Beware the Drumpercrock

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Apologies to Lewis Carroll     

’Twas votecrack, and the Cheese’d of Skin

Did Grump and Twitter in the night:

All Klimsy’d were his alt-right views,

And Nasty Women gave him fright.

 

“Beware the Drumpercrock, my girl!

The clod that bite, the maw that’s jabber!

Beware the Orangefaced Turd, and shun

The furious Pussygrabb’r!”

 

Took Vorpal pen in Tiny hand;

Ponscumm’d Bad Hombres that he sought—

So dozed he with Deplorebull’d fools

And drooled he there in Fuddled Thought.

 

And, as in pompous glare he stood,

The Drumpercrock, with Eyes of Bulge,

Came whiffling through the Golfcan Yuge,

Miss-spelling as it Grease-ly stomped!

 

One, two! three! six! Want cheeseburger! he whimpered Zwill,

His Vorpal cellphone insecure!

His SackPence blumph, intellect nil!

He jowls galumphing, “Crooked Hill!”

 

“And hast thou tamed the Drumpercrock?

Let’s build that wall, my Bigly boy!

O frabjous pee! CovfeeFeeFee!”

He Bannon’ed in his Frittled Sploy.

 

’Twas horr’bl, and the Cheese’d of Skin

His Putin o’er the grumbll sailed:

Flimsie’d t’were the old white men — SAD! —

And pink pussy tuques prevailed.

— macfayden nov. 9 2017

 

Post-script: This open-mic poetry event was a blast. Thanks to the Almanac for the always-groovy space, and to MC extraordinaire Michael Gravel and the Raving Poets Band for bringing the magic. Meanwhile, the Old Trout Puppet Workshop is back in town with its own peculiar version of Jabberwocky at the Roxy, 8529 Gateway Blvd, through Nov. 26. Liz Nicholls sets it up over at her 12th Night blog.

Quartet 2017 launches at the Almanac

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Quartet authors Vivian Hanson, Laurie MacFayden, Billy-Ray Belcourt, Lisa Pasold at the Almanac, Sept. 20, 2017.

 

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Laurie MacFayden reads from Walking Through Turquoise

 

Ordinary

who would ever believe
looking into your ordinary eyes could stop me from breathing;
that touching your scars could transport me to the stars

who would ever believe two ordinary sets of hands
could cartwheel to the moon and back, and again, and back
then sleep in an ordinary bed
in an ordinary room
under ordinary sheets,
dreaming extraordinary dreams.

often there is panic after love’s reveal:
how to snare it, wrap it? ensure it can’t fly away

listen — you put a ring in my heart
not the kind that encircles a finger;
the kind of sound
a happy bell makes.

who’d have ever thought
this ordinary life
could turn ordinary eyes into happy jars of cherry jam
turn these ordinary lives into sacred trust,
turn you into me
and me into you …
all ordinary
and grateful.

– excerpt, from Walking Through Turquoise (Frontenac House)

Walking Through Turquoise available now

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Walking Through Turquoise, Laurie MacFayden’s third book of poetry, continues to explore the secrets and flirtations mined in her previous titles, White Shirt and Kissing Keeps Us Afloat. The sweet, clumsy intricacies of relationships; things you want to shout from rooftops but can’t; that tickle in your gut the first time she calls you honeyMacFayden ponders a one-way trip to Mars, the turmoil of clouds, the majesty of moonstone. ‘How can desire survive the tragedy of human aging?’ she asks, never losing sight of the joyous, wet, throbbing hallelujah. Walking Through Turquoise is a celebration of the glorious, swirling twine that binds us to things of this earth and beyond.

 

can you be buried in a canoe?
can you paddle on through
and come out the other side?
if the dog jumps out will the vessel tip?
at the bottom of the lake
will your toes find mud or bone?
between the shore and the floating dock,
whose sad, lonely cry swims you home?
— excerpt, red canoe

 

Published by Frontenac House, Walking Through Turquoise is part of Quartet 2017 which also features A Tincture of Sunlight, Vivian Hansen; The Riparian, Lisa Pasold; and This Wound is a World, Billy-Ray Belcourt.

Calgary launch: Tuesday, Sept. 19, Wordfest space, Memorial Park Library, 7-9 p.m. Author readings and refreshments.
Edmonton launch: Wednesday, Sept. 20, The Almanac, 10351 82 (Whyte) Ave., 7-9 p.m. Author readings and refreshments.

the map of our world has no beginning or end
our cartography tells us not where we’ve been
or where we need to go, merely:
where we are joined is at the chest,
the welcoming corner bone of hip,
the intersection of dusk and constellation
joined by alchemy, spirits of the woods,
by hobo roads and caution stones
— excerpt, world map

Dear Younger Me: Relax, you’ll turn out OK

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What would you say to your younger self?

