Mon May 23, 2005
It’s Victoria day today, in Canada that is, and I’m not at all sure why it’s celebrated, I’m assuming it’s Queen Victoria’s birthday, but I could be wrong. Actually, I’m in a gloriously good mood, but alas, the poem I’m including today is quite incongruent with my current mellow vibe. I am running out of poems, you see. I certainly don’t have any happy ones left.
I don’t wish to strike a dark note; in general life is great. I recently finished writing another song, which my brother produced. I’ve been busy with work, for good and ill. I was on the 8:00 pm news in Korea (KBS) for a documentary they did on Korean children studying in Canada. When I found out the story had a slightly negative slant, I was glad I did not widely publicize this event. Even so, it was cool to be on the telly (albeit for a total of 5 seconds max). Yesterday Angela and I went on a grueling, yet enchanting, hike up Mount Townsend in the Olympic mountain range. I started having my accustomary visions, the ones that happen when I’m sick and dehydrated. The thought that lingers even now is: Why is Chlorophyll green and not red? If grass, vegetation and trees were bright red in colour instead of green, would red be considered a colour soothing to the eyes?
Here is my dark poem for the day:
The Liminal powder room
Sickly passage warp the ways
I can function, like being born into the care
Of death’s harbinger,
A far worse fate than meeting the master.
(by all accounts)
Finality is stretched into eternity
And I too am stretched too thin like opaque paint
On a mottled wall
Primed for failure, preened to faint
Like a flustered lady trussed up
In her corset, pink and ruddy
A neophyte reaper socialite