Life Preserved in Word

You gave me the impression, I didn’t fit. How could you ever be that cold? For you I put my life on hold. I didn’t fit. Such nerve had you to be so bold! You really kneaded me, Then I was twisted, rolled and folded up And you brutally pressed me in but I didn’t fit. The mold © David Girard 01/04/15

It makes me squirm for now this tune’s a Worm inside my head. Like a superbug germ’s unsatiated desire to be fed. My mind is kidnapped and I’m fast within its grasp. Worm calls to me “You must agree and harmonize.” Soon every song resolves into that wriggly asp mass. Perhaps the cure is similar to that of the hiccups. Through a frown I drink a glass of water upside down. I now have the hic-hic-hickety-ups in sync to the tune of the Worm. I try everything I can think of to dispatch that boring wriggler. So now it’s off to see the ‘Dic-Dic-Dickety-Doc’ about my Worm.   Doc says “Open wide and say aah!” I open up and say “aah-aah-aahity-aah.” He checks out my mouth and throat and exclaims, “The problem is not bacterial – it’s gone viral!” I am given a prescription and asked to return in a few days. A few days later at Doc’s office… Doc says “Open wide and say aah-aah-aahity-aah.”   I open up and say “It has g...

Farewell to become ash in urn in niche. A journey from miniscule to mature to miniature and from crawl to brag to bawl. Knock on wood, it burns to ash. Buy a cheap round as ash is cash. Don’t get old like the rest of us do. Realize life as a child that grew up to celebrate life as a child. © David Girard 19/03/15

Blinded by the beauty of the people I know. “Blind beauty my friend, where did you go?” “Went ‘round this old world a time or two, Searching in vain, looking for you.” “Blind beauty my friend what did you see?” “A lot of nothing…  I’m blind. Look at me!” Tears fill my eyes. My mind’s eye is sharp but what can I do? I can’t see this life to explain it to you.  Beauty blinds. Beauty is blind. © David Girard 26/03/15

Stub-stub-stubble jump Stubble Jump Brew… “Honey bee, honey bee flew. My honey ain’t free but my honey will do.” “Honey what has gotten into you?” “I’ve been chugging away on that Stubble Jump Brew.” Tastes so good all evening it do. Inhibitions gone, feelin’ oh so cool. Just one more song now who’s the fool? Dance ‘round the floor a glidin’ on my stool ‘Till the music stops, so I stop too. But my stomach keeps jiving to the boogaloo. And off I zoom to the men’s bar-froom To disgorge a batch of Stubble Jump Gruel It comes with a fee but leaves totally free. Awake next morning, oh so sad, Have a pounding head and I feel real bad. Suffer all that day ‘til evening come. Go find my honey that’s what I’ll do. Now I’m back with you my Stubble Jump Brew. “Honey bee, honey be who? Honey be my Stubble Jump Brew.” “You were after honey, honey bee me. So go and screw your Stubble Jump Brew. Yeah...

Letters put together form words to build letters As people of letters compile words to write letters that can build up esteem for oneself to be seen above others green. But envy’s not taught through blind ignorance it’s bought. Our veils must be removed in order to see who envy has hurt and to what degree. © David Girard 06/04/15

Assume nothing, consider everything. Don’t let logic cloud your mind then hijack your head. Listen to that gut of yours that begs to be fed. Establish rhythm.  Stay in tune.  Consume… Chew on it, or regurgitate instead to be rid of   All that crap that you’ve been led to believe. Have a good look then open wide.  Over chin shovel it in. Hold that rhythm.  Rock that tune.  Consume… Chew and chew as you were taught to do Don’t swallow too much nor gulp it down. Now relax and digest for a piece of time. How long it takes is hard to say Maybe hours,  possibly days. If it settles well, all is okay. But if nausea and heartburn is what you got, Gnaw on something else for the answer you sought. © David Girard 31/03/15

Grind and grind, all turns to dust And blows your mind to reveal the rust So very soon you begin to lust For that never mind that’s lost your trust. Dust your mind rust? Mind dust rust… Never mine dust mind of mine. © David Girard 24/03/15

On a gravel road I’m all alone, walking along and kicking a stone. Today is a new, virtual zoo. Tomorrow is never, just another today. I could learn from the past, hardly ever do. Whatever happens today, tomorrow it’s the past. Today is yesterday, I remember now. On a gravel road I’m all alone, walking along and kicking a stone. Off to school to learn history. People, places, names, and dates of times I cannot see. It’s got to be alive for my mind to thrive. Get a license to drive.  Start a family. Children all grown, having children of their own. On a gravel road I’m all alone, Walking along and kicking a stone. Yesterday is lost.         Today is yesterday. © David Girard  12/08/17 * Inspired by a good friend of mine who is living with dementia.

