Saturday, January 31, 2009

Casino Royal, Rama, Whatever...the dice is right

Reds and oranges and greens and blues and some purple all combine to make the garish flashing marquee type of lighting, not so much attract in it’s intensity and pervasiveness, but, to distract the brain. If that were not enough, the air conditioning whir is rounded off by the ping-ping, clang-clang, ching-ching, bling-bling of the myriads of gaming machines. Second hand smoke looks over shoulders and clings to arms both bare and jacketed. Bitter taste of third or fourth complimentary glass of booze, competes with the overhanging anti-bouquet of all those people.

It’s an interesting contrast of concentration and competition for attention from the machines. It’s a tie. You’ve heard the stories of certain level of gamblers wearing diapers so they would not have to abandon their post. Rather play craps than take one.....Wonder what the Queen’s Guards do in their stoic position. Small children crawling about their legs, teenagers pulling their mouths into grotesque shapes with sweaty fingers and multi-coloured parents swirling around viewing the scene through a camera lens. Bump. “Oh! (chuckle) Sorry didn’t see you”.

Zoom into a gambling table. Thin, well dressed young couple stand shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps holding each other up. New to gambling, they’ve taken in the adds and come “for the show”. Next is a rumpled jacket holding up a middle aged man. Tie is a loose noose near the middle of his chest. You would not think there would be enough material to keep it so long. Can you guess the condition of his shoes? A little space and next is a gaggle of elderly oriental women with a lone male companion. They’re silently chatting with their agitated body language. And so on around the half moon of the table.

Clicky-clickity-clackety like short hail burst on a car roof. The clear sound of the thrown dice prepares for the declaration. Some leaning forward or rolling shoulders; some breath held and mostly sweaty palms; all eyes fixed on the two white and black spinning cubes. A silent collective will summons up “Yes” from the universe. That cosmic energy bounces back out into a far away galaxy as fodder for the next new star. So the excitement in suspended animation goes. House wins.

Thin couple, still holding each other up at their shoulders, grins sheepishly. She fingers the strap on her pale bare shoulders. He fingers the wallet deep in his front pocket, visualizing a second mortgage.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Angelic Pierre

Always cool; a remotely angelic Pierre.
No one stares while he dances with chairs.
He then picked a woman, neither tall nor too short,
Through the rest of the night, they were bottle and cork.

January 14, 2009 Bitterly Cold

So… bitterly cold. Hmmm how bitter?
Three-lemon bitter, six-lemon bitter,
Ammonia or sulfur bitter?
Nose running, brass-monkey cold?
No smiles. Winter of our discontent?
Drivers’ thin-lipped determination,
Eyes locked on the short to mid range.
Potential streetcar passengers,
Shoulders involuntarily at ear level,
Breathing into scarves, sleeves and gloves,
So covered up they would not be allowed in some places,
Terrorists or tired…. of this?
How many have rumbled by so far?
Couldn’t get on.
Air so frigid it tastes like steel,
Air so frigid it smells like aluminum.
Too cold for jokes,
They drop to the sidewalk and splinters into a hundred shards,
A laugh turns into a cough.
Where’s the bright spot?
Tiny kid bundled up into a balloon figure,
Big wool tuque on top,
Giant wool mitts at the end of the blown up arms.
Cheerfully oblivious, never the less,
Bending at an available joint, steadying the big boots,
Scoops up a big chunk of freshly scraped sidewalk ice,
Slowly claims his prize,
“Hey mom. Look what I got?”
Is it my imagination?
Is it colder downtown?
Is it the city itself or just the weather?
Whatever.
Chicken and egg.
Forget it.
Omelet and soup is the thing right now!

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Falling Leaf

Blow your hat off wind. Leaves bang into each other like a shaman’s rattle. Many break off. They’re pushed to the ground like diving pigeons after breadcrumbs and swept up again in little tornadoes. Nose alert! It’s the threat of sneezing time as the Nature’s broom releases the molds.

Sidewalk is glistening from a fresh polish of a recent shower. Dark red-orange fragile remnants under foot, veins in surrender. Watch your step; a slippery mat.

The trees have nowhere to hide, unlike bears and gophers. Both awakened again by the incessant buzzing of the spring sun’s alarm. Awakening from the Rip Van Wrinkle winter. What? Where am I? Who am I? What Am I doing here? I am so hungry. I’m so stiff….