Canadian poetry

Streams of consciousness

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

One after the other

they flood through my mind

as water rushes over rocks to

create a waterfall

and never let you sleep.

 

The sound of the waters

slams against any

tranquillity

and maybe you were

beautiful and friendly enough to

help me sleep

but maybe you were

empty

just like me.

 

And talking about being

empty

does not make me deep

or profound

or philosophical,

it makes me honest,

and maybe not even that.

 

We run away from loneliness

and the sadness that pierces every

corner of our lives like the high afternoon sun

and we can’t run forever.

 

Numb it away with alcohol,

but the alcohol only pushes it further

like a hammer wedging splinters deeper

into your already bleeding heart,

and I hope you don’t

choke on the blood.

winners and losers

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

One day life is going to swallow you whole

it’s going to bite through your weak flesh

and flimsy intentions and ambitions

and I won’t help it or you.

 

You’re both zero-sum games to me,

there is no victory and only

defeats that snatch away all hope

for something better and

meaningful,

like hearing Wagner and waiting for

the climax to come

only for somebody to kick your

record player to shit,

of your iPod dying right before the

 

drop.

 

There’s a Circle somewhere reminding me

that you fucking disappoint me and

it was not always the case,

but most of the time,

it was.

 

I guess you aren’t unlike life itself,

there’s no winning or losing in the end,

because the end removes all value from the game,

and the only way to live is to

enjoy it all

the bad and the good

and the in-between

because it’s all something,

for

now,

until it all rejoins the inanimate

nothingness,

that our souls have sought our entire lives.

Love monsters

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

Love makes monsters of us
And even the cutest little things
That pushed you towards it to begin with
become as irritating as people chewing
With their gaping mouths like hippos.

You hated the way I ate bananas,
Because you could hear me biting it
And I,
I hated so many little things that
They became one big thing
And that’s why we eventually sought others
Or maybe that’s a fiction.

There’s an interesting divide between
Fiction and the real
And I’m never quite sure which side
Memories fall on.

We certainly invent stories
That serve to fill the gaps of memories
But we never remember how much is real.

For fun

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

I write,
Waste time like anyone else,
And occasionally I do something real or worthwhile.

Lately there’s been a lot of time wasting away
And I watch my pile of unread books
That don’t go away like they used to.

My appetite used to feed on a book or two a week
And now I’m not hungry for more than one
Every two weeks at best.

Its like eating and soccer or the gym,
I haven’t been pushing myself enough mentally
So my brain isn’t asking me for food,
The books sit undevoured.

Freud has been sitting in some part of my mind
And has found his way into my hands
And Skinner joined him in what made me seem
Like a psychology undergrad,
But I’m reading it for fun.

Tiny dancer

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Tiny dancer from my dreams,
Just out of reach
And outside of my present reality.

Where do you go during the long
Hard
Nights?

Whose dreams do you dance through
When not dancing for me,
and how can I keep you?

The silence seems to grow with the black of night
And it only drives the splinters of loneliness deeper,
But there is hope in that smile.

Forty nights

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Forty nights brought no relief

and the same expectation of waiting

for the someone to walk into what was

once

home.

 

It was home for one,

and too big to be so,

and that added to the drama of it all.

 

It had been over three months of

unbearable suffering

unrestrained freedom

and the void,

and nothing changed much,

not at its core.

 

There was a special hatred

reserved for ex-lovers,

and it could be broken down fairly easily

even to the uninitiated whom could not

fully

understand

the feeling of loss.

 

It was a mixture of trusting someone entirely,

having absolute confidence in the Good,

and dreaming enough to believe in Santa Claus,

and coming home to shattered dreams

trampled on a dirty floor with

muddy work boots,

figuring out the Good is some abstraction

unattainable to humans

and seeing the one you love

unzipped themselves to reveal

a serial killer

poltergeist

or android.

 

There was the cheapest

and deepest-cutting

feeling of betrayal and emptiness,

but maybe that wasn't down to you

and maybe that's just

life.

Thoughts on a bus on a snowy February evening

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

I don’t think about it anymore,
Or that’s what I tell you and
I’ll flash a trademark smirk out of
The corner of my handsome face to
Sink the hook in for my lies.

I’m harmless in love and life but
Don’t think you can walk away unchanged
I change everyone I touch and
Mostly for the better
Although the void that comes from
My absence
Can be life threatening
and possibly insatiable.

But isn’t that life?

A series of holes we try to fill with
Whatever fits in
Hoping something stood the bleeding or
At least slows it down enough for us to limp on.

Sometimes it works
At least temporarily,
And we hobble along like wounded soldiers
Or drunken idiots.

There’s no medic or stomach pump coming
And like mercury,
The pain and wounds never stop accumulating.

Some of us are tougher than others,
But what’s the harder,
More courageous choice?

Do we limp on and eventually be put down as old dogs
Or
Choose a time to bow out of the tragicomedy?

A winning streak

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

I got more than seven hours
Of much-needed and dreamed about
Sleep
For two nights in a row.

Maybe I just needed the company,
Or maybe it was the couch,
Or maybe it was a dream.

I feel somewhat rested
With a sore back but
No other downsides.

No melatonin,
No secret gimmicks,
No early bed-time,
Just real,
Honest
Sleep.

These days that is the best
Winning streak
I have had in years.

sparks and flares

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

Are you a memory?

I can’t remember where you

came from.

 

Did I invent you,

do you even matter?

I’m not sure you ever did

at least right now,

and I don’t care.

 

There’s the person you think

you know,

the many personalities you know

they are made of,

and then who they are,

but you never know someone fully.

 

That isn’t to be sad or

pessimistic,

because it’s ok not to know everything

about your lover.

 

Mystery and novelty are

important,

but you need to know enough about them

that you can see the warning signs.

 

Red flags shot up years before we

walked away

but we were too stupid.

 

I feel I’ve learned a thing or six,

and I’ve learned the difference between

warning flares and

sparks.

the boredom following the kill

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

I'm not sure where I go from here,

with no demons left to exorcise

and no skeletons left in my closet,

I debated borrowing some of yours

for at least a few days

or helping you.

 

Like Abraham Van Helsing,

I find myself onto other endeavours,

as this vampire has been slain,

but it was never my full-time profession

and only occupied my life for a few years,

not the first or last conundrum to arise

in an ever-interesting world.

 

Maybe I am more  V,

Shadow

or Paradise Lost's Satan,

than Van Helsing,

heoric to some

but certainly flawed to all.

 

We are better known for our flaws

than our personalities

and certainly

for our failures over

our success.