Dear Younger Me … A letter to myself
Sunday, Nov. 6, 2-3:30 p.m.
Latitude 53, 10242 106 St, Edmonton

Six area writers have been invited to pen letters to their younger selves, whether as children or as young adults, and share these aloud with the audience, followed by a Q & A session. The event includes a silent auction, cash bar, and desserts from Cafe Reinette donated by The Writers’ Union of Canada. Proceeds go to our kids camps and sponsoring youth in financial need from Edmonton and rural Alberta to attend.

Marilyn Dumont, Minister Faust, Mieko Ouchi, Thomas Trofimuk, Thomas Wharton and Laurie MacFayden are the featured literati letter writers and presenters. They’ll have copies of their books available for purchase.

Tickets are available at the door for $25.

11/13/15

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there is a bridge covered in locks
some with no keys, some sealed with long-forgotten combinations
some quietly closed with ribbons, with twine

there is a cathedral owned by gargoyles
pigeons and peasants
there is a tomb covered in small stones
flower petals, metro tickets, teeth, candy, gratitude
another tomb queerly smothered in lipstick kisses
still another dares us to break on through
to the other side

i got pooped on by a bird
while gazing up at the bell tower of notre dame
there are few times in a life you get that lucky
so i took this as a great and good sign

there is an art store on blvd. edgar quinet
right beside cynthia’s house of croissants
and confiture and catacomb secrets
the five-spoked wheel of montparnasse will never be solved

there are names that will forever soothe me
raspail. vavin. les gobelins.
place de la concorde. sacre-couer.
gare du nord. austerlitz.
trocadero.
this place felt like home the first time i breathed
in its sexy hot metal tang, its pink-grey scaffolding,
its sour-sweet sewer pong, its metro b.o.,
its cafe au lait, its legendary light
its arrogant smirk

the louvre. d’orsee. marmattan. pompidou.
l’orangerie. champs-elysees. l’arc du triomphe.
roland garros. louis quatorze.
piaf. monet. manet. dufy.
vincent slept here, and pablo.
ernest. gertrude and alice. toulouse lautrec.
all the genius ghosts.

rue mouffetard. the latin quarter. les halles. defence.
it’s shakespeare & co., stained glass and merlot.
it’s vervaine & lemongrass soap, striped marine shirts
and blue ascots. it’s berets and bastille,
brie on a baguette, pain au chocolat
steak-frites and pickpockets and a plethora of bad smells.

and it’s love.
it’s love and romance, this city of light
this city of forever light in your heart, your essenceGauloises
amour mama, not cheap display
you either love it or hate it,
this infuriating frustrating glorious
demon-angel of a city

it’s bonne mama abricots on a still-warm,
fall-apart-in-your-hands pastry
it’s slinky underwear and stilettos and a million androgynous scarves
it’s drinking wine from the bottle on your tiny front step
perfume and tulips in the tuileries
fountains and bees, creperies and gauloises
veuve-cliquot and trains and bonjour, allo, d’accord, d’accord

it’s anguish and liberte and fraternite
it’s haughty and magnifique and cold
it’s paris and it’s gorgeous
it’s paris and it’s burning

it’s a man on a street piano playing imagine
nothing to kill or die for
no religion too
imagine all the people
living life in peace
to a broken
weeping world

 

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hit refresh and let internet wash over you

(source: online newsalizm headlines and good ol’ yummy e-spam)

you wrote that you looking moped rental and chicago
here you have all what I found:
put down your brush
comet holds the secret to life
cup of tea the answer

why women really love wearing shoes
(what message are you sending with your shoes?)
tori spelling’s dress: sad, limp and purple
guaranteed to be the most hilarious thing you have ever seen
how long does meat keep in your fridge?
five things that should never have been pumpkin-flavoured
kim kardashian denies causing stench on airplane
discovery hints at real aliens
my septic guy told me
bad foods that are good
four steps to a better shave
five things never to put in a dishwasher
twenty-five easy party dips to make before you die
twenty-nine life hacks guaranteed to make you cry

angelina jolie is turning shiloh into a boy
dakota fanning shines in $30 dress
natalie portman pigs out on pasta
post this for one hour if you believe
in hipsterz miraclez LOLcatz mansplainin’

zombie outbreak likely to lead to collapse of civilization
unless dealt with quickly, university of ottawa students conclude

the stars are watching you

the stars are watching us

if i could come to where you are
if i could touch your shining face
if i could hold your broken hand
if i could sit with you in the treetops

my eyes grow dim
but i could sculpt you in the dark
and the stars, the stars are watching you
even when night is brittle cloud
the stars are watching you

if you could come to where i am
if you could touch my grateful face
if you could hold my broken hand
if we could dance in places soft

your eyes smile and cry at once
they show me how to open
when november cleaves the tides
the stars are watching us