Poesie 78 }

Ten Poems by Johnny MacRae (Vancouver, BC) *Winner of the marathon award for writing a ridiculous number of amazing poems

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 15:56:38 -0400

Jitterbugs

Seizure the moment!
Not a violent take-over
more like a shake-down.

Shiver the timbers!
Not with steel and fire
more like a two-step.

Raze the roof!
Not bursting gas-lines
more like body-heat.

Take to the streets!
Disturbed citizens,
let your jitterbugs
gnaw into the foundations
of the palace—
let your shivering feet
stomp the beat
of your victory dance—
let your flaming hearts
warm the bodies around
with lightness.

Cont'd: (#161): One Country, One Voice - Kevin Craig

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 13:07:31 -0400

Our lips sewn shut

by the macabre weavers

upon the unjust mount,

our limbs pulled taut

against our suffocating trunks.

With our eyes taped over

no longer seeing day,

a mighty river begins to boil

screaming at its banks.

A man, a boy,

and twenty upon twenty more.

A girl, a woman,

and thirty upon thirty more.

And every gender, every genre,

every gene,

becomes a broiling mass

of unrequited voice.

With lips sewn shut

and limbs unmoving,

with eyes taped over

and feet held firm,

we’ll rise above the river’s banks

and make our voices heard.

We’ll roil upon the twisted earth,

a writhing, reeling mass,

and scream and twist

and boil

until our voice is one,

united in solidarity

against this call to silence

that ties us to the ground.

Cont'd: (#160): Cities / Bodies / Responding, Dyan Marie, Toronto (Responding from Toronto because its also about living in cities)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 13:05:51 -0400

Cities / Bodies / Responding

Look around –

It’s snowing Styrofoam

Drifting in from another condo construction.

Look up –

The sky is clear-cut

It was once covered by trees

They died, yesterday some were replanted.

Look higher –

An asthma halo,

gray/brown rings of Toronto air.

Look up at night –

The stars are blinded by light.

Higher still –

The ozone layer we poke holes in

I see it, you see it,

Apparently 1% doesn’t

And they don’t believe in global warming.

Making urban projects:

Interventions

Initiatives

Acts of Responding.

Responding to here and now

And to the obsessive

self-interest

of all thing biological:

people, plants and animals.

Responding to the city

Neighbourhoods and main streets

To do-gooders and ne’er do well

Doing good or doing well

Best intentions go astray.

Community building and

Building communities

that complain together

and about each other.

Poverty of the poor

Poverty of the rich

Busyness

Living on the Internet

Corporate culture

Student debt

Cultural institutions

Tucked away inside themselves

Nostalgic and

Bad architecture

Architects blaming developers,

Developers blaming politicians

Politicians blaming global competition.

The lack of green space

And green space that lacks care.

The talk talk talk

Planning to talk

and planning to make a design plan.

Designing cars for cities

While designing cities for cars.

Dead-end bike lanes

Young and Bloor / granite clad / no bike parking

Ghosts bikes and

Riding bikes with aggressive care.

Non-existent walking paths

Theorizing Walk Here.

Wait out the waiting lines:

In traffic

for the TTC

at the hospital

in an emergency.

Wait out the waiting lists:

For affordable housing,

Treatment for mental heath.

Wait the inside out:

With a Jailed drug addict.

Calling for change when everything changes

Drifting houseless with mental heath issues

She’s peeing in the alley way

Looks up and says she loves me.

Non-profit

boards of directors

– you know who.

Cruelty to animals

Surgery on monkeys,

Pharmacology on cats,

Mice bred for experiments,

Cows trucked in box-cars,

Pigs raised in crates,

Caffeine and Prozac fed chickens.

The specialist on realism steps up to say:

We’ll need to be crueler to plants and animals

With cities growing

Another billion people on their way.

I’m always up for solving problems

It’s paying for them

that does me in

Making up a festival grant

A pen to bleed ink

Pledge in 300 words

But written in 3,000

Everything we make,

Every dime we take

Will make back 30,000

In tourist dollars.

But it’s eat or be eaten.

The future of water and food security

On the platter

Cows to be sacrificed –

A research project funded by

- who know who

Proposing

- wouldn’t it be kinder, cleaner?

To snip out cow brains,

cut off their legs

Use their tails for violin strings

Call what is left – meat

Still alive and growing in stainless steel

Cattle sustained by sterile tubes – one in - one out

Feed on modified diets of human waste.

Out – bottoming, China and Indian

In a pink slime budget battle

To lower the bottom line.

Everything changes and everyone dies

We should see more bodies rotting here and there

But cities are good at hiding, meat, death and shit.

At one time fucking was on the hide-out list

Apparently corporations stole sex

On bill-boards everywhere

They use it to sell: big white condos,

Small black cell phones,

Holidays and

Working 9 to 5.

We breathe this city air

On the asthma days

snowing Styrofoam.

Drink the water

Lead pipes in and out

How many chemicals in lake Ontario?

Turn on a shower

123 questions in the mist.

Growth –

When we can’t keep a glass of water clean?

Try hard

Everyone tries hard – when they have a chance

Accept when it is ill defined

Or give it up: 8 hours of work, 2 hours of travel, 3 hours of TV

High expectations, managing exceptions, low expectations, no expectations

Settling for self medication

Wait out the payday line-up at the LCBO.

Invest in the future

Academic bubbles

Blowing up student

with student loans

Winter is coming,

Only some will survive:

But if you had a PhD,

you could get from the U of T

What wonderful world it will be.

