
To throw the javelin demands
Practice to be precise.
To catch one, on the other hand
Is something few try twice.
To throw the javelin demands
Practice to be precise.
To catch one, on the other hand
Is something few try twice.
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity”
A mantra of utter stupidity
For, muggy or not
Let’s agree that it’s hot
Before tackling the lacking aridity
I was recently interviewed by Paul Szlosek for his blog: The International Imaginarium for Word & Verse. Paul is an American author (Paul’s Poetry Playground – https://playground.poetry.blog) and photographer (Paul’s Wonderful Word of Color https://thewonderfulworldofcolor77109243.wordpress.com) who stumbled across my poetry and wanted to chat about it.
The photo used in the article was snapped by one of my students waaaaaaaaaay back in 2007 when I was teaching at a university in Ukraine. It’s all about the shirt.
Anyway, here’s the link:
https://internationalimaginarium.blogspot.com/2022/07/the-international-imaginarium-for-word.html
Even at your throatiest
You’re not the least melodious.
The truth, my precious toady, is
You’re positively odious.
In Physics, nothingness has weight
Which leads to some disquiet
Among the more dense who debate:
So, why then do we diet?
A lot of people ask me the difference between Canadians and Americans. Well, first the facts: our country’s larger, our population’s smaller, Canadian men liked wearing clogs in the ’70s and we’ve never considered testing the viscosity of spray cheese in space a worthwhile scientific endeavour.
I noticed while working abroad that colleagues soon began substituting American with North American in conversation. Such gestures are certainly appreciated but only serve to remind Canadians that while Americans have fifty states, we have only one: self-consciousness. Every Canadian feels guilty knowing their new co-workers are constantly bricking it lest they should inadvertently refer to us as American, a situation which can only ever lead to our greatest export: the apology. We’re famous for apologizing – we even apologize for it. I recognize that, even close up, we look and sound like our U.S. counterparts to most people. The differences are subtle, even to us sometimes. It is, however, my belief that the best way to differentiate between our two cultures is to study America’s greatest cultural icon: Barbie.
America has Malibu Barbie who likes strolling along the beach with the ocean breeze in her hair… Canada has Seal Hunt Barbie who is a crack shot.
Malibu Barbie drives a Dream Camper Van with built-in kitchen and fold-out tent… Ice Road Trucker Barbie cooks roadkill under the hood and homeschools three kids in her sleeper cab.
Prom Queen Barbie comes with her very own makeup and accessories table… Lumberjack Barbie’s sporting a Leafs toque in her wedding photos.
American Barbie hails from Wisconsin, studied in New York and now lives with her parents and younger sisters in California… Canadian Barbie was taken into care after her parents became addicted to online bingo and were caught trying to sell their own kidneys on ebay.
American Barbie dates long-term boyfriend, Ken… Canadian Barbie’s best friend is an orphaned bear cub whose mother was shot dead by two tourists up from Oregon for the weekend.
American Barbie is cosmopolitan and culturally sensitive… Yukon Barbie saw her first Sikh last week and asked him for three wishes.
American Barbie is a role model for her millions of followers on the internet… Canadian Barbie is completely unaware that a video of her bathing in what she thought was a secluded watering hole has placed her in Pornhub’s Top Ten.
Vegetarian Barbie only buys food from locally sourced producers… Marijuana Farm Barbie patrols the perimeter of her property in a JLTV.
American Barbie spent a fun-filled New Year’s Eve with Ken in Times Square… Canadian Barbie pointed out Ursa Major in the night sky to her orphaned bear cub – and apologized.
When dining out we’re well aware
Our manners are on view
We open doors like Fred Astaire
Insisting… After you!
Which silverware to use and when
And how to hold a glass
While tackling pommes parisienne
Delineate one’s class.
But not so in the cinema
The difference is stark
Because it’s hard to be bourgeois
And crack nuts in the dark.
The lighting’s low so patrons know
When they’re not being watched
It’s fine to eat an Oreo
Retrieved from off your crotch.
You eat out of a bucket
Like a hog out of a pail
And when you’re done, you chuck it
Like a Molotov cocktail.
Wonder what life’s like inside
A real safari park?
Round up loads of humans
And then feed them in the dark.
While sailors open drums of rum
To swig below the decks
Indulgent captains who succumb
Are often found in wrecks
If killer whales stood on their tails
And walked out of the sea
A dog’s next trick he’d learn real quick
Is how to climb a tree
I have a dog whose name is Spark
Who sometimes takes me to the park
Where we enjoy an evening stroll
I feed the ducks; he’s on patrol.
An old pro, Spark knows all the tricks
From playing dead to fetching sticks
His latest one involves a scheme
Which bags him loads of free ice cream.
He’ll spy a toddler on his own
Who’s struggling with a waffle cone
One far too big for little hands
And all the balance that demands.
Spark uses charm and big, brown eyes
To get him closer to the prize
Then as he nears these little ones
That’s when he grabs the cone and runs.
I’m deeply saddened by each theft
And every howl from the bereft
Whose double-scoops of lemon lime
Perpetuate this life of crime.
The mothers round on Spark and curse
So I make sure they’re reimbursed
Which throws the whole plan in reverse
For he was taught to steal a purse…