Now Serving...

So I've missed a few days of my challenge. But I'm not giving up. I'll admit that I'm struggling to feel inspired. However, I'm going to continue to press on.


Like an old black & white family photo
Like an over-used ink cartridge
Like a high school t-shirt
Like a well worn favourite vinyl record
Like a 2nd hand Barney video cassette
Like acid washed jeans from the 80's
Like the last scene of an epic movie
Like using a tea bag the second time
Like the hood of an old forgotten Chevy
Like a black shirt after 50 washes
Like a Michael Jordan jump shot
Like prayers after September 11th
Like the faith of most my friends
Like remembering a dream the next day

...it is fading.


Stupid is stupid does

Bike thief get 30 months

So this morning I was browsing through Google News and came across this article in the Toronto Star. Apparently this man, possibly one of Toronto's most notorious bike thiefs, was charged and got 30 months. However, there are a number of finer points that make me wanna scream WTF???

This man paid people money or crack cocaine to steal bikes for him. So he created (or at least encourage) other criminal elements into society other than his own.

Over 3,000 bicycles, believed to have been stolen, were found in his possesion. Owners have claimed almost 600 of them. However, he was only charged with 58 to keep the case manageable and only wound up pleading guilty to 10 counts of possession of stolen property under $5,000.

I'm sorry, but that's pathetic. He should have been charged with conspiracy and then charged with theft as well as possesion.

Ha... Possession. That's another funny one. Along with the thousands of bikes found in his possession police also found 7 Kg of marijuana and several ounces of cocaine. You may not be aware of this but that is a FAR cry from "personal use". He SHOULD have been charged with possession with the intent to sell.

All this and the man is (to quote his lawyer) "understandably frustrated by how long the process has taken" for charges that were laid in July 2008. 1 1/2 years? In Canada? That's a FAST trial.

I think the REAL kicker is the fact that this man isn't even a Canadian citizen. According to his lawyer, this fact was taken into consideration during sentencing. Only one problem, it was taken into consideration so as NOT to affect his immigration status.

WHAT ?!?!?! So the system bends over backwards for a criminal who isn't even a Canadian citizen while others who have lived here their whole lives get racked over the coals?

I'll admit that I'm in favour stronger and harsher punishments for criminals. And that was what initially got under my skin about this article. But what caused to blog about it was that on top of being a gross miscarriage of justice, this sentence essentially rewards criminals from other countries. We're basically telling criminals to come Canada and we will let you off easy AND let you stay just because you're NOT Canadian.

It's like Forrest Gump said "Stupid is stupid does". And the Canadian legal system in this case has plain done stupid.


Another Monday Missed

Although my thoughts
Blend together, I'm able to
Concentrate on the
Dialogue written on the page.
Each rhyme is
Frozen in time.
Giving rise to the
Hope that when finally
It's my turn, I'll
Just let the mic burn.
Killing all the
Lame MC's with flames.
Making sure that
Never before
Or ever again you
Put the emphasis on
Quality over quantity.
Rather, you
Should reveal the
Truth of the matter and
Unfurl your
Verbs from nouns.
When will you end those
Xenophobic ways?
Your zen is
Zeal of yore.


December 11th

In Gaelic my name means little king. Though I am ANYTHING but little I was once a king. For a few short years I had my very own kingdom. I was the lord of the night.

I'd like to think I was a good and righteous king. Probably because I didn't feel like royalty at the time. I felt more like a wandering vagabond on a spiritual pilgrimage to a place I hadn't yet found. So for a time I remained.

My favourite part of being king was to tour the land. I would aimlessly visit every acre and wood, every hamlet and rampart, every port and bridge.

Each evening I would stroll by trees and homes. In the silence of the night I could the heart of the land speak to me. It would speak lovingly of how it spent the day. How children ran and played among its fields. How farmers would sing praises of the earth while they tended to their fields as long as the sun shone. How most people went about their daily business unaware of the beauty that surrounded them.

These stories weaved their way into the pattern of my heart. Into my heart where I now keep those memories safe. It was those stories that made me love my kingdom and truly desire the best for it.

There can be great peace found in quiet reflective solitude. For some it's meditation upon enlightenment. For others it's prayer to the divine. For others it means journaling the journey of their spirit, heart, and soul manafested in a physical life. For me it was the silent reflection found during strolls through the park alone at night. The time when, myself and all of creation, were quiet enough to hear the soft gentle whisper of the creator.

I may no longer be a king, but I still feel royal. I may not always have God's voice in my ear, but I will forever know what it sounds like. I may no longer be able to enjoy the quite stillness of midnight treks through the park, but the power of their memory lives on.


December 10th - #8

Image by Jennifer Lauck

Tonight I'm gonna kill the devil. That's right. You heard me. I'm
going to cut him down where he stands.

No more of this cat & mouse game of running around in circles.

But if I'm really going to do it it's going to mean some sacrifice.
It's going to cost me. BIG

You see, I need to give up everything. No more doing what I want to
do just because I want to. Whenever I want to.

It's all or nothing. It's victory by all means necessary.

So I'd suggest you take some serious cover.

Cuz it's war


December 9th - Oops

So I missed my first day of the challenge yesterday. The today I found myself in the crunch again. So, today is Haiku day.

Haiku #3

Excavating bones
Like finding lifes purpose means
Digging for the truth

Haiku #4

One's gone forever
The other is yet to come
So start living now


#5 - Love Professed

A sea is storming inside of me.

Rather than the flutter of butterfly wings,
My stomach is more like a cacophony of seagulls.