There’s Katherine from U of T, she has a PhD

Neo-liberalizing me

Art and community equals naivety.

Fail?

We are all failing –

Is it an option? –

Considering the world we live in.

But the boys are falling

High dropout, unemployment and suicide rates

Smoking on street corners

Looking for lust, love, meaning in manhood

Proposing each as ash

Shopping for identity

Drinking out of plastic bottles

Where’s the bottom

Have we found it yet?

Am I telling you things you already think?

On a bad day or on a good day?

Like everything,

words are temporary

Just like you –

I believe the things I’m saying

When I’m saying them

But anything can change

And I can change my mind

Because anything is possible

And we are living

In cities of possibility.

Later today, I might claim

Or you might say

Everything will be OK

Discuss how good things are or could be

Talk about achievement,

Celibate success.

All I really know:

You are alive

I am alive

Living in this body

Living in the city

Sharing neighbourhoods

Doing what we can

Responding.

- Dyan Marie, 2012, Responding from Toronto

Cont'd: (#159) He Ordered the Trees - Nanci Lee (Halifax, NS)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 13:05:19 -0400

and the flowers,

lined up all of the

creatures in

rows, hushed

the forest but

a group of

diaphanous

butterflies began

to emerge. Dozens

then tens of

thousands danced

a crimson red

fury, wings clanging.

Cont'd: (#158) Montreal Spring - Justin McGrail (Prauge)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 13:04:02 -0400

Montreal Spring

It is a Montreal Spring, and

The education revolution

Begins

To blossom.

Students are teachers,

Protestors professors, and

The streets are lecture halls,

Labs, and classrooms with

No doors. They are gone,

And all is open, open to all

With ears to hear, minds

To imagine, casseroles to

Bang, and voices to speak,

To shout, to sing.

Law-givers, law-breakers, and

Helmeted law-maintainers,

Watered and bathed by the

Sun, together bloom, as

They relearn the new (yet

Ancient) lesson that laws

Are only strong when

They can admit

To being wrong.

Whether the streets are

In Prague, Poznan, Budapest,

Cairo, or Montreal, May wets

And warms them, unbinding

Winter, reminding all people

That life is a learning

Experience, and we live most

When we learn together.

In 68, Alexandre Dubcek said:
“They may crush the flowers,

But they can’t stop the Spring.”

Premier Charest how are you

Not listening, how can you not

To the raised voices, feet, pans,

And pots of a whole nation that

Assembles in Montreal,

Assembles to safeguard not

Subvert freedoms, the

Rights you were elected to

Share, not to hold tight

In your hands, hands that

Can sign in, and sign out

Bills.

Pick up your pen.

Montreal Spring –

Our social evolution,

As a nation, begins

To bloom.

Cont'd: (#157): Clang Clang Rattle Bing Bang - Moe Clark (Montreal, QC)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 13:02:55 -0400

Clang clang rattle bing bang
gonna make our noise all day
all night
all week
all month
beyond the limits of 78 hours
78 breaths
78 beats
until someone decides to listen
to dance this dance
the good dance
the dance of faith and hope
the dance for accessible education

Clang clang rattle bing bang

Gonna make our noise all day

All night
all week
all month

Each night we step to the streets

Feet plant firm

Risk wearing the mask
to conquer the undertaker

People power aligns the energy
of embodied commitment
of intellectual force

Clang clang rattle bing bang

Gonna make our noise all day

All night

all week
all month

So come!
Come to the streets
Sit with us!

Walk with us!
Sing with us!

No more are we students
than we are teachers,
grandmothers,
revolutionaries,
Children with a vision for the future

Fighting for imagination

in the movement to loosen the grip
of government control

156 thank-yous! & then some.

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 13:00:49 -0400

I fell asleep at 2:30 am last night, still posting, and woke myself up at 5:30 to get the last poems up & write a final response. When all poems were counted at the clock struck 6 am, we were at 156 poems. As I was hauling my tired self back to bed, I realized that was exactly 2 x 78. Will wonders never cease. I am so inspired by the work everyone has done to contribute to the blog, respond to the injustice being done in Quebec and stand with the people in the streets. It is humbling to see what came of this little idea, and nothing I attribute to myself. There is such a force behind this, such momentum and so many people willing to put their bodies, their voices and their careers on the line. Thank-you for taking part in this, whether it was through creating, reading, listening, helping to share the work.

This work isn’t finished, and won’t be. The events in Quebec require recording, they need to stay present in our collective memory. When they tell us Canada is a place of quiet justice, we need to laugh and offer this in response.

There were a number of submissions that did not go through when submitted through the blog, or that were sent without names. If you do not see your work posted, please resend it to poesie78@gmail.com and I will get it up there. If you are still completing a pledge, if you are inspired, if there is more work you would like to contribute, I will do my best to include it here. It may take time to post everything, but I’ll do my best!

The next step is up to all of you. Please share the work, circulate it, send it where you like. The copyright of the poetry remains yours, of course. Do with it what you will! Get it out there!

Much love to all of you out there. Thank-you for the inspiration. I’ve never been prouder to be part of this community of poets.

Alessandra

#156: It's Early, Charest - Alessandra Naccarato (Toronto Island, ON)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 06:23:10 -0400

Six am is the politician’s hour.

The streets are briefcases and joggers, quiet

and meter maids. The streets are no one

is watching. The streets are yours at this hour

Charest. The sun rises barely red and the students

nurse their checkered bruises.

