Letter to the Editor

 

Teachers Overworked

Marilla Stephenson could be doing more to serve the needs of our children than worrying about one storm day in the school year. How petty your complaint is. This teacher has seen countless professionals go that extra mile, or as education critic Jim Gunn puts it, "best serve the needs of an increasingly complex and fully mainstreamed student population." You're preaching to the choir, sir. Last year when I wanted to organize my classroom and prepare my lessons, on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon in the spring, I was amazed that four or five other teachers were there doing the same thing. Did any of us complain? Nope. Working at school late into the evening or arriving early? Been there and done that. And it doesn't end there. There is the preparation at home, the marking, the professional development plans, the formal and informal professional learning communities, the breakfast programs, extra-curricular activities, extra help sessions, the organizing of educational trips, coaching sports teams, and on and on and on. Truth is: so many teachers and administrators spend their hard earned time and money on society's children and youth while, sadly, a few in our society can do nothing better than point out something as trivial as this. But if you really want to serve the needs of our children first, I suggest volunteering some of your time or some of your extra funds the way teachers do. Or if you can't do that, the least you could do is say "thank you" the next time you see a teacher. Our goals are quite clear, thank you very much.

 

Found Poem – Dylan Mash-up

Johnny's in the basement mixing up the medicine with the masters of war, having one more cup of coffee for the road.
"Senor, Senor, do you know where you're headin'?"
"I'm Goin' to Acapulco - goin' on the run. I won't go down Highway 51 no more."
The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye,
"they say every man needs protection. They say every man must fall."
"Yeah, but the authorities stand around and all they do is boast." 
There was a battle outside and it was raging.
"You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing."
"Man thinks 'cause he rules the earth he can do as he pleases."
"What's it to ya, Moby Dick? This is chicken town!"
Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail, in the valley of the giants where the stars and stripes explode, shots ring out in the ball room night. Frankie Lee sat right down and put his fingers to his chin.
"I got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane!"
"Lo and behold! We live in a political world where love don't have any place."
"Mona tried to tell me to stay away from the train line. She said all the railroad men just drink up your blood like wine. If I pass this way again, you can rest assured, I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word."
On that I was thinking about a series of dreams. Early one morning when the sun was shining, I was laying in bed, wondering if she'd change at all if her hair was still red. Out my window I saw there was a vagabond rappin' at my door. He looked so immaculately frightful as he bummed a cigarette. He said,
"I've seen the arrow on the doorstep saying, "this land is condemned all the way from New Orleans to New Jerusalum."
So in my brand new leopard skin pillbox hat I said to the man in the long dark coat,
"I've given up the game I have to leave. The pot of gold is only make believe."
"Leave your stepping stones behind, there is something that calls for you."
"I'm walking down the long lonesome road, where I'm bound, I can't tell."
"Well, join the monks, the C.I.O., tell 'em all that Tiny says, 'Hello'."
"Bye and Bye!"
I wasn't making any great connection, wasn't falling for any intricate scheme, just thinking of a series of dreams. The crimson flames tied through my ears, rolling high and mighty traps, pounced with fires on flaming roads, using ideas as my maps.
"Gentlemen", he said (with Quinn the Eskimo man by his side), "I don't need your organization. I've shined your shoes. You're the reason I'm a travellin' on. Don't think twice it's all right."
With my hands in my pocket and my coat collar high I will travel unnoticed and unknown. Though I'm travelling on a path beaten trail I feel a change coming on and the fourth part of the day is already gone.

True Story in L.A. with friends

 

http://www.thecoast.ca/halifax/true-story-by-scott-sullivan/Content?oid=2261472

Short Story

Choices

    The Toyota Prius was cold and spotless, the gear shift in neutral. The windows were rolled down to move off the beads of water droplets from the day's rain. In the holder below was a Venti Chai Latte from Starbucks. On the passenger seat was a slice of banana bread in brown paper bag.

    Marissa Logan was going home to her husband after a three week vacation in the Maldives. A vacation with a 3-day business convention added on as a pretense. The original plan was to stay for a month, but with a tropical storm expected just north of the island in a couple days, she decided to return a week earlier.

