Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Winters' Comfort

Weighing the snow that gets launched onto the ground
by the weather-or-not god
And then shovelled and piled
And then shovelled again and then piled
And then organized by the minions of glove and frozen noses
During even a light winter, is tedious

Watching it unfold
takes on an onerous attention to detail,
as well a frosty window mind
If you had a snow-spitting-out machine
instead of a stick with aluminium at the end
And at the other end, a pair of hands, you might find yourself doing favours
And that just means seeing more snow,
more people,
and more cold
An elephant back means even more favours
And an elephant back problem means your knees aren’t what you used to be.

Its like paving a dead end street
Its always for no reason except to get your car out

A broken snow scoop means an incomplete favour
The trusty brand new snowplough does not help
When you hear her in an aching cacophony

After the driveway gets launched on again.

A sanitary rocky driveway is better than scotch tears and yellow roses Even though those help a little more
when mean, explicit winters are not just weather-cold.

Prayer time is for simplicity in times of a line of grief
Where a discreet bardo realm meets a pouting,
less gleeful,
fully enlightened,
Tibetan One.

Winters can be in late spring
When the cold “Those” come out of their heat-controlled apartments.
When life has given the cold, blight ridden “Those” some inclement weather
Even with some silver sunshine glowing off of the snowfall to adapt to.
“Those” save up that tongue-pole id energy for an early thaw.
A huddle in secrecy,
with no secrets kept,
is the way of a frosty meeting between two rivals.
The meeting deserves Karate Champ judgement when the loudest talker wins.

The awkward silences are taken as humourous
An insult is seen coming
before the pair of mauve sheep bleets in the clouds and echoes a sound.

The afternoon chaud beverage ritual for an alone person
Becomes too pre-programmed
and too much depends on what the weather is doing in order to keep silent.
Many have fallen in winter’s swoon of aloneness.
And desperate grasping to something that they once had.
Or a clinging to something
or a clinging something so impossible
that they have always wished for
And maybe’ve had
or had and never received.

An owned cry is heard, halfway down the cheek.
Tears that cause squeaky floor boards in a vacant room.
A prayer that empties a well of salt water from the eyes of a seer.
A hidden clasp of hands
And a look at meaning-well symbols
that are more in control then we all feel.

We kneel,
we bow,
we think
and we do.

Head behind kneecaps,
Wrapped and rocking,
With pleading, hugging arms,
And we hear the secret comforting voices
of inner deities and servants.

We drop the malicious thoughts and focus on them and not ourselves.
We look for an edge of the planet that has seen more in order to cope.
One will always find that.

We take something for the pain.
A grand choice.
A comforting meal served by a compassion fuelled matriarch.
An apron with frills, a smell of simpler ways
And a touch that means more and then bears a nurturing hug.
One look of protection.

A movement that screams, “I will help!” is what you receive.
And the movement will know exactly how and what kinds of prods to use.
In a dim dank room where you foster an element of your roots.
A demand of a lesser presence from the slights of those who are sardonically, all experts.
And those who just sarcastically claim to be.
Understand the way to miss a person when the raw feeling of their absence is a brand new mental heart scar that bleeds inward.
A step into an age of gratitude after the hardness of the healing process enters and leaves with the coming of a weatherglass summer.
Where we’re all guessing and wondering where we left off
and forgiveness is still all of our greatest needs makes us believe in a encapsulated heart, mind, body and spirit.
A wholeness in being each other.

Winters’ Cold

Sound advice
Laugh at absurdity
Love in a stranglehold
Hearing that is so selective
Before many courts
A scribe bursting inside
Laws without guilt
Judged as a duck
Your seer feels the pebbles
A banished scarlet letter
Lifted from a healing chest
Drawn to the ascension of a kingdom
On trial for a better class structure

Known as an expensive harlot
Egged on by innocent wage
Down to a level she doesn’t need to see
By a presence heard by secrecy

Lessons learned, knowledge forgotten

Levels that bring frozen change
Beads of forgiveness beckon
for a call back to times too exciting

Justified lovers an opportune find

Clarity is fighting to blossom
in a spring of tangible wealth

An id that has continuous fragrance
An oxymoron that breathes heat into the veins
To quell the cold hearted masses

Shovelling the ploughed heaviness of a tardy snowfall
that empties all onto a lonely path
A bad rain of dark colours in each full load of wayside thrown hard flakes
A broken fool, a tear trickles and freezes down a wind burnt cheek
A give up, a give in, an unforgotten life

A well heard level up
A unoriginal line, out of mouth in order to sell familiarity
A relationship known for struggling with the obvious followed love-filled tension
A headlock, a bruised thigh, a scar on the hidden parts
A stitch of laughter that hurts
as it brings up sweet memories
of a short scathing fest of healing, angst, desire and kismet.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


Embrace. A Kiss. Air.
Meltdown. Cradled.
Sensual. Aura.
Soaring. The clouds envelope your spirit.

A gift from another time.

You use the power for reason, for change.

You trust.
You must give trust for the flight.
No wings, just thought,
the right thought and you’re up… in flight.

There is no mind or weight or toxins
There is only life after the beacon is seen.

We all have the chance for flight.

To leave. To stay. First walk. Then crawl. Then kneel.

No prayer. You won’t need that anymore.
You’re already there.
You did, didn’t you?
You forgot we were already flying. You won’t need to anymore.
You won’t forget this flight. Not this time.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Chapbook release, "The Love Marble"

Well Ladies and Gents, It's Happenin'!
My Third Chapbook Release just dropped.

The title, "The Love Marble" is available for 8 bucks at:

Dave's Books and Sundries (Cobourg's Newest Bookstore!)

32 King Street West (on the North side of King)

Cobourg, Ontario

The book is also available through me (so far) and can be easily mailed out to your address for

10 bucks (2 bucks to cover postage). So please contact me with your details and I'll snail you one!

I'm really hyped about this latest release and hope to inspire everyone but also sell a ton!

House copies are also available to "read" at:

The Cat and The Fiddle (Cobourg)

Meet Me at 66 King (Cobourg)


The Human Bean (Cobourg)

After you have your pint or your coffee, please skip over to "Dave's Books and Sundries" and buy a copy!


and above all else, buy one or two and please SPREAD THE NEWS!!!

Love you,

Brandon W E Hahn

Monday, February 14, 2011

The Upside To Down

Every little inkling of humour is recognized
when you're down this far

A cat with extra toes

A retarded house fly

Seagull crap on the hood of your car

A moment of indecision when you think of how you will off yourself
Maniacal laughter when you don't do it for the millonth time

Drinking something like stout just because you hate it
Doing anything that you don't like just for fun

Loving the fact that you care about something as trivial as the full moon
and pissing your pants at the 24 hour news

Saturday, February 12, 2011

The Path of Intention

Was it what I intended?
Or did I forget my good intentions?
I left them at the door

I left them at the door
Did you believe I could do it?
You didn't cause I know you well enough

You left it at the door
Are we all just jealous?
When we get the gates before us
The odd time they let a few of us in
A few of us in for bliss

And leave the rest at the opening
At the footsteps of the door

Our intentions are always pure
Yet we ourselves are a mess of dirt
Us, those ones left at the foot of the gate.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Blind Memory

I was with you tonight
In invisible sense

Your every touch melts
Even just a glance
You envelop me
All I do is quiver

You are my version of perfect
Even if I know I cannot have you
Reason enough to know I once did

I carry on with you in my heart
Never searching for a replacement
Never searching for a comparison

You remind me of a time
When all things were innocent
Finding you was magic
Saving graces are thoughts that I once was there.