Strut like you own the fucking block.

Peacock in front of Concordia’s glass towers,

drink a beer on the lawn of McGill.

Laugh as you count the cost of your own education,

leave you bottle on the steps of UQAM.

I’ll meet you there. Complaining like a cat

with sleep dust in my eyes. It’s too early to protest,

let’s dance, I’ll say.

Dance? You’ll say.

Dance, I’ll say. Did you ever hear of Emma Goldman?

Just like her. If I can’t dance I don’t want to be in your revolution.

And it seems to me like you started this one.

We will waltz over the litter and blood stains,

pepper in my hair.

Until our feet have their own heartbeats

and the sweat rolls down our necks.

You’ll look up, then

and your laugh will fill a stadium of arrests.

What are they all doing here? You’ll ask

when you notice the thousands stomping contra

the quick pulse samba, the red tango in handcuffs

the tin lungs of the tap dancers.

How long have they been watching?

Why does it seem like everyone knows each other?

Why does it seem like they are almost having fun?

It’s early, Charest. But we will sleep when we win.

#136-#145: Ten Poems by Melvina Germain

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:47:21 -0400

                                                                     
                                                                     
                                                                     
                                             
We Stand Together

We are powerful in numbers,
it's the only way to be.
We stand together,
in the name of democracy.

Our voices must be heard,
as we walk hand in hand.
Each and every word,
spilling truth or'e the land.

Let the vile and displeasing,
stand accountable at last.
Explain detailed reasons,
to the monumental class.

We can become the powerful,
as we'll never stand alone.
We  bow down to no one,
no hierarchy at the throne.

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:           June 3/2012
Time:           9:10 pm


My Voice

If you take away my voice,
what choice have I,
but to stand in the arena,
take a bullet and die.

Your bullet will not pierce my heart,
as I stand my ground in glory.
My triumph you will encounter,
as I write the final story.

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:          June 3/2012
Time:         9:28 pm

Disillusioned

Our government is failing,
and creating much confusion.
its people are dismayed, 
living an illusion.

Our youth are trying, fighting to survive.
but so many are falling,
and a few no longer alive.
What is the calling,
for the future of our land.
with our youth crawling,
no help from prominent hands.

The browbeating intimidation,
must cease among our hierarchy.
May the freedom of speech integrate,
in the whole of our society.

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:          June 3/2012
Time:          9:53 pm


May We Compromise

This is a time, we  must  all stand together.
Working hand in hand with the power and the feather.
We compromise and come to an agreed conclusion.
No forceful integration.
no fading illusion.

No masterful interjection,
no one need take a fall.
Working night and day,
wasting no words at all.

We are a democratic society,
to the world we state that truth.
Let's listen to the words of our futures precious youth.

I pray for the young,
and our governments compassion.
I pray for the old,
may they live in a respectful fashion.

Take these words and put them to good use,
for we will find ourselves lost,
without our growing youth.

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:           June 3/2012
Time:           10:16pm

Temporary Money
 
You took  money from the people of our land,
in the name of income tax to give you a hand.
From widows and widowers,
from the rich and the poor,
to fund the first world war.

A temporary solution, 
that you soon forgot,
now you take even more,
each year, we are distraught.

Our youth can no longer speak,
of the decision you once made.
Their voices you have smothered,
but realize, the mask you hide behind
may crumble and fade.

Our youth are growing in monumental numbers,
and their intelligence will soar in years to come.
Standing together will become the norm,
and forceful forefathers may seek refuge on the run.

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:           June 3/2012
Time            10:31

Darkness
 
I'm drowning in sorrow
surely this is the end
an infinite splash of ugly
has become my falsehood friend
My mouth is shut
my tongue is sore
now leave me alone
close that dreaded door

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:          June 3/2012
Time:          10:52pm   


Sing For Thee
 
Sing me a song Oh Canada
Sing of our freedom
Sing me a song Oh Canada
Freedom of speech for thee
Today Oh Canada
you took away
our right to speak
It's strange Oh Canada
no vote was asked of me
Sing me a song Oh Canada
Sing to the people of our land
Sing of the glory and the story
of the land of the free
Sing, Sing, Sing for thee

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:          June 3/2012
Time:          11:12pm  

Tear
 
Tears of a crowd
standing still, hand in hand,
in what was once known
as the fairest of all lands.
A tragedy unfolds,
and leads not the way,
for a new darkness
has found Canada
here today.  

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:          June 3/2012
Time:         11:23pm

Cry Me A River
 
Cry me a river
know that I will cry for you
your right to speak
has gone in the wind
now you stand  
speechless  

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:          June 3/2012
Time:          11:36pm



A Sad Day
 
Though my heart is still ablaz ed,
and my body spiritually driven.
I feel a  sadness for the youth of montreal.
A severing of the tongue,
has cast a horrid silence.
Our future must succumb,
to our governments will.
Today we face a tragedy,
forced upon our students.
The right to protest,
has been strongly ripped away.
We stand hand in hand,
in total dismay.