My heart is pounding against my chest
With the irregular beat
Of wings upon wings,
Of birds upon birds,
Endlessly buffeting against each other.

The waves are crashing all around me.

You see I had a plan
And before that plan I had a plan.
Plans with specific steps to take,
Critical decisions to make,
And a map with markings to follow.

I had a plan a and a plan b,
But now I see they're pointless.
Like trying to nail jello to the wall
They fall apart.

I'm surrounded by an endless range
Of white capped mountainous waves.

My attempts to control a world with you in it are brushed aside,
As if to fate my plans, my master blueprints, were mere dust in the wind.
So I embrace it.

I open my sails to the full force gale winds of the perfect storm.
The precious cargo of my love MUST reach it's destination at port.
So I risk it.

The deafening roar
Of crashing waves,
Pouring rain,
And creaking wood
Fill my ears.

Like a brilliant diamond in the sand
Hope shines through the darkness.


A lighthouse.
OUR lighthouse.
Warning me of the rocky beaches that surround you.
Yet calling me, beckoning me, to your safe harbour.

With the calming lap of the water against my hull to steady my heart,
With the solid shore beneath my feet to steady my soul,
I have the resolve

To pull out the ring,
Get down on one knee,
And offer you my love.


Number... I lost count already?

No eyes... no mouth... no face...
Yet it mocks me, taunts me, to do my worst.
So why am I gripped by fear by the mere presence of this faceless monster?
It's not as if one mistake will forever be marked in stone.
But it's blank emotionless stare wears me down.

After an eternity of seconds I reach for my sword.
Mercilessly I swing full force at my foe.
I stand back for a moment to admire the damage I had dealt.
But just a moment, nothing more.

I dare not give the fear a foothold. So I twirl about in a mad dance. A blurry flurry of slashes, parries, and thrusts. Each time the blade finding its mark. With the enemy mortally wounded I finish him with one final stab.

Slowly I take in the marvel of my work. The madness of my movements seems to have had a greater plan. The slices in his flesh seem to form runes of strange design and his blood, black as ink, spells out the words of...

a poem.


December Poem #3 - Respect Due

I'm first again? huh... wuhtevea man.

I'm always coming in first because I refuse to be last.
Respecting who came before by giving daps to the past.

But nowadays seems every time I throw down on the stage,
Some new sucka steps up to read rhymes off the page.

I ain't hating though, cuz I do that too.
But I can tell from his swagger this kid is a fool.

Talkin 'bout how he's got a new style. You know what you sound like?
KRS Cool J Biggie Tupac One. Yelling on the mic like your name is Run.

You talk a big game bout being a hardcore rhymer,
But can't quote the teacher or the philosopher.

You might think very deeply of yourself, but I think not.
Remedial class is in session because you missed a spot.

Now here's a little story I got to tell,
About 3 bad brothers you need to know well.

It all started with sucker mc's trying to walk this way.
But this Run's house son, not Kid 'N Plays.

Ladies love this next brother who claims to be hard,
See you gotta be bigger & deffer on Farmers Boulevard.

Now, last but not least, this man ain't no joke.
Rakim is paid in full with rhymes that smoke.

Now you ain't gotta like me. I don't like you.
But one thing is for sure:
Respect due.


It's that time again. When the cold bites at my fingers and toes. I get nothing but blank stares as I light a smoke to at least fill my breath with some warmth. I'll make it.

In a few months though, I'll be cursing my own name. Why didn't I take the road South? Or why did I leave it all behind? These and a million other doubt will keep my company under the highway as I wrap the blanket of bourbon around my body snugly. I'll make it.

Ten years now these streets have been my home. Day in and day out they are all the same: struggling to hustle some dough. But eventually even an old soldier like me find himself struggling to keep up the fight. Don't worry about me. I'll make it.

It's being alone in the still of night that seems to take a part of your soul away with the break of each dawn. I might be a shell of what you knew. But at least I'm not wearing a mask like you. I'll make it.

It's getting dark now. I'm tired and ready to sleep. The scars on my arms and feet keep me warm. It as if I was 6 again, falling asleep in front of the fire.

And with that thought I drift off...


December Poem #1

Kreider's Korner Photographs

Freshly fallen.
Freshly fallen snow. It's like the majesty of heaven laid out before us. A carpet of whiteness so pure as if to declare the coming of royalty. But not the vain kings & queens of ages past. Ones who clothed themselves in the richness of burgandy and velvet.

No, this is the Prince of Love. And so, he brings the light of life. So brightly blinding the world it covers seems somehow dim and drab by comparison.

Freshly fallen snow. Like angels on high they fill the sky. Slowly they dance through the black night air with the grace and elegance of little ballarinas.
Each flake a masterpiece of beauty.
Each flake a different story.

Each flake.
Each flake falls.
Each flake falls to the ground. The stories build upon each other into epic adventures of sledding down hills and then hot chocolate with marshamllows. The beauty grows until it seems the angels are making themselves in the snow! Each flake falls to the ground perfectly like each stoke of a master artisans brush across canvas.

All this... in each flake of freshly fallen snow.

December Poetry Challenge

So, a couple of my poet friends (Matthew & Alex) have put forth a challenge: to write something new for EVERY day of December and post it on their blogs.

Knowing it can only help me become a better writer I decided to accept the challenge based upon the proviso that I will be doing weekdays only.

Even that is quite scary. I'm not very good at making time for myself to write. but if my school years taught me anything... I either give up way too early... or the pressure makes me work better.

Please... PLEASE pray it's the latter.