Rain daze …

… the ground is already soaked from the overnight rain.

The day that was yesterday, pushed away from the incoming clouds.
The trees looking forlorn, in their autumnal colours, shake in the stiff breeze. Sea mists lie heavy, on the coast.

The grey that is morning, this morning, creeps in; through the door frame. Faint yellow golds, tinge the pallor. Scurrying to work jobs, heads bent down against the drizzles. The people come and go.

Cars, wait patiently for attention, on the forecourt. Smug in their paint and glass, Waiting to burst into mechanical life. The birds nowhere to be seen. Left? Only the winter flocks, of carrion persuasion, behind.

The rains bring renewed life, subsiding in the soils below. Ready to burst anew. When, spring warming, sun rays summon them forth. Trickles and trills. beneath dense close foliage. Copped to receive the ancient elixir.

Beneath ant colonies die off, spiders scurry to lay in against the colder weather to come. Eggs sacs full. Slow moving, for winter bites at the legs. The layer beneath, as busy as the one above.

When the rains come and autumn beckons to beyond. The globe tilts. To expose it’s other hemisphere, toward our star. The geese gather in for the season. All is well in our world …





Fun in the sun …

The mindless shouts and yells of adolescent boys
rang out in late afternoon sunshine,
around the motel swimming pool.

Bathed in late afternoon sunshine they played their teenage games,
shouting in unison.
Loud voices now dropped, from post pubescence.

Shrieking their voices with childlike glee, with only those games that groups of young boys can conjure.
Splashing, grunting, with pleasures known to them alone.

Their pale white bodies, spider silhouettes, against the pseudo brick façade of the motel, bedecked with bright blue sunbrellas.
Reminiscent of seaside grandeur.

The boys larked. Like many before them, generations of similar encounters. Oblivious to their parodies. A couple of girls watched from the safety of the adjoining space.

The sun swiftly dropped in the late afternoon, cutting short their revelry.
Towels draped in postures of Arabs in the desert, they fled the scene.
The gulls swept by overhead, looking for scraps not found.

Mathematical nonsense …

Veselin Malinov

Algorithms with complex rhythms
are terms that are widely spread
in our world of internet

Complex spasms of has, or hasn’ts
in between the layers of
algebraic bread

Divisions of derivation
building blocks of DNA
bring results of how we write.

Like Josephus, Jeremiah or
Jumping Jehoshaphat,
Ephraim or Jeraboam

Prophets of mathematical prowess
come and light our quay,
the harbours of the soul


Apparently the algorithm decides Edgar Allan Poe?

Man moving sideways through turnstile, going to Bankok?


Rocky the Racoon …

2.30 am and two woman in their twenties, maybe?
step outside the building.
Letting the door crash behind them,
shaking this resident awake.

They then proceed to chatter, without stop,
in loud voices. For fully 15 mins.
before a young man appears from inside of the building,
suggesting they return upstairs.

There are multiple signs, around the doorway and building
areas, reminding residents that it is a non-smoking area.
That does not seem to stop the party participants,
stepping outside the door for their nicotine fixes.

One wonders where they get their air from? Talking incessantly, with loud voices, in the warm summer night.
Voices drifting upward on the slow breeze in the front door-well. Standing adjacent to each other, the loud voices break the stillness of the night.

Reverberating still, from the door closer. As they disappear back inside, leaving only butts on the pristine tiled foyer.
The night begins to return to it’s former slumber sleep evades, having been fully wakened by their empty-headed furor.

From the bed, stagger to the living room chair. Drinking apple cider vinegar in water, sleepiness begins to return.

The building door crashes open again, two couples emerge on the way to the visitor parking. Loud enough that the racoon, tiptoes away … unseen

Except by me.


Happy birthday …

… It is estimated that the rock we live on, Earth. Is 4.54 billion years old. Which make the fuss over Canada on this day, July 1st 2017, quite amusing. To myself, at least.

The bunting is out, the block parties are in full swing. I wonder if the Beaker people are invited? While The CBC Canadian Broadcasting Corporation insinuates far older occupation of North America by the human species? Here we sit like birds in the wilderness, waving the Maple Leaf flags, celebrating a mere 150 years.


No matter, crack a beer, heave some dead animal on the barbecue. Happy birthday? I call it the crazy weekend.  Last night maintained the assertion. As some troubled young lady roamed around, swearing and shouting that her phone was inside. Kicking the heavy glass door trying to gain entry. The car alarm of a visitor, going off time and time again. Nobody seemed, hehe … alarmed? The young lady was eventually taken away by the City police.

I wonder why car people have those alarms? Sure, I know, to prevent theft. Yet, if that was so? Why do the owners ignore them? If one takes the ferry between this Island and the mainland. A ride of about 1hr and 35 mins. I usually stay in my car. The other passengers go aloft. Once the ferry hits some rough water.

They all go off. The car alarms.

Nobody bats an eyelid. They are ignored. For the people still in their cars, like myself, they are an annoyance of intrusion.

One wonders why, people purchase such an expensive item when buying the car? Perhaps it was part of a package? Maybe they were planning on parking in East Vancouver or some other high crime area? However unlikely it would be for anyone to attempt to steal the tires, etc. For all the attentions they are paid. Any thief could steal and leave without any trouble, for sure.

Ahh well, Happy Birthday Canada. You have very little to celebrate … next up July 4th.

Passwords are the thing …

… These days everything is password protected.

Because? Because cybercrime lurks in every corner of the globe. We are supposed to value our privacy. Most of us do.

The extent to which this password protection is extended.
Is becoming obscene.

My macbook wants my password. I enter it. Then it desires another password. I enter it. Then it goes back to the first password asked for.

Why? I just gave it. Does it not have a memory? Is that what a computer is? A memory system?

If one fails the password test. After three tries you are disabled. Where is my disabled badge? Surely I can park in the disabled spot?

To recover the password. These days means entering a new one. It requires a two step process. One that usually ends in a text to my phone.

Enter the numbers sent and it will open to a door. Where one may enter a new password.
Then again, in case a mistake was made the first time around.

Underneath the guidelines of two uppercase, eight letters minimum.
Plus minimum two figures, we have a new password.

It has a helpful little figure underneath the information. Designed to inform us of the password strengths? Happy with your new password?

Now we have our password. Back to login and try it out.
Finally an email is sent telling me my password is now changed.

No shit, Einstein? Okay, well one can see that it would be helpful to know that and to ignore, if it was yourself?

Of course it was me. I sent you my email address, que’lle idiote.


Visiting the relatives …

They come on Saturdays, Sundays and the holiday Mondays.
To meet and greet the older relatives,
In the apartment building by the seashore.

Bring treats. Of flowers, bunches or pots; offspring in tow.
Yelling in the covered parking lot, to make the voices echo and shout floating up like disembodied banshee ghosts aglow.

Arriving in Nissans, Toyotas, Hyundai and the odd Ford.
SUV sparkly, shiny bright, plastic bodywork and glass
Horns tooting, as they lock the car door.

Using the intercom at the front door.
Announcing their arrival and the resulting buzz
Floats up behind, the garage shouts and yells.

The front door clangs behind the visitors, with automatic closing.
To spend an hour or two
With the old folks.

The resident’s cars, lay idle in the lot
sedentary in and of the makes.
BMW, Audi, Chevrolet, Pontiac or Ford

Departure, is procedure in reverse
Culminating in engines, bursting awake
Then the TOOT to unseen residential life, as they leave. Duty complete

Slowly the apartments, one bedroom, two & three,
townhouses at the sides,
Simmer’s down to tranquility.

Stillness broken only by the siren sound, of emergency vehicle.
hospital next door …