Rates Of Passage

Two hundred years ago a trip across the Atlantic would have meant over a month on a creaky, leaky sailing vessel with no guarantees. Young arrogant adventurers facing constant peril One hundred and twenty years ago My grandfather’s westward passage on a steamship took five or six days ...Without return passage... He was a young man leaving home For the unknown I am hurtling east across the great Atlantic in a cramped and sometimes shaky silver bullet. This flight takes around six hours. Unsure if the shrinking planet will survive Another century At this rate.

Treasures

What a push/pull

pressure cooker day

everybody feeling

the squeeze

I can’t move

for the elephants

taking all

the comforts

values clashed,

considered

considered selling

my favourite posession

everything dear to me

is worth more

than can be paid

treasures to pass on

(March 1, 2014.)

Uh oh..... There Goes The Neighbourhood

Griffintown could be any neighbourhood at all

I’ve lived long enough to watch many communities fall

people moving up, people driven out

running from the renos and the condos and the wrecking ball

uh oh…..make way for the bobos

uh oh…..the champagne socialists

uh oh…..make way for those bourgeois bohemians

uh oh…..there goes the neighbourhood

immigrants and artists living side by side 

eking out a living and preserving their cultural style

cleaning up their corner, their side of the street

filling up their space with personal and civic pride

uh oh…..make way for the bobos

uh oh…..the champagne socialists

uh oh…..make way for those bourgeois bohemians

uh oh…..there goes the neighbourhood

when the gentry comes, the rents will soar

all the local colour won’t be there any more

when the gentry comes is when the colour goes

you’ll still have a face, but you cut off your nose

immigrants and artists both have economic insecurity

so they move into neighbourhoods sick with urban decay

they defibrilate before it gets too late and

pull the neighbourhood out of obscurity

uh oh…..make way for the bobos

uh oh…..the champagne socialists

uh oh…..make way for those bourgeois bohemians

uh oh…..there goes the neighbourhood

then the vultures come and kick you out of your homes

as they buy up everything in sight

when the vultures come they’ll strip you downt to the bone

bleach you away and treat you like blight

I used to live in a place like this because the rents were cheap

I had to move because it sold and the rent got steep

to hell with artsy romance, it’s all about finance

what you get to skim you get to keep

uh oh…..make way for the bobos

uh oh…..the champagne socialists

uh oh…..make way for those bourgeois bohemians

uh oh…..there goes the neighbourhood

some yuppies moved here because the streets were cool and quaint

the yuppies got older and now…the same streets ain’t

their bourgois aspirations belied their intentions

and now the bar downstairs is closed due to their complaints

uh oh…..make way for the bobos

uh oh…..the champagne socialists

uh oh…..make way for those bourgeois bohemians

uh oh…..there goes the neighbourhood

when the gentry comes, the rents will soar

all the local colour won’t be there any more

when the gentry comes is when the colour goes

you’ll still have a face, but you cut off your nose

some motherfuckers bought up five whole city blocks

said they’d look after everyone, but that was a crock

with their lululementality they destroyed a community

now with impunity we see it’s true that money talks (and walks)

when the bobos come you’ll be on the run

from their phony pseudo psych mentality

when the bobos come you’ll be on the run

from their virtual spirituality

when th bobos come you’ll be on the run

from their actual banality

uh oh…..make way for the bobos

uh oh…..the champagne socialists

uh oh…..make way for those bourgeois bohemians

uh oh…..there goes the neighbourhood

mid-summer

Fireflies flicker in the thicket at dusk

Winking in the warm breathless night

Little beacons luring mates or prey

Being neither, I delight in their display

I heard there were more this year

This evening bears that out

Sequins on the lawn 

before the dew settles

A week of calm before 

the Cicadas arrive to crow

The slow decline of summer

And the next turn of the page

My Heart Was Built For Breaking

January 21, 2013 at 10:33 PM

Ian Hanchet

It's better to have a broken heart

than to have an unspoken part

To love in life is to do your part

So never stop believing

It's better to have loved and lost

Even at such a saline cost

than to cover up your heart in frost

Just because she's leaving

And even though it's aching

And to get through days I'm faking

It's love I still be making

This heart was built for breaking.