Written by:  Melvina Germain
Date:           June 3/2012
Time:          11:47pm

#135: Quel est ce 78 tours qui joue à répétition dans nos têtes - Marie Cholette

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:44:00 -0400

Quel est ce 78 tours qui joue à répétition dans nos têtes

Quel est ce 78 tours ressorti d’un vieux coffre qui ressemble à s’y méprendre au 70 tours dont toutes les pistes laissaient entendre à l’époque les chenilles aux bruits de chaînes qu’écrasaient sur la chaussée en roulant des chars d’assaut et maintenant le 78 tours oh ça grésille des chevaux les bruits de leurs sabots à répétition sur l’asphalte pendant qu’ils chargent des cris de jeunes l’affolement leur course éperdue dans la fuite et des balles en plastique tirées dans leur direction c’est assourdissant encore des cris des hurlements des chutes de corps dans un grand éparpillement on dirait une poupée de tissu géante dont les différents membres la tête les yeux la bouche les mains les pieds les oreilles auraient été dispersés afin de ne plus les retrouver et tout en invectivant ces jeunes filles ces jeunes hommes qui ont des yeux grands comme la mère grand dans le livre d’histoire habillés à la va-comme-je-te-pousse ils se font par centaines embarquer dans des fourgons ou bien dans des autobus scolaires comme du temps à l’école élémentaire de leur abécédaire pourtant tout ce qu’ils demandent ce n’est pas bien compliqué et ça se résume en ces quelques mots être éduqué mais sans pour l’avenir s’endetter trop

ils sont des milliers voyez-vous sur leur t-shirt un carré de tissu rouge épinglé j’en vois avec des gilets de couleur rouge d’autres avec des pantalons de couleur rouge les manifestants ne peuvent plus manifester un 78 tours d’en haut imposé veut les en empêcher mais les jeunes embarquent sur les différentes pistes du disque faussant leurs parcours ils se divisent tels des branches d’arbres d’une rue à l’autre qui poussent dans toutes les directions

bientôt des hommes des femmes des enfants des gens âgés des papis des mamies viennent grossir leurs rangs et avec des casseroles dans une main et des louches en bois de l’autre ils font du charivari c’est-à-dire beaucoup de bruit à l’intention de celui qui a ressorti ce 78 tours des coffres de l’État et que beaucoup d’autres pays font rejouer à répétition depuis des siècles déjà avec pour résultat des milliers de morts tombés comme des crêpes amoncelées de chaque côté de leurs bras mais de plus en plus de cuisines se dégarnissent et ce qui servaient à faire la soupe au quotidien a trouvé une autre utilité celle de manifester joyeusement dans un esprit bon enfant son refus d’obtempérer et son désaccord à l’égard de celui qui a mis en branle le tic-tac de l’horloge pour que lorsque cinquante jeunes sont réunis et se mettent en branle en avançant dans les rues tout d’un coup comme dans l’histoire les cartes à jouer tombent laissant chacun des invités nu et seul au monde désemparé à la merci des acolytes de ce monsieur qui a multiplié leurs bras afin de faire de chacun une pieuvre pour mieux le servir car eh oui dès le chiffre magique de cinquante atteint des guêpes en grand nombre sortent de leur essaim un vrai tintamarre je vous dis et se précipitent dans un bourdonnement assourdissant sur ces jeunes à la peau nue jusqu’à ce qu’ils soient recouverts de leurs grappes noires et jaunes de la tête aux pieds

mais les voilà tous ces gens réunis qui frappent leur casserole des vrais instruments à percussion et ils font un charivari dans les rues à chaque jour à chaque soir c’est pareil et comme il y a des siècles maintenant pour repentance d’avoir couché avec le 78 tours et d’avoir fait cocu le Québec ce monsieur avec son 78 tours devront courir l’âne et le premier une fois monté dessus et assis dans le mauvais sens sera obligé de lui tenir entre les mains la queue pendant que le second assis dans le bon sens lui tiendra le licou étant dos à dos avec l’irrévérencieux et ce ne sera que justice pour la populace croyez-moi et cette populace voyez-vous voudra également que les incriminés leur offrent tous à boire ce serait bien du moins et qu’ils déguerpissent par la suite en sautant pour de bon en bas du cheval du pouvoir

Lien de ma page d’admirateurs sur Facebook, là où se retrouvent

tous mes écrits sous la rubrique Articles :

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-Cholette-po%C3%A8te-romanci%C3%A8re-nouvelliste-essayiste/120591567980862?ref=mf

#134: Stereogram - Lucia Misch (Montreal, QC)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:42:56 -0400

The cheap convention water bottles have imploded,
crumpled as though their planes are bowing from the inside to applause.
Spoons gallop and buck off their own dents
(this does, often, sound like an audience approving),
whisks skittish over the backsides of frying pans
fall laughing from balconies, are tossed back.
The children in pajamas (though it’s light out) or on shoulders
have their pots to scale,
those tiny saucepans you only ever melt butter in.
The wooden soup spoons splinter when the clambers come.
The dogs are scared shitless,
poor little guys.

Every beating thing rises in and out of time with its own clumsy strength

In the crevices between rhythm
Slogans are slotted and picked up and dropped
allowing welcome moments of impostering
where it sounds like I speak fluently
because I can barely hear my own voice as something alone.

The police,
I try to remember,
are one of those pictures
made of thousands of tiny dots arranged in illusive patterns
that come with clear instructions
to stand very still
and focus through what you see
then back away
with your eyes crossed and your hands up
until an image emerges:
something dimensional,
worth being bullied by.

If you still see individual dots, you’re doing it wrong

The police,
designed somewhere between aphids and androids,
swarm the narrow piste
which joins fear to aggression
that tract of emotion where territorial is born.

Their canisters are the urethras of the law,
pissing pepper spray or smoke onto car tires or corner stores
hoping the traces will stick as discouragements
against the blocks they want for theirs.

