Author: Mark

Poetry

A Mixtape of Memories

There comes a time,when Jack Daniels,road runs,watching the dawnrise over Mt. Tolmie,being sillyin Hyde Parkand Hurricane Floydon a Hyannis beach,gives weighto ibuprofen,comfy shoes,and playing fetchwith Friedabefore breakfast,when what mattersare friendsnear and far,past, presentand future,Where they are,what they are doing,are they happy,or needing a shoulder,or just in a box,on the shelf,waiting

Life

Ferrari Festival

Only in Ottawa, Little Italy to be precise, would you find a festival devoted to that ultimate of sports cars – the Ferrari. Every year we make a point of spending an evening having a gander at the ‘mid-life crisis’ of sports cars. It makes me wonder who has an

Poetry

Apartment 2B

2 floors up,above the swirling littered dreams,I watched – eyes red.He came – shuffling, head down,gnarled bony hands hung loose,A ravaged fedora perched,on bleached white straw.I stepped outside myself and stared,feeling his age and pain.And for a moment forgot my own,began to smile,realizing as he passed,he was whistling… ml’98 (New

Poetry

Electric

Feel the electric – ions charged,swooping down – bending trees, whole,it roars – in my ears. I stand – feet planted,and wait – for the tiger,to lick my face – in the dark. Hands touch – silent static,burning – unspoken heat,shadowed dark – in the light that flashes. Feel the

Day To Day Life

Looking Up To Childhood

Who doesn’t remember lying on your back in the Summer sun cloud gazing? Such memories, guessing the cloud shapes with Clay on the back of wet cedar log. Or on a raft in the middle of the bay, with the smell of salt and the drone of pals playing in