    Dazed a bit from the long flight she flipped through the radio stations and settled on the top 40 radio station, more out of routine than genuine pleasure, purely to satisfy a need to stay alert on the drive from Richmond to North Vancouver on this grey, misty January evening. Though she was tired, she had a new found energy about her, a stride in her step as some might say. She leaned her face in front of the rearview and was quite pleased with how she looked. Her cheeks were a flush red, her lips soft, her eyes, appeared larger, and darker than their usual vivid brown. She was pleased with her tan and how her dark brown hair had grown a little wavier from the ocean water and warm sun. For a 37 year old woman she was genuinely pleased with her overall appearance.

    When she turned out of the Park 'N Fly garage and headed toward the Marine Drive swoop which would lead her onto Granville Street, she looked at the digital clock in the center of the dashboard which read 10:10 and realized she forgot to change the time on her watch. She thought to herself, Stuart would probably have the candles in place, the house would be cleaned, and he would be as excited to see her as she was to see him. She loved it when she came home from being away. The time when she returned from Costa Rica, where the bath was drawn, was still fresh in her mind. The way he placed the three candles on the outset ledge of their modern tub and the way he poured that glass of Penfolds St. Henri Shiraz, made her ache with jubilation.

    This was almost a ritual now how he would surprise her like this. Every time she would come home he would change it up a bit and keep her in suspense. There was the time he had a sapphire blue lingerie dress with black exterior laid out on the bed next to a vase filled with a dozen freshly cut crimson roses on the nightstand. That was a memorable night. Or the time he had blindfolded her and offered her a range of seductive foods, the strawberries, the mango, and chocolate, accompanied with a bottle of champagne. She loved the cleanliness of the place when she walked in after such trips. He would focus on her in such a way as if there was no other person in the world. What would it be like this time? She shifted the stick into fourth gear and came up over the crest by west 41^st avenue.

    For her, this was an enjoyable stretch of road at night. She knew there wouldn't be that many cars at this hour, especially on a Sunday before the workweek. She was content to sit back and flip through the stations, pausing back and forth between her latte and banana bread, for she had done this drive so many times. Her thoughts also drifted to her man. Stuart, such a fitting name for the type of man he was. Stately, intelligent, accommodating was how she might characterize him to a stranger. With her close friends, she would underpin him in an unenthusiastic way: "Oh he might be a bit of a charmer, but he's just a big goof or nerd at heart". This term 'goof' or 'nerd' was quite the opposite of his 6'4 athletic frame and natural good looks. It was as though she spoke of Clark Kent but inside thought of superman. She was aware of her tact here. She never wanted to be too glowing about her own husband. She hated women that did that. Besides it was uncharacteristic of her class.

    Stuart actually did look like he was plucked out of a superman catalogue, someone who could play him in a movie, perhaps, or a Broadway play. He still had his boyish smile, the honest greenish blue eyes, and a full head of dark brown, almost black hair, which curled a bit on the ends. Like his wife, he looked maybe 28 instead of his 37 years.

    She moved easily through the numbered streets that bisected Granville and flipped on the wipers to its lowest setting, for the mist had turned to a more consistent drizzle. This weather was expected during the winters in Vancouver, therefore she felt fortunate to have been in such a hot, sunny part of the earth even for a brief while.

    She pulled into the dark cul de sac and noticed a bright red Honda Civic hatchback parked in her driveway partially shielded from the line of floribunda rose bushes and the steep lawn which sloped adjacent to their neighbors' yard. The car looked vaguely familiar, but its owner escaped her memory. Where had she seen it before? She pulled in front of the neighbor's lawn and turned off the Prius. She sat there a moment and realized whose it was. Her first impulse was not to believe it, to reject what her sense of logic was telling her. Could this really be? She decided to suppress this thought a moment and she sat mesmerized looking at the obscured windshield of water beads.

    When she got out of the car and walked toward her house she couldn't feel her legs anymore. She felt completely numb, nauseated – it was as if she was floating across the wet pavement and into her driveway. The lights were off inside the house, not a sign of movement. Looking inside of the Civic, Marissa felt a sudden surge of hate grip her. In the back seat was the gym bag she remembered the young lady carrying around her shoulders in the grocery parking lot that autumn day just months ago. That day, that bizarre exchange that left her feeling all alone; she and Stuart had gone grocery shopping and there was Stuart's yoga instructor: mid 20's, a Spanish accent, fair haired with a petite frame, captivating brown eyes. She wore her black yoga pants with maroon stripe around the waste and matching tank top. It was the look of the moment. But more than that, it was the look she gave her husband, the attention she drew from him, that was most disconcerting. The exchange between them was playful.