But we don’t use our noses these nights
instead
when we flow under the overpass
our noise becomes something solid
(as sudden cold water can seem)
tossing itself off the walls
rearing its rhino head
opening its rhino mouth around my ears,
a roaring, cascading beast
batting at the signs leaping up from broomsticks
that will go back
to sit in front halls till tomorrow, listening,
to see the coming and going of the good light,
through evenings full of thunder fighting thunder.

#133: Not really a poem but some lessons I have gained and reflections I now share on Montreal - Lishai

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:42:38 -0400

1. Attack the violence of suppression with the clanging of pots and pans – this too is music. Montreal has been transformed into a metallic orchestra, a symphony of resistance. This is some cool shit.

2. Gabriel Nadeau-Dubois is kinda cute lookin. Knows how to talk, I wonder if the media is glorifying him because he is young, white and attractive. Marketable. Let’s not forget that a good leader is a reflection of the people and that Montreal has held him up because the people refuse to let their government dictate their power of speech. Word.

3. My cousin asked me why I’m supporting a bunch of “privileged students who don’t want to get a job” – The validity of this sentence is highly suspect but what do I know? Maybe the students are as he described. But that’s a different conversation. I know how it feels to graduate with more debt than you believe you can repay, even with a good job. I know what it’s like to be silenced and shut down. This is not just about the students. This is about meeting the politicians’ power of the pen to legislate away basic rights with the power of collective spirits, voices, and defiance.

4. On the 100^th day of the student strike, I felt the reverberations from the streets of Montreal in my blood steam. I want to feel the pulse of Montreal’s dissent every time someone tries to staple my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

5. Jean Charest reminds me of a Muppet. In his version of Sesame Street, the cookie monster can’t even afford to buy cookie dough cause 90% of his pay cheques go towards paying of student debt. He has to dumpster dive in Oscar’s trashcan for leftovers.

6. This may not make much sense. That’s cool. A movement cannot be tamed by the parameters of poetry, policy or police. If I were in Montreal right now, I would paint my nails red, take to the streets and sound my pot louder than reasonably appropriate. There are times when acting appropriate and sensible is just not appropriate or sensible.

7. Red is my favorite colour. Not that I couldn’t rock a square piece of orange or green felt, but I’m happy it’s red. Just sayin.

#131: 78 - Toronto Renaissance Conspiracy, Toronto, diane mascherin

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:41:04 -0400

78 Toronto Renaissance Conspiracy, Toronto, diane mascherin

back on the gray ledge

lands a grey pigeon

who speaks to me

about his machines, materials

and factories

in fact, this is his ledge

and he insists this is his air

and if I respond

he’ll bill me

for breathing

#132: 78 - DKM

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:41:00 -0400

back on the gray ledge

lands a grey pigeon

who speaks to me

about his machines, materials

and factories

in fact, this is his ledge

and he insists this is his air

and if I respond

he’ll bill me

for breathing

dkm /12

#130: The Needle Head and the Figurate - Isaac Bond

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:40:19 -0400

78 days into the semester, there are roughly 13 left,

the not quite two weeks to start thinking about exams, finally.

On that do or die diet of flourish or fail anxiety,

I’ve shared modest meals with frugal friends.

I could spot at least 78 familiar faces

which would make the other 78 hundred

feel more like family.

But in these photos of a public full of protest,

there are even more of us,

in Montreal where I recognize no one

yet identify with all of them.

I wish I could make them a modest meal for their troubles.

But to be fair, the camaraderie on my campus

seemed to always need some extra compensation.

So driven by the grind, it was hard to befriend

with bonds that endured.

But for every firmly funded fortunate student like me,

I met platoons of poorly supported soul survivors,

scraping the extra 78 dollars from another 78 hour week

to get a text book.

Staying up all night for the knowledge, knowing

the effort invested in this experience should not be this expensive.

Some of us spend 78 bill on one year’s tuition.

Bill 78 could pin one of us with three fines that add up to three times that amount,

innovating new ways to leech money through education,

prohibiting your right to gather with minds you like,

afraid they might demonstrate how devious and dumb this is.

Standing up against this is to believe in the pricelessness of our voices,

their transcendence of control and finance.

No closure comes to an infinity like learning; unity touches eternity in affecting a just cause.

But there are more than 78 poems speaking out

with already more than enough reason to protest this law,

and so many more than 78 people

risking their safety to do just that.

I hope they set the record straight,

joyful in the wake of 78 revolutions and counting.

#129: Écouter Linda Crosfield, Ootischenia, BC

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 05:39:34 -0400

used to be someone talking about 78s

was referring to a record

or 78 was the age of your ancient aunt

or 78 was how fast you were going

when you got caught speeding

or 78 was the year of a very good wine

well, not any more

these days 78 is a blueprint for disaster

disguised as a bill to restrain the masses

a bloated bunch of bafflegab

that aims to squelch those who would gather

in peaceful protest

well, we won’t have it

the silent majority is paying attention

and when we speak

we are louder than a cacophony of clanging casseroles

louder than sirens screaming in the night

louder than the jarring skip of needle

on a scratchy old record

and we will be heard

#128: Kettled... and Steaming! by Penn Kemp,, London ON

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 01:00:34 -0400

Kettled… and Steaming!

“While the crowd waited
to be led away one by one
to be handcuffed and sent

for processing at a police
operational centre—a pro-
cedure expected to take

several hours—a man started
reading poetry and the crowd
hushed to listen.”

