by James Finnegan

I am thirsty
but conspiracy theorists claim
drinking water will kill me
that it contains graphene nanochips
which track your blood cells
and even your impulse to dialogue
which resides somewhere in the brain
or at least somewhere in the mind
maybe even your left foot
if pain resides there
they tell me Big Brother’s Big Sister
is out to get me
faucets are the new enemy
turn off turn off never turn on
yet still I’m thirsty
a wasteland quandary
in that that which gives me life
I’m told by some will be the death of me

 by James Finnegan

what exactly is the angel’s angle
and what kind of angel is there
someone once said things are quite quiet
two become one and one becomes two
where cleave is stuck then becomes unstuck
as if history breaks us and un–breaks us
Green Gable and Great Gable
the difference — one is green the other higher
one bright from a distance — the other dark
an all–out invasion of a city
warns its residents to flee
an ineffable all out
metal and flesh and soul and blood
where can I run to
who can I turn to
it is no longer quite quiet
there is no angel’s angle
or if there’s an angel it has fallen far
as far as an unslumbering bear

by James Finnegan

transporting a truckload of troubles
from Goose Bay north of Nanaimo
to Francis Jack’s cabin south of Victoria City
I feel like I’m in a road movie
terpaulin flapping in the wet wind
a loose piece of knotted rope
beating against the rear number plate
not regular enough to be a knell
to parting day
but an early morning irregular beat
a long time ago I hitched a ride
from Chemainus where Elsie Bob lived
and the guy who gave me a lift
said that he sold bibles to people like me
just before I decided to leave his car
and seek a different lift
this truck I am driving is dark blue
like the colour of the sea on the left
it’s symbolic driving my troubles south
to light a fire outside Uncle Jack’s cabin
I don’t need to know what the troubles are
enough to let them go up in smoke
another memory from way back
driving down the west side of the island
someone named Annie asked me to buy a Coke
so I buy two Cokes and she throws her drink
over the windscreen to dissolve the grease
I briefly feel like a jerk
with a straw in a cleaning agent
when I get to the cabin I remember
Francis Jack burned it down a few years back
but I light a fire anyway
and ghost dance with Sitting Bull
I then ring Livinia in Goose Bay
who asks me to come home for supper
so I head back in the truck
now coloured sunflower yellow
like the setting sun
and I have no idea
where the terpaulin has gone

By Robert Kelly

The best part is waiting,
watching the sky,
how it shimmers on the river
then soars back home.

2.
When you sit by the river
you naturally think of home,
childhood home, mother time,
everything to be learned again
in a new way, new language,
but the swans are still white,
you almost know who they are.

3.
Need water,
some of us,
every day,
not swallow
to lubricate
the soft machine
but to see,
see every day
the waves of genesis.

4.
Some choose
to go to church
in kayaks or canoes.
I prefer to sit
quiet on the shore,
all river and no me.
Effortless liberation,
swimming heavenward
on patience alone.

5.
I think when Jesus said
if you want to pray
go alone into the inmost
room and pray to the father
He also meant go down
to the river, pray to the mother.

6.
But they forgot to write it down
maybe they waited so we
could find our way to water
over the deserts of the rational.

7.
If I could
I would kneel
by the water’s edge
and whisper
Mother, mind me!
then rest there and wait.
The best part is waiting.