    "Are you ready for tomorrow, Stuart?" said the young woman with the flirty smile.

    "I'm ready," said Stuart, suppressing his smirk while opening the door.

    "You better be!" echoed the young woman in her sing song happiness, which was followed with a high pitched laugh.

    The introduction was made by Stuart after that statement - "You better be!" - Then everything carried on normally. They got in their car and pulled out of the parking lot. She walked on into the Choices Market, this well built cliché of yoga instructor.

    It was astonishing, now, how direct her actions were all of a sudden. It was as if she was guided by a force that had overtaken her body. She simply walked in behind the backyard, crept slowly up the deck stairs and checked the sliding doors (they were locked). She walked around the side and inserted the key to the side door, which entered the garage. Her actions were mechanical now – the hand reaching for the object in the corner, picking it up and looking at it with trepidation. A baseball bat, wooden, with the words Louisville Slugger along the side.

    She opened the door leading into the kitchen, and was careful not to make a sound. She slinked through the kitchen and tiptoed up the spiraling staircase, holding the narrow, knobby end with both hands. Climbing up the top two steps she could hear the dreaded sound of ecstasy, confirming what she already knew.

    Her husband must not have checked the email and phone message she sent the day before yesterday saying she would be home a week early. Well, what would be would be. There is nothing like missteps in time and place.

    For about a half a minute Marissa Logan imagined barging in on both husband and lover - soaking in her pain, devoid of any reluctance or emotion - she wished she could cleanly smash the Louisville Slugger down on each of their skulls. The brutality of it all would be a relief; the sound of the bat striking the head would be unlike anything she had ever experienced before. There would be a gurgle, perhaps, or a grotesque wail with their last attempt to breathe. In her meditative potent state she brought the weapon down one more time on each of them with full force. She could imagine the thick black cherry blood splattered on the Persian rug. There would be no mistaking it. They wouldn't have a chance. If she wanted to she could do it, no question. The opportunity was there. But she didn't have the guts or that beautiful, dangerous instinct she often read about in the Vancouver Sun, perplexed at the murders and assaults that took place so often in the Lower Mainland.

    It was unforgivable what he had done. There she was, weapon in hand, limp, behind the door. She was done. She thought about this twist of fate, of coming home early, finding this out about her husband: a cheating son of a bitch. What would that mean? What now?

    As if in a dreamlike state she went back downstairs and put the wooden bat softly into the spot she found it. The door knob of the side door was turned delicately and she took the same route around that she came in. Looking up at the top room one last time she managed a heavy sigh as the cold mist danced on her face. Like a phantom she floated across the dark street to her Prius.

    She followed the road to the main street and exited down to civilization. The darkness of the redwood trees hovering on both sides of her car dissipated as she descended into the lights pulling her closer to the exit for the Lions Gate Bridge. For a short stretch the darkness returned with Stanley Park to her left. This area at night made her feel uneasy. Checking to make sure the doors were locked as she rolled into a two way stop sign, Marissa looked in the rearview mirror and saw her reflection. There was sadness in her eyes that she got pleasure from. It brought her back to being hurt as an adolescent, when she would stand in her bedroom and soak in the deep pain of something cruel or unkind. Striking up the speed of the wipers, she put her foot down rather purposefully and drove down into the city. Though she could not see English Bay or Vancouver Harbour because of the weather, she always sensed them. Like Cypress and Grousse, they permeated the soul.

    There was a calmness now in Marissa as she walked into the magnificent entrance to the Pan Pacific. She put down her credit card.

    "Hi. I would like a room for the night please." she said.

    "Sure thing. Any preference?" said the young man at the desk.

    "Any room really. A queen bed would be great." She added

    The concierge walked over to the desk, smiled politely and nodded courteously to the bellman that would show Marissa to her room; a deluxe suite with large windows facing North and East overlooking the harbour.