Kettled… and Steaming!

Kettled… and Boiling…

Roll on

Role on

Roll on Casserole

Roll on

Pots and Pans

call the Kettle
black
Kettle the Call
back

Kettled… and Streaming
on and on unstoppable

#127: Bill 78 – You Are Draconian - Howard Tessler

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 00:41:41 -0400

Close your eyes, pretend it doesn’t exist

keep them closed, try to resist

can you still feel the power to insist

austerity measures imposed,

is a means of crowd control?

The story in Canada, province of Quebec

is not about tuition fees, it is the intuition of long-term debt

It is an honourable thing to pay what is owed,

being accountable,

not wanting to become saddled

with an overburdened load

this is long-term thinking, visioning,

to rid oneself of debt insurmountable

Aside from ordering this long-term load

the government of Quebec is trying to goad

its citizens with a draconian law called Bill 78 –

an attack on freedom, association, and assembly-

how can the government be filled with such fear and hate?

Like any pimple, boil or zit

there was a cause, now a simmering effect

slowly starting to seep before it explodes

pressure building, keep silent, do what is told

now it is no longer just students who are defiant and bold

Freedom is as freedom does

speak out, stand up, this is the cause

living for something that really matters

fulfilled by caring for human rights

can you hear the sound of these people’s plights?

Listen very carefully, this is the tenor of the age.

Caring for all, caring for now, caring for tomorrow,

this is the heartbeat’s rally, caring, to care, do you care?

THESE are words important and sage.

#109-#126: 17 poems by Johnny MacRae (Vancouver, BC)

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 00:34:00 -0400

LIST of POEMS

1. Vancouver versus Montreal in the Final

2. Power Outtage

3. In Defiance

4. Pirate Inc.

5. Greek to Me

6. STI

7. Red Squares

8. Privilegions

9. Boardroom Games

10. A Greed

11. Economy or Society

12. The Snotty Kid

13. Kingdom of Fungi

14. Riot Meditation

15. DeTENTION! (Haiku)

16. Last Poem Standing

17. Why I Refuse to Talk to My Government in Three Words (Haiku)

Vancouver versus Montreal in the Final

The Sedins Can’t Score!

THE SEDINS CAN’T SCORE!

I’ll never have sex again!

Again! Stanley Cup my blues!

Wrap the city in latex!

Protect it from the viral influence!

Safe sex

with athletes!

That’s okay!

WHO ARE THESE HOOLIGANS!?

WHO WHO?

Find them out.

Tell us.

Protect our city.
Wrap it in latex.

Anarchists and criminals.
Criminals and anarchists.

They’ll take any opportunity.

Any OPPORTUNITY!

You don’t like it?

You must like the Sedins!

You must be angry they can’t score!

You must be an Anarchist!

You must be a Criminal!

You’re such an opportunist.

You want to loot.

You want to pillage.

Our tax dollars!

You must be entitlement.

You must expect freedom.

You must like Swedish hockey.

You must like spending

OUR TAX DOLLARS!

Power Outtage

We’re losing power.

Check the breakers.

Flip the switch.

Switch the bulbs

Tape the cords.

Call the electrician.

Ice the buckets.

Fire the coals.

Chop the wood.

Sing the voice.

Dance the body.

Nothing’s working!

Check the breakers!

Flip the switch!

Hit it!

Again! Again!

Beat it!

Flog it!

We’ve got a dead horse here.

Better make funeral plans.

In Defiance

Sing the national anthem

in defiance of the nation.

Play the kitchen table

in defiance of the war-room.

Raise the flag reverse

in defiance of the standard.

Speak the forest fire

in defiance of the ungrowth.

Pirate Inc.

Do you feel like the powers that be are against you ?

Do you find yourself wondering who elected these people?

Do you think the law is trying to hold you down?

We here at Pirate Incorporated

are sympathetic to your plight.

Our company specializes in helping you

find others that share your interests.

We have an enormous database of users

who share in your upset stomach.

We have a wide selection of bandanas

and other useful street gear.

Do you feel like civic disturbance is the only option remaining?

Do you find yourself itching to spit on law books?

We here at Pirate Incorporated

can help you organize your illegal protest.

Our company specializes in illicit gatherings

of citizens concerned that the navy

is pointing its guns at the harbor.

Do you want to take ownership of the high seas?

Do you want to undermine the man-of-wars in office?

Call Pirate Incorporated

for a free appraisal.

We’ll let you know which acts of piracy

will aid you in reclaiming

your legality.

Because we know

a pirate’s only a pirate

when the booty’s with-held.

Greek to Me

greek to me

are those who are not

gracious enough to

be pleased

that their debt

aids wall street

in its recovery

STI

when living in civilization

beware spiritually transmitted infections.

beware the assault and pepper spray

with which meals are served.

beware the paper bills

that slice your fingers.

beware reasonable terms masking medical cocktails.

beware designer drugs on the catwalk

in the fashion section.

beware the front line

passive in the face of the betrayed.

building blocks

spelling out shut up

teach your children

to speak in shadows.

toy guns

play festive games

wrapping skulls

in martial laws.

multiple choice

with one acceptable answer

fails thinking

outside the gridlock.

street parties

turn political

marching lines

down the centres

of convention.

beware the tangled network

confusing your directions.

beware the absent hand

drawing blood into your face.

beware the consumption

eating away your inheritance.

beware infectiously transmitted spirits

emanating from the glow

of moving boxes.

beware the absent hand

that moves them.