©2013 IGH

Mum

There was nothing left
Before she left
Erosion stole her
And there was nothing
I could do for her
That birthed me 
And fed 
and sheltered
And comforted 
And clothed
And listened
And held
And taught
And scolded
And worried
And most of all
Loved.
"Hush little baby
Don't you cry,
You know your mama
Was born to die....
All my trials, lord
Soon be over"

There goes my home

Paradise is burning

It's been burning all day

Like the sacking of Rome 

Or the burial of Pompeii

There goes my home

Like Hiroshima flattened

Or Atlantis drowned

Don't care how it happened

Gotta Get out of town

There goes my home

This boom town went bust

And The rats had already fled

In God We Trusted

And Now we're all dead

There goes my home

Everything's burned 

burnedto the ground

everything’s lost, 

there’s nothing to be found

There goes my home

There's more plagues to endure

There's no way to prepare

There's nothing to insure

The system is burnt bare

There goes my home

Mom

There was nothing left

Before she left

Erosion stole her

And there was nothing

I could do for her

That birthed me 

And fed 

and sheltered

And comforted 

And clothed

And listened

And held

And taught

And scolded

And worried

And most of all

Loved.

"Hush little baby

Don't you cry,

You know your mama

Was born to die....

All my trials, lord

Soon be over"

(2017)

Not Today

Squadrons of geese

Flying in vees

Reminding me 

That today is to be seized

Time to plan ahead

Thankful I’m not dead

Preparing for the glorious

Swatches to burst into view

Then the cold hard scents

Of rotting leaves and 

Skeletal trees before the 

Inevitable freeze.

Flock off birds.

Not today!

Sept 2016

Matter

For three weeks.

There.

On the road.

By the curb.

Where each day

thousands accelerate

onto the highway

She started out a cat.

Somebody's cat to miss

or 

maybe feral, 

missed by her own

She's a cat no more.

Matter.

My glimpse is just a blip on my trip

Each day there is less of her 

Each day there is less of fur 

One day there will be none.

No one stopped and scooped

"Not my job", we say

Pass by passively every day

Unnoticed 

unwanted 

uncaring

These words are all that's left

Of a life that didn't matter.

Lightning Bugs

Fireflies flicker in the thicket at dusk

Winking in the warm breathless night

Little beacons luring mates or prey

Being neither, I delight in their display

I heard there were more this year

This evening bears that out

Sequins on the lawn 

before the dew settles

A week of calm before 

the Cicadas arrive to crow

The slow decline of summer

And the next turn of the page

The Dream Keeper

Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamer,

Bring me all your Heart melodies (2x)

That I may wrap them

In a blue cloud-cloth

Away from the rough hewn fingers

Of the world.

bring me all of your hurts, you hurter

bring me all your festering wounds  (2x)

that I may bind them

in cool white linen

away from the rough hewn fingers

of the world

bring me all of your fears you fearer,

bring me all your darkest nights (2x)

that I may wrap them 

in my bosom

away from the rough hewn fingers

of the world

Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamer,

Bring me all your Heart melodies (2x)

That I may wrap them

In a blue cloud-cloth

Away from the rough hewn fingers

Of the world.

Ami Bmi7(b5) E7

Fma7......E7    Ami

song adapted from Langston Hughes poem.