    Pulling the curtains closed she walked over to the bar fridge, pulled out a Heineken bottle and popped off the cap with the opener sitting on the fridge top. Slipping off her heeled oxfords, she laid down on the bed, looked at either side of her; the sofas, the oak desk by the window with laptop, the HD television atop the large wooden cabinet, the bathroom in the corner, marble tile, immaculately clean, with a large showerhead angled straight down from ceiling. Tipping the contents of the beer back in her mouth, she was beginning to awake from her temporary numbness. She took another drink and thought about what she had been through in the last hour. Had this really happened? She turned on the television and flipped through the channels, took another drink, and emptied the contents with ease. She was simply enjoying the luxury of the four star hotel.

    Marissa would phone her husband in two days from that same hotel room. They would have a conversation for twenty minutes. She would tell him that she came home early and was exhausted; too exhausted to drive to their home. She played it cool for now. She would wait for more truth to unravel, to reveal itself before she decided anything substantial.

Top 25 Movies of the Decade (2000-2010)

1. Master and Commander
2. Hero
3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
4. Borat
5. Dogtown and Z-Boys
6. The Diving Bell and The Butterfly
7. The Hangover
8. There Will Be Blood 
9. Y Tu Mama Tambien
10. The Bourne Ultimatum
11. Million Dollar Baby
12. Almost Famous
13. Avatar (3D/IMAX version) 
14. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
15. 25th Hour
16. No Country for Old Men
17. The Proposition
18. The Wrestler
19. Lost in Translation
20. Old School
21. Inglourious Basterds
22. Brokeback Mountain
23. Superbad
24. City of God
25. Mulholland Drive

Top Ten Explained

1. Master and Commander has everything you want in a movie; action, suspense, drama, intelligent writing (smart dialogue), wonderful cinematography, top-notch acting, and an undefined magical quality. We get a real sense of what it would have been like on board the English ship, HMS surprise, back in the early 1800's, while it advances against its far superior French adversary off the coast of South America. Not one scene is wasted. Arguably Russell Crowe's best. My only regret is that I didn't get to see it in the theater.

2. Hero is pure genius. The way the story taps into Chinese culture/Eastern philosophy and the way it articulates how China became one nation is truly extraordinary. The use of color and music from scene to scene is an aesthetic feast for the eyes and ears. Great drama, great action sequences. Jet Li's masterpiece.

3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind blew me away when I first saw it. Directed by Michel Gondry and written by Charlie Kaufman, it's an absolute original from start to finish. It gets to the heart of relationships, the good, the bad, the truth about love and loss. At times funny, at times sad, it is everything a story about relationships should be and more. It won best original screenplay and totally deserved it. Great acting by Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. Simply put: an excellent example of film-making art.

4. Okay, Borat was absolutely ridiculous. But I can't remember ever laughing that much in the theater before, and I wasn't the only one. I've talked to some people who were completely turned off by this movie and I understand why. Yes it's offensive. Yes it's in your face. Some of the scenes are difficult to watch. But imagine: an actor, Sasha Baron Cohen, an English Jew, creates a character, a lanky buffoon anti-Semite from Kazakhstan, goes on a trip to the States in search of his infatuation, Pamela Anderson, and throughout this journey, the character, completely levels and one-ups its citizens who have no idea that this is actually a character; the joke is on them; the film uncovers many underlying truths about America. And if you don't laugh at the naked wrestling scene there's something wrong with you!

5. Dogtown and Z-boys started with a quote: "200 years of American technology has unwittingly created a massive cement playground of unlimited potential. But it was the minds of 11 year olds that could see that potential." – Craig Stecyk, 1975. A documentary about the re-birth of skateboarding by a misfit group of surfers located in the Santa Monica/Venice Beach area of Southern California in the mid 70's. Narrated by Sean Penn, it goes into the particulars of the individuals that helped change the paradigm of the sport; does a great job of commenting on the aesthetic, the feel, and of what would eventually be the seed of modern day boarding (skateboarding, snowboarding, and surfing). The film has a visceral quality that makes me want to get on my snowboard and ride a steep run in Whistler. Like right now!

6. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly hits you at a gut level. Based on a true story and adapted from a novel, it explores the art of cinematography, helping the viewer get an understanding of "locked-in syndrome", the debilitating syndrome Jean Dominique Bauby, editor of Elle magazine, got in his early 40's after a sudden stroke. There is tenderness about this movie; it's sad, but ultimately it's a celebration of life, love, and our ability to care. More than any other movie on this list, it makes you realize how delicate life really is. A brilliant film.

