, walking, and never running
the slack is never taken up
that’s why the yo-yos
unbound but perfect
wading in water
never going for a swim
act like simpleminded motions will save the day and carry on

tap dancing before fires roaring in camp lodge fireplaces
huge and daring
accosting the sweat glands
tearing up the eyes
swatting off the flies
gasoline and smell of campfire coffee  going home
to the nose
making every grass to use
drawing up branches
broken and ashen
standing there leaning in

©  2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

July 8, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, making speeches/Soapbox, social commentary | Leave a comment

beach capsule

Tap tap I hear all your crap
they tell me you got problems
I’m dying to see
like all the water fludding down the plain
I see your face again, the same;
It’s not much to ask you pack your bags
what’s it worth to you to do some chores

put a sandbag in the gap
where they can see the yellow-smelling flowers
Take me there
too far to take a wagon
down the sodden track
I see your face again, I blame myself
I saw your work going down the sink

Snap snap I’m gonna snore
like all old men upon the shore
with their babes hanging onto their
plastic-strap aluminum lawnchairs
It wasn’t much to ask
and I was in a jam

©  2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

(this poem contains a link to one of my favorite childhood songs)

July 8, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, love & relationships | , , | Leave a comment

The Wheel Keeps On Turning

(excerpts from The Wheel Keeps on Turning)

…Makin’ a whole lotta Cash
Sinbad now plays the geetar…

…I hope he learns to sing
…leaning on the rail
and the Wheel keeps on turning…

…two losers in bed
neither human
nor ashamed…

…I bought my souvenir
of a better time…

…Back-to-back hits charging out radio speakers
always the same, always lame…

…Magpies and scorpions overhead…

…Choking on dying plants
and cosmic rants…

…The leaves are brown for sure…

…and the Wheel keeps on turning…

(to get the poem in its entirety please contact me)

©  2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

July 8, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, esoteric/unintelligible, Not Fade Away, social commentary | , | Leave a comment

XYZANDABC
P IMPLYRAI
NPEARLING
EVERYONEI
NTHEL I NE-
UPQUEUEW
AI T I NGFO
RFR ES HFL
OWERSIME
ANFOOD

©  2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

July 8, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, Concrete Poems, esoteric/unintelligible, flowers and trees; girls and bees, Not Fade Away, self healing poems, spiritual | Leave a comment

Becoming

(excerpt from Becoming)

…healing all the bees
that are flying through the trees…

…where is the broken vase that caused so much trouble
now, becoming rich in small things
It is becoming…

(to get the whole 42 line poem contact me)

©  2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

July 8, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, flowers and trees; girls and bees, social commentary | Leave a comment

The Mother of the barista has promised to do the job
if only she can get 100,000 bob
what would the mythological giants say to this
if they could plant upon her face a kiss,
it rings true, it
rings true; don’t it?
She brings them here
she brings them there
and ne’er a hair is singed.
Except the Unbearable Likeness of Being
which Sees all the Underhanded Things
miniscule Ones would say
there is not a microscopic chance
it could be be seen
except InBetween
Buttons, charlattans,
coffins, pink beryls
on fine rings of poets
pass around the ring the pot of poetry inspiration
a clay cup of word coining
panamatopeia
her face a kiss
a branch she nearly missed
is flat down on the ground
lying beneath a 85-year-old tree
born the day her father was
born again after they all
came from different countries
bath will bring true colours
back after aromatherapeutic oils
these could be seen floating oily on the water

© 2012

May 20, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, esoteric/unintelligible | Leave a comment

The Girl That Looked Like Julia Roberts

There was a girl that looked like
Julia Roberts, in the line-up
at the Hindoo temple, waiting
with her friends, same ski slope
nose, with a jump
end this note
and bother with tying up loose ends
in your sewing
creme-coloured stripes in your
fingernails aglow
with song and with summer-
sweet nectar dripping
down your cheek
a side of the pink (…to get the full poem contact me)

© 2012

February 29, 2012 Posted by | about artists/poets, All Poems, food, girls and trees; flowers and bees | 1 Comment

To The Islands

A coffee a beer and a bag of chips
that’s all I bought on my holiday
Call me cheap, but the boiled
beets I brought along
were terrific. A few drips
stained my shoes.
The hummous was great
because I made it
And the cabbage was sweet
because it came from the Comox Valley

