Category: Poetry

I linger in places of power

I linger
In places of power

Quell my ego
Quell my mind

They both fear
Whatever is greater than they

Steel
Be made of steel

Or iron
Yes, even better
Be made of iron

Iron ages
Rusts
Like the lines etched
In an old man’s face

We measure time in movement

A trickle of water
Becomes a rivulet
Becomes a stream
Becomes a river

All the while eating the rock
Over which it travels
Cutting a cleft
A channel
A chasm
A canyon

We measure time in movement

The trickle of water
Becomes a torrent
Becomes a stream
Becomes a river

All the while eating the rock
Over which it travels
Cleaving a rivulet
A channel
A chasm
A canyon

Words
Cutting

Not like a knife
But like the paper
From which I read

Cool
It said.

Cool
On a white-washed sheet of rough plywood
In a back alley
Beside railroad tracks
On the Vancouver waterfront.

There comes a time
In every pilgrim’s journey
When the path transforms

From seeking
To being