Tea

Chilly fall day

After school

A craving for tea

Not chai

Not coffee

First tea in years

Sweetened 

With maple

Syrup

Sitting in 

The ancestral 

chairs that

I inherited

And my dad

Inherited and

My kids

Will inherit

I think of 

cribbage

And 

Get Smart

Reruns

Fifteen two

Fifteen four 

Fifteen six

And a pair

Is eight

One day

my mum

Forgot

How

I hope

I never

Forget

The Cough

Woke up coughing

Shortness of breath

Felt I was drowning

Felt closer to death

Nothing seemed to work

I was gasping for air

Hard to remain calm

With death hovering so near

I'm breathing easy now

The coughing's settled down

But afraid to close my eyes

In case I really drown

I'm not ready to go just yet

Death knocked at the wrong door

I'm counting all my blessings now

And wishing for many more

Cherry Squares

I made Cherry Squares today

The legendary recipe

(Doubled) 

I only ate one (to test it of course)

Enough calorific value 

To power a generator

Or keep me awake.

When we were kids

We could honk as many squares

As we could get away with 

Avoiding my mom's wooden spoon 

Flailing at us like some 

Pathetic scarecrow

Doomed to failure.

I thought maybe the smell

Might bring her back

Or maybe the taste

Or the pride in seeing them disappear

Down the gullets of her loved ones.

Make this broken house a home again. 

My mum is gone now, almost two years

And that's just her body. 

She started leaving several years before that.

Her Cherry Squares (the legendary ones)

Aren't the same 

Without her around.

Now I can eat as many as I want,

And I only had one. I only wanted one

A lot less fun. A lot less magic.

A wee bit tragic. No strategy to beat

The sentry. No sentry, free entry

There they sit in the fridge

Waiting to be coveted

Waiting to be fought over

Waiting to be honked

Nobody here to honk them

It said "guard with your life"

On the recipe

Maybe that's why i can't sleep.

My family is all apart now. 

We come together for

Weddings and funerals

And talk on the phone

Less and less often. 

Too busy.

"If you bake Cherry Squares, maybe they will come"

Pan of dreams.

Better stolen.

April 7, 2016.

For The Birds

If it weren't for the sound of morning birds

My waking in the suburbs

Might be just an ordinary day

The birds remind me that I can hear

And I can think and be thankful

For small mercies

Cardinals and robins,

Finch and chickadee

And mystery birds that

Only people in Tilley hats 

And grandmothers can name

No mourning doves

Or mockingbirds today

Nor crows or squawking jay

A lone goose (probably silly)

In search of a V

Time to meet my day

And make the coffee

Lighter on my feet

Because I listened up.

Serenity

I love the silence

It lets the music shine through

You love my music

It's my gift from me to you

From me to you

Serenity

I love the peace of knowing

You're here with me

Being her with me

And knowing that we are free

We know our days are numbered

There's no time to waste

We've got to cherish every moment

Savour every taste

Every taste

Serenity

Some battles can't be fought

Some treasures can't be bought

We've already been taught

What's right and what is not

2016/07/01

Where Did The Words Go?

Where did the words go?

They trickle now

Where they used to flow

Where did the words go?

Damn the dam

That side door slam

That took my words away

The divining rod

Of the fresh and young

That showed me where

the spring had sprung

From dowsed to doused

Verbose to close

The Cat had got my tongue

It's not that I have nothing to say

Or that my passion has gone away

Mundane things get in the way

The trivia of day to day

A turn of phrase that caught my ear

Why did the words just disappear?

But look, the words are flowing here

The cool blue stream is deep and clear

Magically they just re-appear 

So I dip my cup and drink

All is well

2016/07/02

Everybody Loved Nancy

Everybody loved Nancy

In a push me, pull you kind of way

Nobody ever knew her

Nobody ever came close

The loneliness of loose thoughts,

Random scenarios, and what ifs

Crushed her ruthlessly

Nobody ever cared 

The pews were full 

Everyone who didn't care

Caught unaware

Crying real tears on her grave

2016/08/04

Christmas Ornaments

My Ornaments are gone 

Trifles that meant something 

sometime, somewhere

....gone....

That tied me to tinsel memories

Of gathered pines and home

I left them on the curb of downsize divorce

I never missed them until just now

Four seasons into something new.

Her ornaments are testaments to