Few, when they grew, knew how quickly life flew Like matter through air, to be is to err. To live is to fly, to crash and cry. Who is you heir?  Do you have one? Do you care? One can survive being hairless and heirless But don’t be careless and choose to go airless Expire… enter the fire…   To be rendered as dross for a berth in the urn. © David Girard 24/03/15

Come along for a cruise on the anhydrous sea to see how being human is the freeway of connectivity. Countless lanes pave the history of all. Can’t look back in the mirror just a head with two eyes on the road or wake up dead. All lanes in the same direction seems odd to me. No lights no signs to guide this ride. No rush!  Just cruise to flow and let go. In the vortex of traffic’s constant pace instead of round in circles we’re going straight - to where? Numerous lanes of change move right out of sight. I take off ramp to the service road with no name for a trip away from the freeway of destiny to reunite and reminisce with the remnants of youthful minds. Collectively are we five siblings of the orphan age. Far past time of hard core grief once shared, sometimes not. No rush!  Just cruise to flow and let go. Drawn to unite as one work on canvas bright a pentalogy masterpiece together Individual works of art when apart. Déjà vu embrac...

Is it the mystique of haggis or a mistaken haggis? Perhaps it’s a Highland beast or a Lowland feast. When haggis is the game, there be no shame If one is eluded by this Scottish illusion. It roams, it bleats, it has four feet That made the grooves ‘long side the brae. And it behooves me to say ovine is the prey of the day Who knew, that woolly bundle be slew For its coat and a stew Made with oats grown down yonder a few paces Mixed up, packed in gut and tied with laces Baked and plated for the grace of many red faces Flush from whisky, somewhat frisky. The climax is when, with the flash of a dirk It’s gutted again.  Some may say a hefty price to pay. Say I at least ‘twas a sheep feast.   © David Girard 20/01/16 * A shout out to Robbie the Baird and my fond memories of Scotland.

Fast food poems delivered like spoon fed pabulum.  Open up the hangar, in goes the plane. Never gets old, always the same. Take a back seat to be driven by rhythm. A front row seat is what most people seek. Toe the line and make sure it rhymes. In sync is the structure, discordant the time. cApiTAl EyEs p.  u.  n.  k.    c, h’ e, w’   8! Do not repeat .   Echo.  Reecho.   repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat Positively don’t use no double negatives. In the thick of rime make a rapid climb t urn on a dime for some prime time crime and dive right into the key lime pyorrhea. © David Girard   18/04/16 * This is a bit of a rant directed towards those who think poetry must fall within a fixed template of grammatical protocol and conventions.

nurture spring, it nurtured you warmth aroma beauty intoxicating brew the seeds once planted a reflection of you. © David Girard 21/03/16 * Harmony!

In an effortless swishing of wings, soaring upwards is the  magnificent master of the sky.  With  outstretched wings the bold  form catches an updraft and climbs  toward the heavens, into a  mysterious  world of clouds.   As suddenly as he disappears, he appears to play hide and seek  with  the massive earth which lays  motionless below him.   For  hours he glides, perfecting loops, dives, and turns with a mere  graceful  flap of the wing.   Away he fades, deeper into the blue like a speck of dust floating  carelessly around an empty room.   He comes into sight once more  with a breath-taking dive and a twisting loop then vanishes  mysteriously over the mountainside.  He is gone, and remains just a memory put away deep into the  back  of my head.   Then sometime in  the future I will see hi...