7. The Hangover is another movie (like Borat) that made me laugh from start to finish. Set in Las Vegas, it is the ultimate comedy, the ultimate 30-something male comedy because, unlike most comedies, it gets to the root of what men are really like (sad, perhaps. But true). Director Todd Phillips, also of Old School (another great comedy of the decade), accomplished the perfect length for a comedy - only 90 minutes long, an hour and a half of pure hilarity. Great casting all around. You get a sense that there was a lot of ad-lib by comedians Zach Galifianakis and Ed Helms, the former being virtually unknown before the movie was released. The film moves at a perfect pace and leaves the viewer satisfied with the end result. Plus, you get to see Mike Tyson play air drums. Who doesn't want to see that?

8. There Will Be Blood may be the least accessible and most misunderstood film on this list (save for Mulholland Drive), but it is an excellent film nonetheless. The film is basically an allegory, depicting American capitalism in the early 1900's; personified by the lead character Daniel Plainview we are privy to the main artery of capitalism: the individual's relentless desire to gain wealth and power. Plainview is like a coked-up version of this ultimate capitalist: "I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people". These words roll off Daniel Day Lewis' tongue like venom. Arguably the best acting performance I've ever seen. Destined to be an American classic alongside Citizen Cane.

9. Y Tu Mama Tambien is a completely original film, with original directing techniques and an original screenplay. Two teenaged boys from different social classes following their high school graduation, and in the midst of their sexual discovery, meet an older woman who is dealing with a broken marriage and something else important (though, we don't find out about this right away). They are all joined together on a road adventure throughout Mexico in search of a beach. This movie is much deeper than what is on the surface: underneath it is a political and cultural realization of Mexico, and a celebration of life. The music, the cinematography, the voice-over's, the acting, all great. The film-making is superb. Well worth the trip.

10. The Bourne Ultimatum is simply a kickass action movie. Directed by Paul Greengrass, it's the best in the Bourne trilogy, tweaking the shortcomings of the first two (though I liked them as well). The action is of the highest caliber, mixing various chase scenes, fighting scenes, and interspersing the dialogue and movement in all the right places. There is a likeable character, the unknown assassin, Jason Bourne, played fittingly by Matt Damon, trying to outrun those that created him and we are pulled along for the adventure across the globe. This is better than any James Bond movie I've ever seen. The American James Bond as it were.

Movie Reviews

An Underrated American Classic - Breathless (1983)

It is a remake of a French film, sure. But watch this film and you will get an insight and understanding of the American male pathos and the American male soul. 

Richard Gere plays Jesse Lujack, a petty criminal and wanderer/nowhere man who becomes caught up in unfortunate set of circumstances that leaves him running from the authorities. Jesse is the type of guy who is always in search of excitement or action because that is who he is; he is your typical handsome, good natured love child, transplanted in the American underbelly. And because of this, tragedy is never far behind.

On the run, Jesse meets up with Monica, a beautiful, French exchange student, played by the lovely Valerie Kaprisky, whom we might assume he has met in some dance club, bar or even a shopping mall. Jesse and Monica are both attractive people, so we understand how they are drawn to one another- it's purely physical. The problem, however is that Jesse is from a different world than Monica. She is a college student who appears to come from money and privilege; she is more comfortable with stability and therefore is respected in society. Jesse is, well, the other kind. We can clearly see that this relationship is doomed. 

This movie is a brilliant slice of American life in the 1980's, the focal point being L.A. It has a wonderful pace, thanks to director Jim McBride. The music is fantastic; various pop songs and surfer jams are placed throughout. The writing by Jean-Luc Godard and Francois Truffaut is excellent because it is very accurate to how real people communicate; this is true with not only the lead actors but with the small roles as well. 

Yet, when it's all said and done, this is Richard Gere's movie. He is an absolute tour de force. He embodies Jesse; he knows how he thinks, how he acts and how he moves. It is quite the achievement. Arguably the best film of Gere's career. 

There are many sequences that highlight the film. My personal favorite is the scene in the pool between the two leads. Gere and Kaprisky are young, in their prime, and playing off each other; attracted, repelled, and attracted again. The chemistry here feels true to life. This is a hidden gem of a film. Well worth a rental. 



Uplifting and Inspiring - Freedom Writers (2007)

On the surface this movie looks like your typical formulaic school film. Don't be fooled. I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. 

