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C'est en faisant semblant d'être écrivain
............................qu'on le devient vraiment.

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J.M.G. LeClézio

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Franklin

Carmichael, Group of Seven
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September haiku

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framework for fall quilt
begun as second leaf slips
where they meet, moss & sun

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Falling back

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Fall has arrived and the sun shines for me. I ignore the crackle of dead leaves beginning to accumulate beneath my feet. Not ready, not me. The sun shines for me, you see, and the seasons can wait. I will just keep looking up. When the trees rain on my face, I will imagine them sun-wind and sand from the white sea beach where I stand. When the smell of dead earth wafts into my nostrils, I will imagine it has just rained in Violet's jungle. The sun shines for me. It shines for me, said she . . .
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........

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C.R.A.

While celebrating Mr. Cohen's 75th birthday at The Cyrk - which, by the way, was wall-to-wall creative inspiration, I finally got my taste of C.R. Avery: the beatbox, blues harmonica playing poet & performing artist. I knew Tom Waits was a fan. Well, now so am I, and so I would like to present him to those of you who haven't discovered his unique artform yet. One of the many faces of poetry in the 21st century:

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Creation is only
the projection into form
of that which already exists.
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SHRIMAD

BHAGAVATAM

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from inspirare: to breath:

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According to 1b in the Merriam-Webster, inspiration is the action or power of moving the intellect or emotions. These days, it is an elusive and desired friend of mine. And at times like this, I can (almost) understand those creators who choose to reach out to Erato or Calliope or the like. Yes, I fear my inspiration is laying dormant these days. Hélas, grand soupir . . .

I think that the best remedy for my dearth is often another artist's abundance. Inspiration begets inspiration, and we're all in this together, aren't we? That is why I plan on celebrating Leonard Cohen's 75th birthday bash at The Beautiful Loser Festival this weekend. And it is also what had me check out a My Space page belonging to the son of a dear friend of mine.

If he's Guillaume's son, I thought to myself, he surely has some talent. Ha! Eighteen months since picking up his old man's guitar out of a closet, he has accomplished amazing things, much like my friend did all those years ago. In 1977, I ran into Guillaume and his guitar in the old halls of the College Secondaire de St-Boniface. I fell in love with his music and Guillaume & I would continue to discover the magic of music together.

What an absolute pleasure that Samuel, in 2009, would illicit that same excitement in me! I hope that you will also enJoy . . .

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Je vous présente SAMUEL BOUX.

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The Angry Hippy, (i)

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Elle porte ses cheveux
À la Brigitte Bardot
Jolie jeune fille fleurie

He protests from daybreak
To nightfall until he forgets
What he was angry about

Elle lui amène alors
Un thé glacé et une plume,
Du papier, un baiser . . .

And the angry hippy
Writes songs 'bout injustice
Wishing for someone to hear him

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T.B.C.

Sun setting in the Whiteshell ...

............

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STUART JAMES

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Full moon on the rise today in Eastern Manitoba

This Moon

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The man stood in the moon's light
Claiming to know it, this very one
And he said nothing more.

.....She smiles in his arms
.....Comforted by the moon they share
.....And wishes it could always be this way

The woman stood under the full moon
Familiar to her foggy eyes
She had seen this moon before, just so,
this very moon. Yes, this very one.


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The center that I cannot find
is known to my unconscious mind.
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W.H. AUDEN

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joan mirò

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