Friday, February 16, 2018


tears come easily
in this overwhelming
world of broken brokeness

deeply tempted to role away
from the pre-dawn
dim clock-radio light
murmer of morning news
slip back into silly dreams

gird up my ragged monk robes
brew strong black coffee
double up the sugar ... a rare treat

braced ready to serve

Sunday, February 11, 2018


bitter winter cough
finally loosened
by Jameson drams
and sweet honey tea

tasty remedy route
back to my prayers

the tired monk

Tuesday, January 30, 2018


the hall empties out
a final door bang
swirling papers

the tired monk sits
reads a few more lines
by the dimmed night lights

closes his books
dwells in the rare
deep silence

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

cold poem redux

harsh hammering rooftop sleat
low snow truck rumbles

the tired monk wanders
the night temple halls
tightens the windows
stokes the dying heath fire

waits it out
sipping warm sweet tea

Monday, January 15, 2018

acrued wisdom

slap sting face cold
doubled by
sweeping open space winds

a most cold cold duty
chip and dig out the path
these hardening white dunes

slips in to woodstove warmed boots,
doubled layered robes and
thick Seahawks toque covering
this bald monk head

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

the work

beating a broken path
digging down
into solstice snow

the forest pond
flooded flat 
with well pumped water

discarded kitchen buckets
and broken boards
become the net

cold monk tends the goal
twisted stick in hand
robes whirling for a save

doing the work

Brother Ollie
the tired monk 

Thursday, October 19, 2017


sharing warmth
and the red light glow
cast by our "hobo stick fire"
oh and big laughs
every time Tommy
tried to talk
or tell a story
without cursing

just a cold night
clinking colder bottles
singing Hip lyrics

our secret
Canadian handshake
these words

Hey man, thanks.

Gord 1964-2017