To the islands
away we go: Skipping the waves
like a winging stone
Across cultures to the shore
watching the kayakers boat
and seeing the sun gradually
drive its stake thru the clouds
I wonder where my prayers went;
probably into some cafe
I fly a kite
I rib my joint
I see the islanders wonder who I am
roads and trees and breezy
winds, taking the early exit
back over the waves
Catching a tune on a half-hearted
radio I measure my steps

© 2011

February 29, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, food, nature | Leave a comment

A nook in Rome

Pickled eggs and pickled herring
pimento peppers from Greece
cheese from Rome and I’ll have a slice and a piece
Reading a book in a nook in Spain
getting choice and chic ideas
in case of a brain
small shovels, spades for digging holes for dropping poo
a feather pen and blood for taking notes
I almost know my life by rote
wear thin coat in the summer
of my love, din drizzle
pattering on its green
Before the Flood and After the Flood

© 2011

February 29, 2012 Posted by | about artists/poets, All Poems, food | Leave a comment

Carnivals

Sleep then children
let your tears wash you dry
Let the organ music drown your sorrow
and stop thinking, for God’s sake,
stop thinking
Eat your oatmeal in the morning when it can do you no good,
your eggs at night when they congest your sinuses
drink your milk and eat your bananas late to get bad dreams
Sleep with the light on
and plenty of noise from the street
so you will miss the birds that tweet in the morning dew
Never talk to yourself or to each other
for the State is your Mother and your brother

The rains will come no matter what
Trees will grow to hide your pain
and all will be done in the name of your good
Be kind to carnivals
and music festivals of all kinds,
let them sway you into a lull
and cause your insides to burst in your 50s

© 2011

February 29, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, food, Not Fade Away, self healing poems, social commentary | Leave a comment

jazz blue audio and washline

Black and white next to the door
It doesn’t matter anymore
The Night is Blue
And me and You
have seen so many things
that oranges could conceivably be compared to oranges
And the knitted hammock hanging in the wind
is compared, but not often, to a firmer bed
Things have gone wrong
– in my head
Black is white and white is black
and jazz-blue audio
is concentrating near the stereo

Tight and dry the washing holds
to the line across the yard
the Dark is Day
and she and he they will participate
and getting acquainted in the air
What’s fair and square
the melon never will trapeze
what collected carpet in the hallway floor
– rolled and set and full of dirt
like a jacuzzi after the stream
and greying rooms let their shadows in on all the secrets
away, away with you
–from carnival to carnival

© 2011

February 29, 2012 Posted by | All Poems, esoteric/unintelligible, love & relationships, madness, Not Fade Away, social commentary | Leave a comment

You’re invited! Poetry Feast now!

photo by Jim Blair

Welcome to my poetry site. Here is a selection

from my writings. Please contact me

about the Rest. Check out my

Category: Explanations: Philosophies of Poetry

to find out how and why I write.

October 6, 2008 Posted by | Introduction | Leave a comment

We are the Parents of the poor
we give them food
and offer them free lessons in humility
if there were a chance
we could say “Jump”
and the thrill of responsive action
would lurk there
as our reward. Maybe if it rains.

On snowy days
Act like you’re giving alot
when you’re actually giving hardly anything at all
But the purple haze commands
And 13,000 more people without jobs
The doors of Eatons close forever
And the blanket of white powdery covers everything over.

A nice sunny sometime
with a rainbow and a pot of gold
and a tussle here brings us to the realization
in a New Day of Creation
Where the makers are they themselves
and the Cowboys all have earrings
riding over sagebrush widely in the country
That the sting of the thing is it don’t help.

© 1999 Rudolf Penner

November 13, 2007 Posted by | All Poems, social commentary | 2 Comments

Years later

Years later the poet looks almost the same.

