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Name: Mike
Country: Canada
State: Ontario
Birthday: 9/6/1985
Gender: Male


Occupation: Student
Industry: Other


Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
MSN: livefromtheshadowlands@sympatico.ca


Member Since: 2/5/2004

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Thursday, March 15, 2007

Hello everybody,

On March 20th (next Tuesday), a poet named D.S. Martin will be reading selections of his stuff in the Tyndale Katimavik. I'm going to be opening for him, reading a few of my poems. It's starting at 5:45, so if anybody's interested, I would love to see you there.

If you could pray also I'm pretty freaked out, as this is the first time I've ever done anything like this. Please pray that my words would be true above anything else, and secondly that I'll be able to speak clearly.


Thank you for this.


mike


Wednesday, March 07, 2007





A time it was
It was a time
A time of innocence
A time of confidences

Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
                      -Paul Simon


Monday, February 26, 2007

"and she said, 'Go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed.' "


Wednesday, February 21, 2007

I'm coming, darling. It's just a long way is all.


Tuesday, February 13, 2007

“I’m sorry, Lo-Ruhamah”

concerning pornography

On the night of the forty-ninth infidelity
It went unnoticed
That the book of the law had gone unopened.
It spoke in the voice of a father
Stricken as he spoke at his daughter’s leaving
For she was near, and perfect
and given to lie in this young man’s bed.

On the night of the forty-ninth infidelity
It went unnoticed
That the words of the wisest went unheard.
He spoke in the voice of a young man
With a lover newly promised.
I thought her near, and perfect
And so prepared a bed for her.

On the night of the forty-ninth infidelity
It went unnoticed
That the message of the prophets was “no, not yet.”
They spoke in the voice of husbands who,
Waiting in the years long since
She was near, or perfect,
Still every night prepare her bed.

On the night of the forty-ninth infidelity
It went unnoticed
That the poetry of the king was lamentation.
He spoke in the voice I speak in now,
At the time when kings go off to war,
Who’ve traded the perfect for the near
A stolen lamb for a marriage bed.

On the night of the forty-ninth infidelity
It went unnoticed
That the best man spoke his last.
He spoke in the voice of a fatherless son,
Calling out with unrequited voice.
“Your father’s gone” her answer comes
From my forsaken bed.




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