Inhale
I notice
That I’m simply here
Not stuck in the past
Or three days near.
Exhale
I let go
Of what no longer works
The silly bad habits
And thoughtless cruel words.
Inhale
I notice
The self-saboteur
Who wants to reject
That I’m not already there.
Exhale
I let go
It is what it is
This day on the journey
Is part of the biz.
Inhale
I notice
My belly expand
I sit with my body
I am who I am.
Exhale
I let go
And in doing let in
All that I’m meant for,
All I’m meant to win.
Welcome to my refurbished tree.
Where once sat a hollow
Self love, now you see.
It didn’t come easy
Good things seldom do
But with work and compassion
The magic shone through.
Are you needing a paint brush?
A new deck of cards?
Or a pair of new shoes
To hop through some new yards?
Now, retails is therapy
But I warn you, my dears,
That grave overspending
Can set you back years.
So let’s keep it simple
Something useful and right
Like perhaps a new blanket
For those long, lonely nights.
We have coffee for days
When you need to feel bright.
We have lovely, warm candles
For when you’ve lost your light.
We have ointments and tinctures
If you’re feeling unwell
And some nice dapper hats
If you want to feel swell.
Or maybe it happens
That you don’t want to spend.
And you just need the ear
Of a trusting old friend.
Then please, do stop by,
I’m here most of the time
When I’m not somewhere flying
Or making up rhymes.
If there is a way
I can make you feel better
With maybe a chat
Or a warm, wooly sweater.
Then do make your way
To my place “Hoot Couture”
And with loving compassion
I’ll give you a tour.
The sludge builds up -
The muck and the mess.
The emotional days,
Sentimental stress.
The road can wind,
It takes its turns.
And even good things
Like lessons learned
Can leave behind
A residue.
It dulls your colour
And that won’t do.
But there’s a solution,
Don’t you know,
To help bring back
That brilliant glow.
A simple bath
Is all you need
To wash away
Those trying deeds.
Yes, just a simple
Warm, wet trickle
Will melt away
Those feelings fickle.
“But my dirt is deep”
Oh, we can tell.
By both your look
And yes, your smell.
But worry not
With good intentions
We’ll shine you into
New dimensions.
A rigorous lather
And waxy slather
Will have you set
For your next gather.
You deserve it
A little self care
To bring out the best
That you have in there.
So come on down
And have a slosh
At good ol’
Osprey’s 24 hour car wash.
Check - one, two, three.
Alright, here we go.
You’ve just tuned into
So Gnarly Radio.
Folks - let me say
That I’m so glad you’re here.
Now let’s get a bass line
Dropped into your ear.
The lines have just opened -
I’m wanting to know
What’s making you tune into my little show.
It must be the tunes,
I try to keep the range rockin’.
From Sting-ray’s greatest hits
To the heads that are squawkin’.
Or maybe you like
That we keep things ad-free
Without you great patrons,
That just wouldn’t be.
Our budget is tight
But our beats are alright
And we keep the tunes playing
Late into the night.
Is it the news?
Is that why you turn on?
We keep things objective,
Though our opinions are strong.
We’ve got personal stories
That’ll pull your heart strings.
And some comedic acts
That’ll make you take wing.
No matter the reason,
And I assume that it’s good.
I’m glad you stopped in
To my quaint little hood.
You know it’s an honour
To have my voice heard.
And I’m truly so grateful
To each little bird.
We know I like to talk
But it’s better I listen.
So I can pick up
On the stuff I’ve been missin’.
So if you feel like it,
Yeah, if you’re inclined
Pick up your device
And then drop me a line.
Let me know what you’re thinking
What’s rad and what’s not.
Or if you’ve got news
Let me hear what you’ve got.
Until then, I’m spinning
What’s new from the past.
And the jams I’ll be jamming
Are certain to last.
I have this little whisper
That lives inside my head
I hear it when I’m walking
Or when I’m tucked up tight in bed.
Sometimes it’s hardly audible
Sometimes it’s really loud
Sometimes it brings me to my knees,
Sometimes it makes me proud.
I have this little whisper
And it boosts me up at night
It gives me energy to stand
It puts sparkle in my fight
Sometimes it feels organic
Sometimes it’s really raw
Sometimes it’s dry and brittle
More like fragile little straw
I have this little whisper
And it promises to stay
And I believe it,
Yes, I believe that it will never go away.
I have this little whisper
It brings meaning to my art
It keeps me connected to my love
Even when we are apart.
I have this little whisper
And it might seem a little lame
But that whisper’s name is hope
And it keeps me in the game.
Writing for the paper is such brilliant work
To honour the brave and to call out the jerks.
Not only do we connect you to news as we share
We get to tell stories that will make you care.
Like that lone volunteer who cleans up in the park
Or a service man who kept everyone safe after dark.
We share things that make you happy, that make you reach out and say “yes”
And when you accomplish something we’re there printing “You’re the best!”
Your sports team just won? Well, we’ll share it first.
With smiles so big you might think we will burst.
And when that deceitful jerk who is cruel to all
finally gets taken down, you will hear our call.
But a job like this, though fun, it’s no joke.
Although we have a fellow for that and he’s a mighty fine bloke.