Red Squares

how many squares ran red

so red-faced squares

could square off

with the passion of the people?

how many towns were painted red

so squares of red tape

could box in

the floral flush of the rabble?

the red sky this morning

squared the elements

with the danger on the ground.

the red sky last night

multiplied light hearts

with its fertile beauty.

a wealth of blood

of sacrifice

weaves the flags

waving in the squares.

a wealth of courage

of loyalty

soaks up the sun

for its second power.

hands stained

in the red

raise red flags

when the carpet

rolls out

at balanced angles.

red lights

mix with blue

bruise the anonymous

fair in square.

so there’s a fire tonight

at the common ground—

come,

there will be dancing,

before we square off

with the dawn.

Privilegions

It is the privilege of the rich not to give a shit.

It is the privilege of the authors to give the shit.

It is the privilege of the corporate to condition immunity.

It is the privilege of the immune.

It is the privilege of the commonlaw.

It is the privilege of the midas touch.

It is the privilege of the office work.

It is the privilege of the buy out.

It is the privilege of the outlaw.

It is the privilege of the people.

It is the privilege of the hillside housing.

It is the privilege of the lawmakers.

It is the privilege of the anthill.

It is the privilege of the strong.

It is the privilege of the everyday.
Boardroom Games

Start in the streets.

Roll the dice.

Draw a card.

Agent Provocateur:

Skip a turn.

Roll the dice.

Move six spaces.

You landed on the Negotiation Table.

Skip a turn.

Roll the dice.

Move two spaces.

Draw a card.

Tea Kettle.

Skip a turn.

Roll the dice.

Move five spaces.

You landed in Prison.

Skip a turn.

Roll the dice.

Move three spaces.

You landed on the Jackpot.

Pass Go

collect money

roll again.

Move two spaces.

You landed on Social Unrest.

Table some bills.

Hire security.

Roll the dice.

Move three spaces.

You landed on Social Contract.

Roll a six

for a back-room deal.

Snake eyes!

Sell the contracts anyways.

Roll the dice.

Move two spaces.

You landed on Striking Public.

Skip a turn.

Roll the dice.

Move five spaces.

Draw a card.

Power Struggle.

Skip a turn.

Roll the dice.

Move two spaces.

Draw a card.

Coup de Grâce.

Be merciful. Finish the game.
A Greed

You believe your government is wrong?

Think again!

Your government cannot be wrong

or else you are wrong.

N’est pas?

Listen up now

let me explain it to you,

this makes a lot of sense

they quote it

in the papers:

Daffodils weep for change,

as children trip over barbed wire.

No I can’t account for this

but it costs a lot of money

to dam your tears.

Public works fails your eyelids

blink, and wash away—

hire the law

to clean your sewer system.

You want to protest?
Reconsider!

You cannot protest

unless you protest yourself.

N’est pas?

Didn’t you agree to this?

I remember you said

it—in secret

I caught it

in tape:

Daffodils weep for change,

as children trip over barbed wire.

I am torn

between my struggle and theirs.

I want seeds spread

on a wishful breath,
I want this living

to break from corners.

And I agreed

to agree

and you agreed

with agreeing

and agreed

to a greed.

Think again.
Reconsider.

Your position.

Economy or Society

Well, the choice is yours:

a strong economy

or a healthy social system.

A healthy social system

might seem like a good idea—

building vigorous ties

between the various working parts

of your society

will create a more efficient

and better-feeling

political body,

to be sure.

But we have the technology now

to extend the life of the body

politic, well after its broken down.

And a strong economy

will protect a vulnerable society

when its sick

ill-disposed

or otherwise incapable

of fending for itself.

Now, I know

a healthy social system

can give a body strength

to protect itself

without the support of a

big, strong, bread-winning economy.

An economy that fights

when it needs to!

An economy with good business sense!

An economy that lets you rest

while it does the work!

You know,

a big, hunky economy

with big strong arms

and big thick legs

kicking ass and taking numbers.

And, I know

a healthy social system

can work through tough times

without losing its composure,

and, certainly

a healthy social system

can support itself

but doesn’t mind the company

of economies.

Especially big, robust, cocksure economies,

economies that bake the cake chart

and eat it, too!

Economies that light fires

under asses

and are efficient,

soooo efficient, and smooth

like baby, baby

so smooth

and economies that

OH GOD!

OH SHIT!

economies that

HOLY CRAP!

that

FUCK ME!

that

MMMmmmmmmmmmm….

Oh it feels so good

when my strong economy

works for me.

Well, yea,

you can have a strong economy

and a healthy social system,

but this is a choice,

you get choices,

you get to vote with your dollars

in this strong economy.

Well, those are protein supplements,

I wouldn’t call them steroids.

Well, yes, enhanced supplements,

but all natural.

They’re good for your healthy social system.

I mean,

don’t you want a big, sexy economy, like mine?

Pass me a smoke, will you?

The Snotty Kid

I hate playing tag.

I always end up ‘It’

while some snotty-ass kid

makes up the rules

to suit himself.

And everytime I tag back

the kid claims

I’ve broken the rules—

the kid says

You’re ruining the game!

And the fucked up part is

I always end up losing.

I can get upset

but that kid convinces everyone

to shout me down.

Convinces everyone I’m

just being a sore loser!

When everyone runs together

the game can be real fun,

don’t get me wrong.

