Always A Story Told

Always A Story Told

it seeps into your bones

when Spring is still grey

or when a silky sun sets

that solitary endeavour

for the burdened            

                and the starved

the most Canadian of authors

forego purported

folk-art pretenses

decisive tastes

heavy handedness

big green tent parties

laissez-faire

robust tea-leaves

red rusted Volvos

ankle-length caftans

snowy patriarchal beards

for undisclosed faddish frills

to be laugh-out-loud funny

for several pages at a time

stars in up-scale hair salons

belly up for a cheesy burger

                just to be able to play

it settles in your stomach

like morning sky’s indifference

or when winter winds screech

presumptive parables of fear

for the designated

                and the encumbered

under-songs for storytellers

firmaments for the fictive

                always a story told

a wound opened

it is also poetry

**

On the days when the world around me stinks, the people simply suck, and the weather is still unfairly unseasonable: I write. It makes me feel better, helps me to be forgiving, forgetful, fortunate. Brings me back to the earth where all of the good things are.

Grateful for words and my ability to use them.

In propinquity,

Nic