On a serious note - all the tips that we receive,
Must be considered and sorted because gossip deceives.
A story is good, but we want to print truth.
And games of telephone, well, they seldom hold proof.
It’s not easy work, to be objective and look.
But if you print lies, well then you’re on the hook.
And trust me, I know.
I’ve had to print some revisions.
But making those mistakes have helped me make better decisions.
So if you’re not a tabloid, not just TMZ
Know that some stories have motives, drenched in jealousy.
And it’s natural, it happens - echo chambers and cliques.
And when repeated enough, those mis-truths tend to stick.
But when words hurt each other,
Well then, nobody wins.
And if we publish without question
Lies don’t get reined in.
You can fib once or twice
And you’ll probably be heard.
But put out enough gossip
And you’ll be thought of as absurd.
Besides, what’s the purpose?
What good did you do?
By selling a story that’s frankly untrue?
So, yes. It’s annoying.
And yes, it takes time.
But credible news is always better than grime.
“Doc, help me out!”
Raven cawed as he flapped through the door.
“My head’s a mess and my stomach’s sore!”
And without pause, he kept rambling on:
“And I’m pretty sure my tail’s too long. On top of that, my wings don’t work and I keep having thoughts that make me feel like a jerk. If that’s not enough, my feet are flat and sometimes when I’m dreaming, I think I’m a cat! You gotta help me doc, I’m falling apart. And don’t get me started on my poor broken heart.”
Finally, and to my great relief, he hopped up on the perch and relaxed in his grief.
“Okay”
I began and I started to scribble, but just then from his beak I noticed a dribble.
I passed him a him a towel - that fool patted his head.
“Just relax, my dear friend. You’ll be fine” s’what I said.
“Take this pill for your mind, it takes time to dissolve. The rest, I assure you, we’re able to solve. Your stomach is sore because you eat the wrong food. Cut out the cigarette butts and you’re sure to improve. Your tail’s not too long, in fact it’s quite fine. Stop comparing yourself and you’ll feel more divine.”
I held out his feathers and looked at his wings and to tell you the truth, they were great looking things.
“I think these work okay, but you’re flying a new style. Getting used to that height’s going to take a short while. And the thoughts in your head, well, that’s tough - don’t I know. Just take them as learnings of things buried below. That one will take work but with patience and care, you may soon find out that those thoughts are not there.”
He seemed to relax and took on a new beat. And with a comical shrug, he held up his feet.
“Right - about those, it’s true. They are quite flat and wide. But that happens sometimes so we’ll just let that slide. And lastly - your dreams. Well, I find that quite funny because often I dream that I’m a little white bunny. You’re going to be fine, you just need to breath deep, eat some good food and get some good sleep.”
“Thanks, doc” he said, before turning around.
Then I laughed in the mirror and hopped down to the ground.
And I thought - “Boy. We need more than one doc in this town.”
Something about me, that’s maybe kind of funny, is my strange fascination with words. Specifically though, as the story goes, I happen to like words like “herds”. ‘Collective Nouns’, don’t you know? And they’re really the best. Like a conspiracy of ravens that’ll put you to the test. You may find it odd, but I think it delightful. And as for this story - it’s goofy and frightful.
A carnage of cigarettes had gone to my head. A split of hurdles in front of me, but I just laid in my bed. A laugh track of sitcoms played on the TV, a doldrum of reruns that could not set me free. A feedback of speakers tried to give me advice, while I sat their silent like a pew of church mice. A dearth of fine nurses sat in the wing, a paroxysm of punk rockers begged me to sing. A dark plot of playwrights tapped narratives in my head and a punchline of comedians tried to keep me from dead.
And then, oh. And then.
Faster than fast like a flurry of rapscallions, I cut through the “can’ts” and replaced them with “cans”. A freeze of detectives rushed to the scene, to figure out why and who’d been so mean. A round up of suspects pulled up from my past, but the culprit was me, even I was aghast. Yes, there had been others, a glorifying of liars, but I’d been the one who lit most of the fires.
A jump cut of music videos played in my mind, what gave me the right to have been so unkind? And then all of my demons and shadows of bad, came up to the surface like a scuttle of crabs. “Now” was the time, because there was no time for later, so I armed my dear self with a slew of exterminators.
A chorus of composers brought sound to the scene, while a blast of strong hunters took down all the mean. A wobble of antiques had started to fall while a clank of tanks ripped down all my walls. A burn of videotapes saw the whole thing while a slash of defensemen stepped into the ring. It all sounds so gruesome, was there anything left? That’s when the extended family of sociologists were put to the test.
A bevy of ladies got right to the task while a chisel of repairmen suited me with a casque. A wandering of tinkerers brought me back to the light while an execution of officers kept guard in the night.
A wheeze of joggers came to say hi. Behind them, a bale of turtles stopping by. A gratitude of juniors stood near hoping strong, that sooner than soon I’d stand where I belong. A turnaround of screenplays put things to the test, if everything worked I’d be back at my best. A diligence of messengers passed the note along, that a patter of footsteps was indeed tapping a song. A rout of snowmobiles carried the notes far to the blessing of narwhales that bathed with the stars. Their tusks were raised high and they sounded their horns - another would join the marvel of unicorns.
