Poems - JP Melville

 I am moving on from here now. A story is closed... a new chapter opened somewhere. I will have to find it. So... Epilogue Weyburn Yellowgrass You Me We All Too Two fathers buried there now, Weyburn? If not, I can help you with that. Maybe in Yellowgrass Or maybe even in Mauritius? Where the wind nor the dirt makes no difference Except perhaps their disregard of folly with which we encumbered history, For a family is was will be built there, Like to Yellowgrass where I go again this late summer With a daughter to visit gravestones slowly multiplying, For there is no escaping the living graves of our history... All of us immigrants of innocence. Psychiatry our fathers shared They cared Then politics and history again Rewrote rewrites erased erases their efforts One of colour One white Both dead except Alive a flame That they each one mattered too. I loved love my father Regardless of political erasure So too can you I know you do too. What is this faux Canada Who we all fails to rec...

Caravanserai – Dawn Creeps in Through the Mist 2000+   jp melville <song play chris isaak cover london grammar wicked game> Caravanserai, sleeping above where the camels once slept. A stone building with wide, tall archways, hosting travellers who now have nowhere to go but toward visiting the past, worlds not yet wholly versions of Dupont and EveReady and Nylon, yet celebrating New Year on December 31 st . Odd how we travel from airport to airport, from faucet to faucet that turn clockwise to open, from white granular salt that pours to white granular salt that pours... Yet we long for distinction in our lives, to say that we have been there and done that, there which is where we are not and that which is not this. And we try to do this by travelling, fucking a no one, and staying in places like those where camels once slept. Caravanserai… Where, I wonder, is the stench of manure in the cracks...