But there’s always some idiot

that tries to ruin it for everyone,

even when they don’t

realize that’s what they’re doing.

Kingdom of Fungi

When the people you are revolting against

find you revolting,

ally yourself to the kingdom of fungi.

Make a stink encampment,

be sporous

and multiply.

Create life in decaying

woodlands of deaf ears,

take breath for the breathless.

Be revolting.

Sweat the garbage

to cleanse your pores.

Be fungi.

Wriggle joyous

to fructify.

Sound dirty, wave

soiled linens, bog down

the bureaucracy.

Feed upon the papers

the laws against you

are written upon.

Riot Meditation

Riot meditation.

Join the clangbang gang.

Theft is sweet-talking your lobes.

Let them hang to the left.

Pumice rough edges.

Tug the red noses.

Salivate victory signs.

Peace be the star rising.

Portable toilets are grinning

slack-jawed

because suitable nostrils

are on one-uppers.

Hubbub is the mantra

of the curbstomping pitterpatter

raining footfalls.

Secret violence

violates the sanctity

of virginal solitude.

Rats are frusted

upon dirty behemoths

claiming stakes through the heart.

Products are trained

to kill at command

and tested on animals.

Wield your peace.

Sing revolvers.

Riot meditation.

Beat compassionate.

DeTENTION! (Haiku)

Detention in school

How to educate about

Detention centres.

Last Poem Standing

The last poem standing will still shout in your face. The last poem standing will refuse arrest for peace-mongering. The last poem standing will break housing codes. The last poem standing will shit where it eats—if it has to. The last poem standing will charge, on the clock. The last poem standing will defy expectations. Standing unexpected, the last poem. Burning with bruises, the last poem. The last poem will eat pizza in the piazza to support downtown business. The last poem will salute ironically. The last poem will stand, lasting.

The last poem standing will not be spoken. The last poem standing will not be a sit-in. The last poem standing will satirize bones with heartfelt misunderstandings. The last poem standing will be incoherent but interesting. The last poem standing will drink drivel and spit mouthwash in the eyes of on-lookers. The last poem will go down fighting dictionaries. The last poem will go down to the knives of critics. The last poem will be made illegal. The last poem standing will be an army on ballpoint. The last poem standing will face ten years in prison. The last poem standing will ramble surreal deep dish ragged hair transplants. The last poem standing will transplant its feet. The last poem standing will dream of jackboots. The last poem standing will walk on eggshells loudly. The last poem standing will give you the peace of its mind over a cigarette. The last poem standing will pass out exhaustion. The last poem standing will be haiku.

Why I Refuse to Talk to My Government in Three Words (Haiku)

Sophisticated

Totalitarianist

Negotiators

#109: What feeds us-Howard Tessler, Toronto, Ontario

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 00:30:00 -0400

What feeds us.

To make a meal

you need a fire,

some oil to grease the pan,

some meat or vegetable and spices

to give everything some flavour.

You need a spoon to stir

the whole mess around;

to make sure everything

mixes well and

you need to keep stirring till

the room smells so fragrant

that everyone smiles with

anticipation of that first mouthfull.

What feeds us tonight

is the joy of sharing the meal

and its preparation.

Nothing would have made this meal

in isolation—separated from the rest

the meat is just meat;

vegetables are only vegetables

and a pan is just a utensil.

But brought together

by human thought and action

all these things feed us tonight

and give us the strength

to rise in the morning

and make the world anew.

—Howard Tessler,

Toronto, Ontario,

June 4, 2012

12:10am.

Poesie 78 }

Ten Poems by Johnny MacRae (Vancouver, BC) *Winner of the marathon award for writing a ridiculous number of amazing poems

Cont'd: (#161): One Country, One Voice - Kevin Craig

Cont'd: (#160): Cities / Bodies / Responding, Dyan Marie, Toronto (Responding from Toronto because its also about living in cities)

Cont'd: (#159) He Ordered the Trees - Nanci Lee (Halifax, NS)

Cont'd: (#158) Montreal Spring - Justin McGrail (Prauge)

Cont'd: (#157): Clang Clang Rattle Bing Bang - Moe Clark (Montreal, QC)

156 thank-yous! & then some.

#156: It's Early, Charest - Alessandra Naccarato (Toronto Island, ON)

#136-#145: Ten Poems by Melvina Germain

#135: Quel est ce 78 tours qui joue à répétition dans nos têtes - Marie Cholette

#134: Stereogram - Lucia Misch (Montreal, QC)

#133: Not really a poem but some lessons I have gained and reflections I now share on Montreal - Lishai

#131: 78 - Toronto Renaissance Conspiracy, Toronto, diane mascherin

#132: 78 - DKM

#130: The Needle Head and the Figurate - Isaac Bond

#129: Écouter Linda Crosfield, Ootischenia, BC

#128: Kettled... and Steaming! by Penn Kemp,, London ON

“While the crowd waited to be led away one by one to be handcuffed and sent for processing at a police operational centre—a pro- cedure expected to take several hours—a man started reading poetry and the crowd hushed to listen.”

#127: Bill 78 – You Are Draconian - Howard Tessler

#109-#126: 17 poems by Johnny MacRae (Vancouver, BC)

#109: What feeds us-Howard Tessler, Toronto, Ontario

“While the crowd waited
to be led away one by one
to be handcuffed and sent

for processing at a police
operational centre—a pro-
cedure expected to take

several hours—a man started
reading poetry and the crowd
hushed to listen.”