The acting, led by Hilary Swank, Patrick Dempsey, not to mention the other dozen or so actors (Particularly April Hernandez) who play the students, really make the characters authentic and their plight believable. The movie takes place in Long Beach, California, during the aftermath of the L.A. riots, where the tensions among the four main racial groups (Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, and Whites) in the L.A. districts, are at an all time high. This fact coupled by the emergence of inclusion in the public school system no doubt made for an extremely difficult challenge for any teacher. 

What we see here is an inexperienced, beginner teacher come into this difficult situation and flourish; a woman, perhaps a bit too idealistic, perhaps a bit too naive at first, but through perseverance, dedication, and kindness, steps up and helps guide a group of at risk teenagers into a more positive direction, and more importantly, helps them find out who they are. How could anyone deny such a positive film?

Being a teacher myself, I can honestly say that many of the issues that take place throughout the film with regard to the teaching profession are realistic - the issue of being underpaid (especially true in the United States), an administrator or tenured teachers resentment or bullying of a new teacher (the majority are good but some aren't), how teaching is a lot more than a 9-5 job (it cuts into your social life very much). You really get the feeling that those involved in making the film took great respect and did their research. Credit goes out to the screenwriter, Richard LaGravanese and the teacher herself, Erin Gruwell.

My only complaint about the movie would be how it portrays the area of Long Beach, California. Viewers will get an image of the area being an extremely violent place to live, where drive-by shootings and gang wars are as common as the mail being delivered to your door. This simply is not true. I've spent some time in Long Beach and I can honestly say it seemed like a really safe place to live, where the people seemed very friendly. At no time did I feel I was out of place, mistreated, or discriminated against by any other ethnic groups there. Although these problems may arise from time to time, you have to understand it is not the norm. To the credit of the director, it was probably used to affect plot and such.

Aside from this minor complaint, this is a wonderful film. It's funny, warm-hearted, and inspiring, which is pretty rare in a lot of movies today. 

Poems

Delicate Eggshells

At once when I was young, love intersected a dirty play
Societies bucked before the bosom and brown; truth stood rightly
Laughter brought up a hint of millennium trick, zeroed in on flurry but dialed into slick. Echoes of an injured wolf unheard by you, me, or punch drunk TV. Societies esteemed measurement, put forth inevitable - the truth: nobody knows what went on. But really, who dares? If there is one thing I regret it was the inability to share grief. But the tears were a gift from the Gods flipped upside down in a rush of wolf barks from the ancestor soul. Asleep? No, awake. I shot baskets alone that day in the stunning rain after the bizarre phone call with the crazy woman. How could she have known more about my life than I, the crazy woman? Abandonment in a past life in the post-Woodstock era, caught between the phony and obscene, but by no means misplaced. Love there, always present, however misunderstood - overwhelmingly the mother's, making up for the father whose been cast out by the lead: a gentleman. Somewhere I may meet you. But for now you're just a dream. Never seen.


Remembrance Play

Feel free to escape into this bloody game of chance. You'll be compensated with a college degree, a steady paycheck, or a high stakes cakewalk in embellishing lies, if you seek. Such a simple price to pay, is it not? A game of Chance, Sorry, Clue or Risk. Life. Payback for a pound of rotting flesh I suppose. The misery felt by generations in the dark lost on the young sneakers and sparks. But the look and smell will twist your sorry guts, excruciating the vertigo sentiment. That's the devil's ploy. You will notice the weak have a way with abstract verbs. Nerds or jocks in three-piece suits twisted and twirled to dance like loonies in drag. But listen closely to the baby's words. The golden rule that Jesus, Mohammed, and Buddha expounded, that a kind lady at one point stood still and told us calmly over and over, goes over the moon into a cabbage patch river of dust. Why must, why must, we lust for lies while the lonely mother cries and the young man dies.


Whistler Dream

He rides a crested diamond of marshmallowed fluff
This way and that
Like Elvis on crack;
Wick-whack, loads of natural knack, excited teen, too gone, unseen
March brings an arch to the buttocks formed heart
If April was lying, she'd be stealing and teasing, through corduroy trails in steeps of pleasing; the eye candy travels down the narrowest of ridge lines, in a take you for granted pose beneath the silent still snow, a hasty crested retreat of crass and glow
Take good care all you Western youth: drink up the laughs and the Mary Jane grins, but never forget just where you've been