 

October 5, 2017 Posted by | social commentary | Leave a comment

lost among the ruins

lost among the ruins  Old Gordon Lightfoot plays the fools
and fools are in the show and shoes are in the school
fouling up the lockers, scaring all the schoolgirls
webfeet wetness and street sense smartness
calling coo-cooing through the fields
with trees on their side
and old wagon wheels rotting between
the long grasses

I grew my cherry on a tree that grew and grew
beside a children’s playground. And hardly
any one knew it was there, just my pet detective

west among the flowers I dot my q’s and p’s
and fools are lost among sloughs and snowmobiles in the great outdoors
messing up the scenery, ticking off the animals
snoeshoe webness and backpacking hardware
tempting Natures’s own strict laws
4000 ft above the ground
timber lying across
the boy’s skinny legs

I grew up but never compare my growing
to the maturity of others my age and older
we were not fond of each other. they all knew
it and we knew and slandered each other

© 2017 Rudolf Penner

October 5, 2017 Posted by | esoteric/unintelligible, nature, Not Fade Away, social commentary | 1 Comment

from catch yourself falling listening to Elvis

make the most, they say, of your friends

and Bobby Zimmy will reward you in the End

even though he got SAVED some time ago

and some don’t trust him anymore

 

© 2013 Rudolf Kurt Penner

 

from the poem: catch yourself falling listening to Elvis

(ask for the rest)

April 28, 2016 Posted by | All encompassing, esoteric/unintelligible, making speeches/Soapbox, spiritual | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ode by Lewis Carroll = me

the chocolate eight
of a cake of chocolate cherry
the magic buttons on the silver coat
turned twice
and presst against the breast of society
the cake was great – as a matter of fact
it was all we ate

the cherry turned full-round on its heel
and rolled into the cup of orange peel
and then a cup of tea

Something cannot take away the joy
of cake of chocolate; not a hater or a debater

not a Wilmhing winer of a dine
the hourglasss and the end of the old oak table
stained brown

the cake remains a perfect harmony
unto itself

©2016 Rudolf Kurt Penner

April 28, 2016 Posted by | esoteric/unintelligible, Not Fade Away, wild and free | , , , , , | Leave a comment

Jamie Reid

Jamie Reid asked the question,

  lost in Gastown – which

    way do I turn

– to get home

Way over on Main Street,

    he starts some PRIMAL Shit

      dishing out the art

      – with the mentally challenged

         and brain-damaged

I saw him in a university once,

    that used to be a college

      on Purcell Way

      – tryin’ to teach some tish

    Jamie Reid indeed!

The moment was lost on them,

    no primer

      they sat wide-eyed

      – listening to an old man

A lot of people remember

    Jamie Reid in December

      by my watch

      it’s time to glow

reading, retired

    to the in-crowd

    of Canada’s poets

    Time’s up!

  Jamie Reid indeed!

I wonder what would have happened

if Jamie Reid’d been born a rapper

    listening to the youth of yesterday –

    the giraffe came out and ate up

  the long grasses

but he met 4 men

    and they kept going

the basement of Woodwards

    came with jazz &

           island poet Kim Goldberg

black walls and dreaming guests

    listen to the wisdoms speak

      Read and learn, young poets

      by my watch, its time to glow

  Jamie Reid indeed!

You meet him – then you

      don’t meet him

      and you hear all kinda

      political shit about him

black walls, social conditions

    other semi-famous poets

      dying around him

         Al Purdy, Milton Acorn, Malcolm Lowry

don’t take it with you

    when you’re at a loss for words –

      a stone drops

and you are born

   Jamie Reid

©2015 Rudolf Kurt Penner

(written Aug. 9, 2015 12:15 a.m.)

notes to references in the poem:

PRIMAL was an art gallery on Main St., perhaps in the early 1990s, in Vancouver, serving persons with brain injuries and others. There were open mics and shows to which anyone could come

tish was a literary movement Reid started with several other literary figures in Vancouver. tish at Google books

tish is shit backwards as Jamie Reid often explained…

Gastown – in the summer of 2014 Jamie attended a show at Vancouver’s International Jazz Festival. After the experimental session at Ironworks Studio he got lost. I had heard he’d had some health problems at the time and realized it had probably affected his memory. I directed him to Hastings St. but he turned and went back into Ironworks. I was a bit worried about him getting home, but he was in good hands, as he met acquaintances of his at the studio.

Kim Goldberg, Nanaimo, BC is a fascinating poet

August 12, 2015 Posted by | about artists/poets | , , | Leave a comment