I walk down the street, no one knows me.  I’m lost in this city, this concrete sea.  The plodding of footsteps, down a well-lit street. A little café, that’s lovely to greet.  I sit in the café, and sip on my tea.  I now have a friend, who’s talking to me. We talk long enough, so I can see, she’s having the same, problem as me. She says, “Goodbye, I have to go.” I leave the café, walking slow… I walk down the street, no one knows me. I’m lost in this city, this concrete sea. Here I am down and out, asking myself questions about; the future. Will any man walk, where I have walked alone? Will man have a place, that he can call his own? Will man be able to travel abroad? And will he keep, His faith in God? Will he get down and out, and ask himself questions about; the future? © David Girard  20/11/73 * This is one of two poems that likely allowed for my margina...

Mind pregnant with thought ready to birth A verse of words created from letters Begins to grow too slow for rhyme The pace quickens as the throes of time To evolve into phrase for a poem to form From cranium to pen to ink on paper Thus given life for all to ponder Those words of naught that plant the seed So others may labor in agony. © David Girard 25/03/15

Many times I have watched the frequent tick and sway of a clock’s second hand But the minute and hour hands frequently advance when you blink or look away. According to physics time’s relative but I disagree. When I was a child a day lasted an eternity. As a young adult, time was still on my side. Although the pace of life steadily increased as the number of days  grew, Eventually my mind and body began to slow and show Some signs of the ravages of time. Now on the long side of fifty I’m an absolute wreck. Gray hairs and wrinkles are no longer shy And have the last laugh as they multiply. The scale tips the wrong way to make me sigh.  Half my teeth have been replaced by a full upper plate And the ones on the bottom now know of their fate. Many are the injuries and surgeries my body sustained But worse of all is the haunting depression of my caved in brain. To be held hostage by this illness for the rest of my life isn’t fair. ...

Where is the heart?  Home? Where is home?  Here?  There? Here is home, but a breath in time. There is home eternal. In a breath we will be there. © David Girard 26/01/15 * Inspired by an acquaintance who was struggling with terminal cancer.

Contrary be wary of countless thrusts to parry. The foil to conform fuels a societal storm. Follow the beacon to harbour secure. Replenish, sate, rejuvenate and wait… For the tempest must abate to wave horizontal. It’s easy to ride with the current flow. Now buck the tide with all you have. All you have is what you are. What you are is who you know. Buck the tide to flourish and grow. High, low, slack, rip… Buck tide. © David Girard 31/03/15

Song lives, song loves, I sing. Song laughs, song cries, we sing. Song could make us bad, Song may drive us mad, Sing Sing. © David Girard 01/04/15

Of Peacock Hill my childhood will Come back to me in vivid imagery.  Oftentimes I climb that knoll of hope to find majestic peacocks who have thus far eluded me. One pleasant spring day spent at ease in the warm embrace of a gentle breeze that glides through the trees to gather scents from nature’s bouquet and merge with leaves as organic debris a potpourri swept up in this whimsical ride to flutter, swirl and slowly succumb as gravity reigns them down to a gentle repose nary a whisper. I lay sprawling out upon a small patch of grass in a solitary haven amongst outcrops of rocks and Garry Oak Trees whose massive trunks support many limbs    twisting and turning in every direction, all kinked, gnarled and wrinkly like a tower of scarecrows entwined with each other, Or the hands and skin of old people I see. Leaves anew, remnants of morning dew sway, Glisten then fade, somewhat grayed by shade. The earth’s rotation plays...

I have all the time in the world for people Who comply with my agenda and feed my ego.  They are rare. I approve of children who do as they are told Think more of others, less of themselves and don’t think for themselves.  They are nowhere to be found. © David Girard 19/03/15

Want to die.  Don’t know why. Misery, pain and despair speak of the helplessness and hopelessness that has rendered me isolated and unaware of any danger signals. Numb, I lay on the gurney with electrodes secured to my head as they wait to be fed with the juice to reboot my brain. This is the twenty-fourth time.   I hope to wake up dead. The IV weeps to replenish tears as a mask is pressed to my face. Take a deep breath, cascade of tingles… Implode to that secretive place… A few days later I feel even worse, like saturation in sin to rot within as I plumb the depths I’m just a breath away… Guilt, self-hatred, embarrassment, shame, Is “One Way to Hell” the name of this game? I return to the hospital to see my psychiatrist who’s as committed to me as I am now to the psych ward. Third time in, take it on the chin. Familiar is this padded cell, shades of hell. Strip down naked, all belongings taken. Don the blue gown that re...